“Intriguing, Mr. Thomas.” She turned her gaze to his mother, who beamed with pride. “You must be Mom.”
Noah’s mother nodded. “I’m Arlene Thomas. I used to be a pretty decent artist way back in high school, but I haven’t painted in nearly thirty years. I chose this class to ease myself back into it, now that I’ve got time on my hands. And I’m lucky to have my son joining me.”
“That is wonderful,” Zoe said, looking like she was moved. “For a true artist, the love of art never dies. I look forward to seeing what you can accomplish. Both of you,” she said, glancing back at Noah before continuing around the room and asking the same of everyone. Noah didn’t mind; it gave him time to look at her without worrying that she’d catch him staring. There was just something absolutely radiant about her. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she was like a beacon of light that let you know you were almost home. She was energetic and somehow soothing.
“Great! Now, why don’t you all take a look at your supplies? Everyone has a cart full of them. What we’re going to do is look at shades of color today and how the shading and tone of the color palette is affected by lighting.”
Oh, boy, Noah thought. Maybe he’d avoided making a fool of himself once, but when the paints came out, he would surely stick out like a sore thumb. But a glance at his mother, and the knowledge that she used to paint—which he hadn’t known before—were enough motivation to push him past the point of nursing his ego too carefully. And if it meant a closer look at Zoe Hartman, he’d certainly give it an effort.
4
Zoe had a little trouble concentrating on everyone else’s participation in the exercise that was supposed to help her match names with faces. She was stuck on Noah Thomas the whole time. Which didn’t even make any sense. He was all kinds of wrong for her. On the rare occasion she entertained the thought of dating and entering into a relationship, Zoe had a type, and Noah did not match any aspect of it.
His hair was a sandy brown that had been streaked from time out in the sun, so the brown looked darker against the white blond that came from sun exposure. His dark complexion told her just how much time he spent outside, a smooth tan with a little gold in it. He must get really physical training horses because she couldn’t have spotted a better body on a billboard for men’s underwear—chiseled with lean muscle and limber, even graceful, in his movements. And he had blue eyes that were almost violet, an unusual shade that was entrancing.
Zoe usually went for tall, dark, and Gothic. They tended to be very intense, and their overwhelming passion for everything, including passion, reminded her of her own determination not to get tangled up in a love affair that was doomed to end in heartache. Noah Thomas was none of those things. Well, he was probably right at six feet, so maybe tall worked. But the only thing dark about him was his tan, and he rang far more of cowboy than even a hint of Gothic.
He also struck her as a mama’s boy, which really didn’t add up to the makings of a good boyfriend. Not that she needed or wanted one of those anyway.
She drew out the introductions as long as she could, trying to get her head on straight. Then, she started the lesson; anything to do with art would help her focus better on the task at hand. “I want you to look at the apples. Just the red ones. And I want you to pick the shade in your supplies, whether oil or watercolor, that most closely matches the shade you see. There is no right or wrong. Test it if you need to. Mix up colors if you need to. And don’t worry about the paper. We’re not using canvas today because I want you to play around until you get a sense of this.”
She watched as the class began picking up paints, opening bottles, and generally trying to do as she asked. She tried not to focus heavily on Noah Thomas, but she was surprised by how quickly he chose his color. He didn’t even seem to search hard or long. And with a swirl of a brush on the paper, he was done, putting everything back down.
Curious and assuming he’d just gone through the motions with serious lack of interest, Zoe rounded behind him and gaped at the red circle on his paper. “What color did you use?” she asked, trying to keep a bit of distance from him. She was already close enough to smell his cologne, and it was heady.
He gestured to the bottle of paint set aside from the rest, and she bent over to peer at the label, wondering if there was something written on there that might be a cheat. But there was nothing. In fact, the original label had been scratched off, and she nodded appreciatively. “You’ve got a good eye for color, Mr. Thomas.”
“Thanks. And just call me Noah.” He smiled, and something twisted deep in Zoe’s gut. It turned into tiny wings flapping inside her stomach as she stared at the amused expression, which put a dimple right in the center of each cheek. If he’d been devastatingly handsome before, his boyish charm only added another layer of attractiveness.
“Okay, Noah. Have you ever done this before? I mean, you said you don’t know much about art, but have you ever taken an art class, even in high school?”
He shrugged. “I had the standard art class in high school. That’s about it.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes at him, not sure she believed him. “Well, either way, you might have a natural talent for this.” She walked around the room, assessing how the others were doing. There were a couple who seemed to get close, though not as quickly and easily as Noah, but most were having trouble. This was the bright light and should have been easy. It got harder from here, and that meant she was going to have her work cut out for her.
“Okay, let’s move on.” She turned half the lights off and said, “Now, the shade of red you see is different. Take a close look and try to replicate what you see now.” She watched them all squint and start looking through their supplies again. She glanced toward the front of the room where Noah stood, and he held up another jar of paint, looking back and forth between it and the bowl of fruit. Then, he opened the jar and did the same thing he had before, swirling the brush on the paper.
Shaking her head, Zoe couldn’t believe how close he was. She might have shaded it a bit on one side with a little brown or black to create the shadow, but she hadn’t asked for that kind of detail. She had only asked for the basic shade of red they saw. And he’d pretty much captured it.
With each change she made to the lighting, Zoe waited for him to make a mistake or to at least have to try twice. But time and again, he was right on the money, or close enough that it was negligible. After all, everyone saw something slightly different, and that meant the interpretation would be just a bit off. There was no denying Noah had the natural eye she’d referred to.
When she finally turned the lights back up and set them all to the task of recreating the still life on a new sheet of paper—she’d move them to canvas next week—Zoe took a seat at the front of the room, behind her desk, and watched. She wanted to get a feel for how each student faced the challenge of starting the project. Mendy, the girl in the back, grabbed a pencil and started tracing lines, a drawing she would fill in like the pages of a coloring book. Another woman set out all the colors she was going to use at once, while the older gentleman squinted and made very short brush strokes on the paper.
But Noah, the one person who had seemed completely careless about taking the class and had obviously only come because his mother wanted him to, was completely confident. He’d choose a color, make broad strokes, and assess the work, then go back and do it again. He frowned a couple of times and opened some darker paints, mixing a bit here and there, and Zoe was mesmerized. She was sure of her work, but even she didn’t think she looked that confident while she was creating. She wanted badly to get up and go look, but she didn’t want to interrupt his work. Or seem overly interested, even if she was.
But Zoe could only control her urges for so long, and she grew restless. Finally, she got up and wandered the circle, starting with Arlene Thomas and going the opposite direction. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t bad at all, though her technique lent itself much more to landscapes, even portraits. She imagined the woman cou
ld put together a beautiful mountain scene, or maybe a forest with a doe drinking from a stream with her fawn.
She gave suggestions and praise in equal measures as she made her way through the studio, and she purposely kept her eyes from Noah and his work until she’d made it all the way around to him. When she finally got there, Zoe wanted to laugh out loud. She’d known what she would find, and it still surprised her. The image of the fruit was incomplete, but what he’d finished popped off the page in three dimensions.
“I think I made the shadow here too dark,” he said, pointing to the shading under the grapes. Zoe stared at him, not having expected him to address her for some reason.
Gathering her wits, she stepped closer to the paper, examining the area and sniffing at his cologne. Just because she didn’t want to get involved with anyone didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy certain aspects of men, and that cologne was definitely enticing. Backing up, she shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It might hit you wrong because you expected something else, but it’s just dark enough to show depth without looking like a cartoon. You could have made it lighter, but it might not have made the same impact.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “So, this isn’t a complete travesty?”
Zoe laughed. “No, definitely not. Are you sure you aren’t masquerading as some novice when you’re really a well-known artist whose work hangs on the walls of the rich and famous?” Wow, she thought. She was flirting, and that was highly unusual for her.
“Uh, no,” Noah chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve spent my whole life on a ranch. The closest I come to art is training horses for show that win ribbons.”
“Well, that’s art, too. There’s art in a lot of daily activities, in various professions, if you know where to look for it.” She smiled at him. “I’d love to see what you could do with a portrait.” She walked away, checking the time. There were only about thirty minutes left, and Zoe wanted to wrap up with a little advice and insight and leave time for questions and comments.
5
It was nearly nine when Noah finally stepped into his house, and he was exhausted. His mother had convinced him to come over for dinner after class, and then she had him stay for dessert. The lemon pie was fabulous, but he wasn’t sure it was worth the extra time when all he wanted to do was drop into the bed. He had to be up at 5:30 to get started with the horses so he could be done before the heat of the day. In Wyoming, you just didn’t work outside in 120-degree weather.
Before he could shut the door behind him, his two hounds, Velvet and Suede, came barreling at him and nearly knocked him out to the porch again. “Whoa, there!” he said, shoving them down from his shoulders and rubbing their heads. He stepped aside and pointed to the door “Go for a walk.”
They didn’t hesitate, taking off like they’d sniffed something delicious in the air. Noah was sure they’d find a couple of jack rabbits or rats or something worth tearing apart out there. He didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t come hauling treasures back with them. He made his way to the bathroom, stripping along the way and turning on the spray so it would heat up. With a glance in the mirror, he winced at how ragged and weary he looked. Quite an impression he must have made on Zoe Hartman.
He wouldn’t have thought twice about it under normal circumstances, but as he stepped into the shower, Noah solidified the thought that had been forming since the art instructor mentioned seeing what he could do with a portrait. It sounded like a suggestion, but he hadn’t known what to think at the time. However, it had sparked something inside him that made him desperately want to pursue an outrageous plan. The idea wasn’t the sort of thing he normally considered, but there were several motivating factors pushing him toward it, not the least of which was an insatiable attraction to Zoe.
Her praise and suggestion that he had natural talent didn’t do anything to douse the flame that ignited in his gut whenever he looked at her. He’d had a hard time trying to stay calm while talking directly to her, which was stupid. He had nothing to prove to anyone, and it shouldn’t matter what she thought of him personally. She was just there to teach people how to paint, and from what Noah had seen, that only worked when someone had a little talent somewhere.
But for some reason, he found himself not wanting to disappoint Zoe, just like he hated the idea of disappointing his mother. Really, he didn’t want to disappoint anyone, but he’d never met another soul that affected him the way his mother did. But this woman brought to life things inside him he thought were dead.
Clenching his jaw at the thought, he told himself it was just a gut reaction to someone new. After all, in a town the size of Five Forks, you got used to seeing the same people over and over, and there weren’t a lot of tourists coming through. Zoe might as well have been from a foreign country, and anything or anyone so new was intriguing. What he really wanted from her was an opinion. Was his idea really fathomable, and if so, would she be willing to help him pull it off?
Clean and fresh, Noah turned off the water, toweled dry, and padded to his bedroom to pull on a pair of sweatpants. He needed to get to bed, but his mind was still racing with the possibilities. He had to dig through his small box of keepsakes for a picture, and he wanted to do that sooner than later. He’d seen the class schedule on the door of the studio on his way out, and he wanted to get to Zoe on a day when his mother wasn’t there. Her next class was Thursday, and figured he would show up half an hour before it started to talk to her. Hopefully, she wouldn’t laugh him out of the building.
He found the photo he wanted and chose a second for perspective, and then he went to open the door and whistled for the dogs. They’d had plenty of time to relieve themselves, hunt, and play. He didn’t want them out all night. Velvet and Suede were tough, but he wasn’t going to put them at risk. There were coyotes out at night in these parts, and he’d heard tell of other nasties, including wolves and the random cougar here and there. Even the pair of dogs weren’t tough enough to come out of that sort of fight unscathed.
It took a minute, but the hounds were well trained, and eventually they came racing toward him with as much enthusiasm as they’d had running out. Both gangly animals went straight to the pantry, knowing their bowls and bag of food were in there, and they stood wait while Noah filled their water bowls. He put those down for them to slurp at while he poured their food, and he left them to go to town, while he headed back for the bedroom.
He turned out the light and lay down, folding his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling. When he was up this late, he typically passed out pretty quickly, but he still couldn’t stop the thoughts in his mind from churning. He was still lying there, getting frustrated, when Velvet and Suede took up residence on the king-sized bed, curling into tight balls that defied logic for dogs of their size. He smiled, feeling their relaxed, satisfied energy start to soothe him, and he finally pulled the covers over himself.
But it took a long time to finally fall asleep, and the last image in his mind was that sincere smile on Zoe Hartman’s face when she talked about art.
***
Morning came too early after a fitful night, and Noah was cranky as he dressed for the day. His dogs were on his heels or tripping him as he cooked breakfast, and he growled at them to leave him alone. Offended, they finally lay with their heads on their paws, flat to the ground, rolling their eyes up at him like sad, wrinkly clowns. He felt bad for taking his frustration out on them and scrambled up a couple of extra eggs that he tossed in their bowls as a peace offering.
It was still dark when he finished the dishes and headed out to the stables. He started the day with a quick grooming of the seven horses he had at the moment, including two that were just boarding. That was a lucrative business, since there was little he had to do. The contract to board each horse stated that the owners paid for all food, took care of all medical needs, and did the grooming and exercising themselves. As a courtesy, and because he loved horses, Noah made sure they were kept neat and happy anyway,
brushing them and giving them treats or letting them run around the corral now and again.
The real work started as the sun came over the horizon, and today, he would begin fresh with Pontiac, a female Thoroughbred; a new customer wanted to learn the basics so they could start taking the young girl out to the track and training as a race horse. The breed was a smart one, and typically not stubborn like so many others, but Noah had assessed Pontiac’s personality yesterday. She was at that age where she was on the brink of being too old to train, making her the sassy, defiant teenager that was going to give him hell.
It was the challenge he loved, though, and when he and a horse had a disagreement, he found it much easier to settle than a fight with another person. And a relationship built between a horse and a human never failed. It lasted a lifetime. He was far more appreciative of the potential there than anything he could possibly build with a woman.
Although, something inside him made him at least curious if he could ever expect someone with the passion and fire that Zoe Hartman had to stick around and not break his heart. It was stupid thought—there were no women like that. Even Zoe had her flaws, and while she was a sincere and exuberant personality, that didn’t mean she was any different than other women when it came to love and companionship.
“Come on, Pontiac. Maybe you can kick me in the face and get my head on straight for me,” he said as he led the animal out to the training corral. He was only half joking.
6
Zoe was growing anxious as she waited for the model to show up. Class started in less than an hour, and she hadn’t even gotten a call confirming one would be coming. She sat at her desk in the studio with her head in her hands, trying to think of an alternative should a model not arrive in time for class. She didn’t like having students start portrait work with photographs, but she might not have a choice.
Like A Cowboy (Wild At Heart Cowboys Book 1) Page 2