Copyright © 2019 by Charlene Bright
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronical, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Editing: Flying Elephant Editing
Cover Design: Killion Group
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All he wanted was a quiet life…
Cowboy Noah Thomas hated how his mother suffered from losing her husband too young and vowed never to let himself fall in love. He didn’t want to risk the same heartache, and he found it simpler to bond with his dogs and the horses he trained.
All she wanted was to slow life down…
Zoe Hartman left Cheyenne for to get away from the pressure and fast pace of the city. With the trauma of her parents’ nasty divorce when she was young, she felt more comfortable with her love of art than the love of another person; her art would never betray her. Zoe never dreamed a cowboy would make her think twice about her resolve to avoid falling in love. When a rough-and-tumble cowboy challenges a free spirit, it could turn into something fairy tales are made of…or it could end in the nightmare they both fear.
1
With a smile that always melted Noah’s heart, Arlene Thomas announced, “I’ve signed us up for a still life painting class.”
Noah stared at her in disbelief. “I’m sorry, run that by me again,” he said leaning forward so his arms rested on the table between them.
Arlene laughed, the deep tone of a woman who’d smoked for more than thirty years. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. You act like I just told you I want to read you the dictionary as a bedtime story. This is a painting class. It’ll be fun.”
Her southern drawl always got thicker when she wanted Noah to do something for her. He shook his head. “It sounds to me like it would be just as likely to put me to sleep.” But he wouldn’t deny his mother anything, if it was within his power to give it to her. He figured he would always carry that soft spot for her. After all, he could barely remember his father, who’d died before Noah’s second birthday. It had always been him and his mother, and the twenty-five-year widow relied on her son for a lot of things.
With a sigh, he relented. “Alright, Mama. I guess I can give up a couple hours of my time if it means spending it with you. When is this class?”
Arlene beamed, her eyes wrinkling at the corners so tightly her eyes nearly disappeared in the folds. “Tuesday at four.”
“I’ll set a reminder on my phone,” he said, digging in the pocket of his jeans for the device. He struggled; he was sitting down, and his jeans were tight.
“For the next twelve weeks.”
Noah blinked several times. Was she kidding? But he could see from the satisfaction on her face that she’d purposely left out the part that it wasn’t a single class until after he’d agreed. “That’s mighty sneaky of you, Mama. It’s not really fair to hold me to that agreement, since you didn’t tell the whole truth.”
She spread her hands, trying to look innocent. “You didn’t ask, sweetheart. Besides, it’ll do you some good to be a little more social and get a feel for art.”
“My art is breaking horses, Mama. My art is training them for show and rodeos. Or have you forgotten about that?” Noah shook his head as he finally got his cell out of his pocket and pulled up his calendar. “Who in the world would set up a class like that in Five Forks, anyway? This place is barely a one-horse town. It’s more like a one-goat town. This sort of thing belongs in the city, not out here where we’ve got real men and hard women.”
“And that attitude is exactly why I think it would do you some good,” she told him.
“I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, Mama. I can’t draw people and trees and mountains and flowers,” he complained. He was ready to leave the diner and get back to the ranch. This was messing with his head.
“Watch your mouth, son,” Arlene warned. “And it’s still life. That means you’re painting bowls of fruit or flower baskets. Besides, you take classes to learn how to do something. Why would you have to take a spelling class in school if you were born with the talent of spelling every word in the known universe?”
Noah knew already that his mother wasn’t going to let him out of this, and worse, she was going to talk it up until his ears fell off. “I already agreed, Mama. But remember I’m doing it for you, not for me, and if I’m a little uninterested when we get started, you’re going to have to deal with it. I love you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like everything we do together.” He put a twenty on the table to pay for their meal and the tip, and then he stood and reached for his mother’s hand.
She was such a small woman, barely five feet tall, that he towered over her at just short of six feet. Arlene insisted he’d gotten his height from his daddy, but Noah didn’t have any full-length pictures of his father that showed just how tall Shaw Thomas had been.
Noah walked her out to her car and asked, “Are you okay to drive? You sure you didn’t have one too many lemonades?”
She laughed and slapped his arm playfully. “You’re such a ham, Noah. I love you, son. I’ll be fine. Get back to your ranch before your anxiety throws you into a panic and you take that back to the horses. Those beasts won’t hesitate to run you over if you come in all spooky.”
“I’ll be fine, too, Mama.” He closed the driver’s door for her and waited until she was buckled in, had started the car, and was pulling out of the parking lot. He waved as she turned the corner, and then he strode over to his beat-up old truck. He had a newer, nicer car, but he saved it for special occasions. He liked his beat-up pickup and the wear and tear it showed. He figured he’d be just as beat up someday and could only hope his insides still ran as hard and strong, even if he wasn’t so pretty to look at.
He waved to Don Shephard, who was just pulling in, and called, “I got that roan almost broken for you, Don. You should come out with the trailer to pick him up tomorrow.”
“Nice work, Noah! That was fast.” Don had been a customer for a long time, and he paid well for Noah’s work. They’d become friends over the last few years, and Noah looked forward to Don’s visit. They’d shoot the breeze over a couple of beers, and Noah would have his fix of socializing for the week. He didn’t like being around a lot of people all the time. He’d grown up on the ranch with his mother and a couple of ranch hands, mostly secluded. And when the money had run out, the workers left and it was just Noah and Arlene.
But Noah’s mother had been discontent with such little contact, so Noah had gone to work, picking up every horse training job he could get. He’d gotten her settled in a small apartment in town, and from there, she’d picked up a job answering phones thirty hours a week that covered her bills and all her fun expenses.
Noah funneled money her way, too. He’d gotten pretty successful, especially being alone without distractions. He preferred it that way. He didn’t buy into the need for companionship. He’d watched his mother suffer any time she thought about his father, and he’d seen how efficient she was by herself. If Arlene Thomas could take care of herself, even when she felt that kind of heartache, anyone could. And Noah realized that all love ended in heartache—death or divorce or some other circumstance. He didn’t need any of that drama.
Back at the ranch, the minute he got out of the truck, he could
hear Firestarter whinnying and calling to him in greeting. For such a mean bastard, the roan really did seem to like Noah. And it was a good thing, since they weren’t done spending time together.
2
The phone rang insistently, and Zoe Hartman struggled to unbury herself from the boxes and bubble wrap as she continued unpacking. She tripped over the toolbox in the middle of the floor and lunged for the phone on top of a box of dishes, catching it as she fell and answering on the fifth ring, just before it went to voicemail.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly and more than a little irritated at the interruption.
“Hey, you, I thought I’d see if you were all settled in yet.” Tracy. Tracy Fowler was probably the only thing she was going to miss about the city. Cheyenne was great, but it had become overwhelming, and, truth be told, Zoe was exhausted. She needed the break and the quiet of a small town, and the opportunity to teach art in Five Forks had sounded like the perfect opportunity to get away from it all.
“If you mean nesting, I’ve barely gotten the boxes opened,” Zoe said with a sigh. Her shoulders sagged. She’d only moved once before, and she hadn’t had this much stuff. It still wasn’t a lot, but it was tedious and time consuming to unpack, and she found that her thoughts were scattered. She couldn’t quite get it together. “I should have put some of this stuff in storage.”
“Are you sure it was a good idea to take that job, Zoe?” Tracy asked with concern. “I mean, it’s not home, and it’s a small town. You’re going to go stir crazy without a club a few miles away and a museum or gallery on every corner. And I doubt you’ll meet anyone in a place that small.”
Meeting someone was the least of her concerns. Her parents had gone through a miserable divorce when she was twelve, and her older sister had been married less than a year when her husband came home and said he wanted a divorce because he’d fallen in love with his secretary. “I don’t need a man, Tracy. And I don’t need to go out and party all the time. I came here to relax and delve into art. It’s what I need right now.”
“If you’re sure.” Tracy still didn’t sound convinced, but then, she’d tried to talk Zoe into moving to New York with her, something that gave Zoe anxiety. If Cheyenne was too much, she couldn’t imagine how she’d handle the Big Apple.
“I’m sure. Listen, I’m buried up to my nose in packing supplies, and I’d like to get a few things put away and clean up the mess before I go to bed tonight. I haven’t even eaten dinner yet. So, I’ll call you in a couple of days, okay?”
“Sure. Take care.”
“I will.” Zoe hung up and sat, looking around the small living room littered with boxes. The only reason she hadn’t put any of this in storage was because she liked the idea of turning the tiny one-bedroom apartment into a home. She could make it cozy with her personal touches, and that would help her settle in. She just wished she could wave a magic wand and make all her things arrange themselves into their proper places.
The thought sparked an idea, and she forgot her mission of creating a livable space. The only thing that mattered now were her painting supplies and the easel in the corner with the blank canvas. Moving quickly and not caring if she stepped on anything or fell, she made for the corner and tore open the box with her paints and brushes. Oils, she decided quickly, and she threw on the old stained smock in the box so she could get started.
***
Zoe yawned as she walked into the studio she’d be using to teach her classes. She’d been up late last night, the painting consuming her until nearly eleven o’clock. Then, she’d still had to eat and had thrown together a sandwich with some chips and a soda, needing to go to the store for groceries. She’d fed herself while cleaning up the mess, and it had been nearly one in the morning before she’d finally lain down.
She wasn’t much of a morning person, but she had agreed to come in and take a look around early this morning, which meant crawling out of bed before seven. Thankfully, as she inspected the art studio, she didn’t find it lacking. She found plenty of pastels and oils and watercolors in stock, tons of canvas and paper in the storage room, and even boxes of charcoal and brushes, as well as enough turpentine to wash the color out of the world.
She had six classes lined up for the next three months, and depending on the success of those, she might sign on for more. Looking over the lists of people who had signed up, she was pleasantly surprised. She hadn’t expected much in this small town, especially since it was a farming and ranching community. But all of her classes had at least three people signed up, and two of them were actually full, including the still life class.
That was pretty impressive, especially for a town of less than ten thousand people. The only thing she needed now was a model for her portrait class, and the facilities coordinator had assured her one would be available for the first class. Taking a moment to arrange her own space—the desk and her easel and materials on the rolling cart provided for her—she smiled. If she couldn’t nest in her apartment yet because she hated unpacking, at least she could nest here.
With the errand complete, Zoe struck out on foot to explore the small downtown district in search of a diner where she could have a decent breakfast and coffee, now that she was finally awake.
3
As Noah followed his mother in the dimly lit studio, he scowled. By his count, there were nine stations set up, and his mother led him to the two most front and center. She pointed to the table in the middle of the room, upon which someone had set a copper bowl with a white linen cloth full of fruit—grapes, apples, bananas, lemons, and limes.
He was going to have to paint one of those horrible pictures of fruit people hung in their homes. What fun.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so excited!” Arlene gushed, practically hugging herself and bouncing up and down. “Thank you so much for doing this with me!”
Her happiness melted him, and Noah smiled, putting an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “It’s worth it to see that smile on your face, Mama.” But he wondered as he saw some of the other students filtering in. Mendy Cox winked at him, and he gave a curt nod of acknowledgement. She’d been trying to snag him since high school, and he couldn’t get it through her head that he just wasn’t interested. Especially not in her. Mendy’s eyes were set too far apart, and her nose turned up so much at the end it reminded him of the hogs on her daddy’s farm. Plus, she lacked just as much sense and intellect as she did looks.
Stu Grissom hobbled in, too, the cranky old man apparently trying to do something to brighten his life. Noah figured he was attempting the impossible; in twenty-six years, Noah had never seen Stu smile about anything, unless it was a foul joke about someone he didn’t like. Which was pretty much everyone. He’d probably spend the next twelve weeks complaining and driving everyone here insanely crazy.
“How long are the classes, Mama?” he asked quietly. Hopefully, he could be out of here in an hour and stop at the Five Forks Shop N Save for a six-pack and a bag of turkey jerky on his way home.
“From four to seven,” she said, the smile still in place. It was like a gut punch for Noah. Three hours of his life every week that he couldn’t get back. How had he ended up in this position?
The lighting blared suddenly, and Noah blinked as it nearly blinded him. “Art of any kind requires the right sort of lighting, so we’re going to try an exercise today.” The disembodied voice cut through the murmuring and shifting of people as they took up stations. Noah looked for the source, but he failed to find it as it moved from a far corner toward the front, passing behind stacks of supplies. “We aren’t going to paint the picture just yet. We’re going to test the tricks of lighting.”
Turning to the front of the room, he stared at the woman behind the desk and lost all train of thought. It wasn’t her mass of auburn hair, with the streaks of red in the dark brown glistening in the bright overhead lights, and it wasn’t the jade-green eyes that had just a bit of an exotic slant at the corners. It wasn’t even the slim curves of her bo
dy that really caught his attention.
It was her smile–full lips with a natural rosy tint, brilliant white teeth, and a genuine sparkle that spoke to how much she truly loved art. Everything else just added to her attractiveness. She was breathtaking, between her physical beauty and the enthusiasm that came through with the way her face lit up and the inflection in her voice as she spoke about art.
“So let’s get started, okay?” she said. “I think we should all introduce ourselves quickly, and then we’ll talk about lighting and perspective. I’ll start, ease us into it. I’m Zoe Hartman. I’m from Cheyenne and I have a BA in art history with a focus on art education. I’ve been teaching art classes part time for about three years, and I’ve worked in museums and galleries for about six years, on and off. I like all art in all forms, and I prefer painting with oils or watercolors, but I’m versed in all media and always open to new and creative ways to make art.”
She looked around the room, and Noah couldn’t help feeling a bit flushed when she met his gaze for a split second. “Okay, let’s have everyone give your name, a fun fact about yourself, and why you signed up for this class.” Great, he thought. This was going to be fun. And sure enough, Zoe Hartman locked gazes with him again. “Let’s start with you, sir.”
He swallowed hard and tried to think of what he was going to say. Half the class knew him, at least by reputation if not personally, and he didn’t need to impress anyone. But he sure as heck didn’t want to get laughed out of the room by saying, “My mama made me do it.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m Noah Thomas. I work better with horses than with people.” That got a bit of a chuckle from the room, and he saw a mirthful question in Zoe’s eyes. He finished, “I don’t know a lot about art, really, and my mother wanted me to come with her. I thought I could get some quality time with my mama and learn something new.”
Like A Cowboy (Wild At Heart Cowboys Book 1) Page 1