Chapter 9
Tony spent a fair amount of his work day doing rounds, at the ranch, driving the perimeter and some time in the office, so having this day with Mira was nice for him—just to spend time with her—but she seemed over the moon. From the time they’d met up in the morning until now, she’d been rapt with attention, talking about the sunlight in the trees, the clouds of her breath, the flash of green in the river as the trout passed by, and the deep rich color of the enchilada sauce at lunch.
He’d been painting since he was old enough to hold a brush, and he recognized the wonder that she described—he felt it every day, and it was almost as if her thoughts were just as his, translating sights, sensations and feelings into color.
And he wanted to hear more. After lunch, they’d taken Gorgeous George back to Jaclyn’s—thankfully in one piece—and Mira had told her she’d start working on the portrait right away. He thought of his studio at home and wanted to offer it to her—he had every color of oil paint under the sun after all these years—but he didn’t want to make her nervous. She seemed a little skittish, maybe even nervous, and although he wanted very much to get to know her, he thought maybe he’d take it slow. Let her lead.
So when they got to her door after he’d offered to walk her home, he accepted in a flash when she asked if he wanted to come in for coffee. Maybe he’d get to see some of her work, and he’d get to know her even better.
“Sorry the place is such a mess,” she said as she gestured for him to follow her inside.
It was one of the small staff cabins—there weren’t too many left on the ranch—and he’d been in many of them over the years. Some of the Weston boys had lived in them and he’d helped his fair share of guests, too. This one, though, looked very different.
He stopped in his tracks as he crossed the threshold. The main room usually had a couch, two chairs, a TV and a counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, but you couldn’t see any of that in here. Although it was tidy, it was filled with easels, paints, brushes, canvases, rags neatly piled and charcoal sketches of things ranging from mountains to rivers to cabins. The smell of linseed oil and turpentine washed over him—his favorite scents in the world.
“I apologize for the smell—some people hate it but I think it’s heavenly,” she said and smiled as she cleared off the stools by the counter and set to making coffee.
“That’s a coincidence. Same here,” he said as he set his hat on the counter and pulled up a stool, resting his forearms on the cool linoleum. As she filled the coffeemaker, he turned and stood again. “Mind if I look?” he asked, knowing that he rarely had anyone in his studio and when he did, it felt a little vulnerable. Pouring your heart and soul onto a canvas wasn’t always something you wanted to share with strangers—although he hoped she didn’t think of him as a stranger any more.
“Help yourself,” she said over her shoulder as she reached into the cabinet for coffee. “I’m just a novice, really, but I try. I’m still not sure why Jaclyn thinks I can pull off a portrait. I’ve never done one. As you can see, mostly landscapes.”
Or seascapes, he noticed as he strolled around the room. “For someone from New York, you sure paint a lot of ocean scenes. They’re beautiful, too.”
Mira paused as she reached into the refrigerator for cream. She shut the door and stood quickly, and she looked a little uncomfortable. “Oh, right. New York. Well, I’ve traveled a lot and I love the ocean. I’ve spent lots of time looking for seashells.”
She’d turned back to the coffee now, but before she had he thought he’d seen her cheeks color. What was wrong with looking for seashells?
He stopped in front of a large canvas, a painting of the beach. The colors were rich, deep and varied, and he could even see grains of sand. He leaned forward and looked more closely—she’d even painted tiny sand crabs that were about to be inundated by crashing waves. He could almost feel the power of the waves.
“I almost feel like I’m there,” he said as he stood back. “I can imagine what it must smell like, although I’ve never been to the ocean myself.”
The two coffee mugs she was holding clunked on the counter as her eyes flew open wide. He turned, and walked closer.
“Never been to the ocean? How is that possible?” she said incredulously.
“Nope, never. I grew up here on the ranch, went to school in Riston, took some classes at community college and started working security. Here. At River’s End Ranch. So I never got to the ocean.”
She rounded the corner of the counter and handed him a mug, and when their eyes met, she didn’t look away.
“The ocean is very special. Very powerful. I can feel the energy of the pounding surf, the tide, the way the sand moves from day to day.”
“It sounds beautiful,” he said as he looked deep into her eyes—and it struck him that her eyes were the color of the ocean. Green and blue—and deep and powerful. They saw things other people didn’t. Just like his.
She looked away and walked toward a half-done picture of the mountains. “I think I did an all right job capturing the ocean, after painting it so much. But the mountains here, not so much. I feel things when I look at them—always different at different times of day—but I don’t think I’ve captured the emotion yet.”
He stood behind her, close enough that he could make out the vanilla scent of her hair and the skin prickled on the back of his neck. “I think you capture the emotion just fine,” he said as he gazed past her toward the canvas. “You’re very good.”
She shook her head. “No, not quite. Not like that artist who paints the pictures in the guest rooms. Now those are powerful. I can smell the trees, feel the sun—I feel like I’m there. There’s great passion in those pictures. Do you know what I mean?”
Tony cleared his throat and turned back toward the kitchen. “Yes. Yes, I do.” He set his mug in the sink and glanced at a framed photograph next to the sink. A woman sat on the beach in a big floppy hat and sunglasses, staring out at sea. The picture looked familiar and he looked from it to Mira. “Is that you?”
She picked it up and turned it toward the light. “No, it isn’t. It’s my mother,” she said before she set it back on the counter, facing the wall, and turned away.
Earlier, he hadn’t wanted to pry, but somehow now, he wanted to know everything about her. Had to know.
“It’s a really nice picture, and you look like her. Where was it taken?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could have been tons of places,” Mira said as she reached over and turned her mother’s picture back facing the room. “I think there are a trillion pictures of my mother, but I only have one. She can be a little—challenging. One is plenty.”
“And your dad?” he asked as he glanced at the frame she’d turned backward.
“Never knew him. Died before I was born.”
Tony cleared his throat. “I only have one picture of my mother,” he said. “When she died, my grandmother was heartbroken and got rid of all of them.”
From the stricken look on Mira’s face, maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. His mother had died so long ago that he had no memory of her, and he loved his grandmother so much there wasn’t a hole in his heart, but he knew when he talked about it, it usually made other people uncomfortable. And he hadn’t meant to do that.
“It’s really all right. I’m sorry she died—sorry for my grandmother, too, but it was a long time ago. I have family—between my grandma, Jaclyn and the Westons, I have more that enough family,” he said and smiled, wishing he could take the sadness from her eyes. “I have all I need.”
He didn’t want to press, and glanced at his watch. “I guess we both have to be at work soon, so I’d better go. I want to see how my grandmother’s doing before I head in. I haven’t worked nights in ages, but if I get a chance, I’ll stop by housekeeping and see what you’re up to. Check for frogs.”
She took a swipe at his shoulder as he leaned away and grabbed his hat. He tipped it toward
her as he opened the door.
“Bye, Mira. I had a nice time today. I’ll see you later,” he said as she followed him out the door.
“Actually, thank you. I couldn’t have made it to take pictures with the gnome without you. I appreciate the escort—and the company,” she said.
He stopped about two steps from the door and hung his head. He’d never met anyone like Mira, and he’d thought he’d been happy, had family, loved his job and was content painting his life away. But now that he’d seen inside her heart, he wanted more. Much more.
He turned and looked down at her, sliding his hat up his forehead. “When I said a nice time, I meant a really nice time.”
She smiled that brilliant smile of hers and shook her head, taking the rubber band from her braid. Her hair swung free, the light striking the blonde streaks just the right way and making her eyes look even more deep blue and green than they had before. Even deeper in tone than the ocean she’d painted.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her toward him, but he shouldn’t. Couldn’t. She said herself she didn’t know how long she’d be around, and his life was safe. Happy.
His fingers twitched as he turned and waved as he headed back home. “Good luck with your painting of Gorgeous George.”
“Thanks. I’ll need it,” she said as she smiled and closed the door.
Chapter 10
Tony whistled all the way back home, his feet light on the icy paths. He stepped up the pace, wanting to talk to his grandma a bit before he headed off for work. She’d been asleep when he’d gotten home the night before and out when he’d left this morning, and he wanted to check in, let her know Mira would be joining them tomorrow to make enchiladas.
As he opened the door to their cabin, the familiar sound of his grandmother humming told him he was home.
“How was your day, Antonio?” his grandmother asked when she turned and saw him. Before he could answer, she folded her arms over her chest and smiled. “I see it was good.”
He tugged at his collar as heat crept up his neck. “How do you know that?”
“I can see it on your face. Your dimples are deeper, just like when you were a little boy and found your first paintbrush.”
She turned back toward the stove and picked up her wooden spoon.
He sat down at the table and poured himself a glass of apple juice, watching as his grandmother hummed and stirred. He guessed he was happy, and it had been a nice day. He wasn’t completely sure yet what he thought about Mira—he’d only just met her—but he knew they had a lot in common. And her smile, her green eyes, her sense of light and movement were captivating.
As he contemplated the apple juice in his glass, his grandmother set down her spoon and took the seat opposite him.
“You know, you can’t spend all your time working and painting.”
“I don’t. I—”
“Yes, you do, son. When you’re not working, you’re painting. When you’re not painting, you’re working.” She pushed herself up from the table and took up her spoon.
“What are you getting at? Just say it.” He leaned against the wall and hung his elbow over the side of the chair, his boot on his knee as he squinted at her.
“Jaclyn told me you’d met a young lady, and you were going out to the river today.”
“She did, did she?”
“Yes, she did. And she said she’s a painter, too.”
“Word travels fast around here,” he said as he reached for the bread to make himself a sandwich to take to work later. “Must be the fairy network.”
“Don’t tease. Jaclyn knows about these things. I’ve seen it time and time again. Oh, and there are two sandwiches in the refrigerator for you to take. Just in case you’d like to share.” She winked at him and pointed to the table. “And dessert. For two.”
“Grandma, it’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think anything at all. I just felt like making lunch. Two lunches,” she said as she slapped his wrist with the spoon when he reached a fork into the pot she was stirring to grab some of her delicious chili.
“Well, thank you.”
She stopped stirring again before he could reach the door. “You know, Antonio, it’s time you settled down anyway. It’s not good to be alone forever. Work. Paint. Alone. Not good.”
He stopped in his tracks. She never used his whole name unless she was serious, and he hadn’t meant to dismiss her. But he’d just met Mira, and they certainly hadn’t gotten as far as a relationship.
He did like her, though. A lot. He loved that she painted, and the power in her work was something he always tried to capture in his own.
And when her eyes had flashed the same color as the ocean color, he could almost hear the waves and feel the spray on his face, although he’d never been there. He’d never really thought about leaving River’s End Ranch, but he had to admit, he wouldn’t mind seeing the ocean one day—with Mira.
But that was impossible, so he turned back to his grandmother. “I’ll take the lunches to her. In fact, I’ll even invited her over to help with the enchiladas instead of Dani. But don’t get any crazy ideas. We’re just friends.” He crossed back to the kitchen and bent down, giving her a peck on the cheek as she smiled up at him.
“Oh, I’ll miss Dani, but that’s perfect,” she said, clapping her hands. “I’ll make something special.”
“We’re making enchiladas, remember? For the Thanksgiving feast that’s around the corner. We can just sample.”
“You’re right. I forgot. I’m just excited,” she said with a laugh.
“Actually, I think you’ll like her. But please don’t read anything into it that’s not there. Oh, and by the way, Jaclyn didn’t give me anything for you the other night. You’d said you wanted me to pick up something for you. She didn’t give me anything.”
He grabbed his coat and the bag with the lunches, slipped on his sheriff’s vest and grabbed his hat before he opened the door. He turned and smiled at his grandma before he stepped over the threshold.
He shook his head and closed the door as his grandmother replied, “Oh, yes, she did, Antonio. Yes, she did.”
Tony actually had wanted to get his fingers around a brush, but didn’t want to think about Mira or his grandma or Jaclyn or gnomes anymore, and he breathed in the cool afternoon air to clear his head. He had a few hours before he had to be at work, and he remembered the package he’d forgotten to deliver to Heidi from the day before and set out toward the general store.
He suspected what was inside, even though his grandmother never admitted what she was doing. But he supposed if it made her happy, there was no harm. If it had been up to him, he’d just paint and hang his art in the guest rooms, or wherever the Westons would have them. It was enough for him just that people enjoyed seeing what was in his heart—he didn’t need to sell anything. Certainly not postcards of River’s End Ranch.
He hopped up the boardwalk and took his hat off before he entered the general store.
“Hey, Tony,” Heidi called from behind the counter when he stepped in.
“Hi, Heidi,” he said as he reached into his pocket for the package his grandmother had asked him to deliver. He never looked inside, really, and he turned away from the rack of postcards that stood next to the cash register.
She winked and held out her hand. “You have a package for me?”
“You’d think this was some sort of dark deal or something. I’m not even sure what’s in it.”
“Sure you are,” she said. “You are just too humble for your own good.”
He tugged at his collar as she ripped open the package and sighed, reaching over to fill the postcard rack with the contraband.
“Tony, these things fly off the shelves. I don’t know where Graciela gets them, but I could fill this rack every day and it wouldn’t be fast enough. How about some bigger pictures?” she asked as she gestured toward an empty wall on the far side of the store. “I have no doubt that guests w
ould love to take a piece of River’s End Ranch home with them.”
There weren’t too many people who even knew he was the artist of the pictures on the post cards or in the guest rooms, and he wanted to keep it that way. He painted just for the pleasure, not so that anybody would know. It just felt—well, sort of private. He was glad that people enjoyed what he did, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about it.
His radio crackled, and he pulled it from his belt.
“Morales,” he said into the radio as he stepped away from the counter.
“Hey, Tony, this is Andrew, the new engineer. It’s after hours, and Wade said you might be able to help me with a little problem I’m having. I’m over at the main house, in the kitchen.”
“Sure. Be right there,” he said before he clipped the radio back on his belt.
“Saved by the bell, huh?” Heidi said as he smiled and turned away, heading for the door.
“Don’t forget what I said. I could sell lots of your paintings, Tony. Before you know it, you’ll need a gallery.”
He shook his head and closed the door behind him after he’d waved goodbye to Heidi. She meant well, but the last thing in the world he needed was a gallery.
Chapter 11
Mira had been so inspired by her day with Tony and what he’d said about her paintings that as soon as he left, she picked up her brush and started in on one of the paintings that she wanted to reproduce from the guest room. She brushed on blues, golds, browns and red, all in an attempt to feel the same feeling that she had when she stood in front of those paintings and the one she had when she and Tony were out on the river.
In between brush strokes, flashes of Tony—and his dimples—crossed her mind. He was so kind, so warm—her palms tingled at the memory of his hands on hers.
When he’d left earlier, she’d laughed out loud after she’d closed the door. She’d actually wanted him to kiss her, as she’d looked into his deep, dark eyes. Her fingers itched to touch his dimples, and when he’d turned and waved, she’d been disappointed.
Mischievous Maid (River's End Ranch Book 15) Page 5