It didn’t matter, though. She might be there for another hour, another day, but certainly not long enough to start a relationship. As soon as her mother caught up with her, she’d be back in her car and on the road as fast as she could.
She turned back to her painting and got lost in the colors. The light in her cabin started to fade before she glanced at the clock. She gasped, jumping to her feet and tossing her brushes in the coffee can that held the turpentine. She wiped the oil paint from her hands as fast as she could and grabbed her coat. The last thing she wanted was to be late for her first night at work on a shift that she’d requested.
She scurried into the housekeeping office just under the wire and filled out her timecard. She hung her coat in her locker and scooted down to the front desk as fast as she could.
"Oh, great to see you. Perfect timing," Natasha said as she stacked a group of papers into the corner by the computer on the desk. "I've actually got to run tonight. I've got another meeting so there won't be an awful lot for you to do. Sometimes we have nightwork in the guestrooms that are empty, but everybody's caught up today so you’re really just holding down the fort.”
"Well, that's not so bad," Myra said as she settled into the chair behind the desk. "There's really nothing to do to keep me busy? For me to help with?”
Natasha laughed. "Welcome to the night shift. Sometimes you're swamped, sometimes you're bored to tears." She grabbed her purse from the desk drawer and shrugged on her coat. "Feel free to do whatever you'd like. Sometime the nights can get long."
Mira spent a little bit of time straightening up the desk and even dusted just a little bit before she realized that Natasha hadn’t been kidding. There really wasn't anything to do.
She reached for her phone and flipped through the pictures that she’d taken earlier in the day of gorgeous George out by the river. She looked around once again at the quiet lobby and her fingers twitched. She reached into the tray underneath the printer and pulled out a few pieces of blank paper. On the desk, she found a pencil and thought she might as well spend some time trying to sketch what the portrait was going to look like. She had some ideas in her head, and Tony had mentioned which picture he thought was the best. She set that one on her phone, leaning up against the side of the desk so she could see it as she drew.
Once again, time flew by as her fingers moved across the page. She drew mountains, trees, and the river ambling by. The only thing she couldn't quite start was the actual portrait of Gorgeous George. With as much as she’d painted, she’d never even tried to draw a person — or in this case, a gnome. But Jaclyn expected a portrait, and a good one. So she forced herself to start, as painful as it was.
And in typical fashion time flew, and before she knew it, on the paper in front of her was something resembling a gnome
She set the pencil down and stretched her fingers, rolling her neck and her shoulders. As she stood to get some blood back in her legs, the front door of the lobby opened and the two Murphy boys raced inside, their parents following quickly behind. They tore over to the desk, reaching up into the candy dish that sat in front of Mira.
"What are you drawing?" the younger Murphy boy asked. "I like to draw, too."
“So do I, but I'm better than you are," the other Murphy boy said as he nudged his brother out of the way. "Hey, is that a garden gnome?"
Mira flushed with pride that even the young boys could tell what it was supposed to be. Before then, she hadn’t been exactly sure it looked like a gnome as it was supposed to.
"Yes, it’s a garden gnome. He actually has a name. Gorgeous George," she said as she held the paper up and turned it around so the boys could see better.
Mrs. Murphy came up behind the boys and rested a hand on each one of them. She leaned forward and squinted at the picture. "Goodness, you really are good at that. I haven't seen that exact gnome, but boy, it sure looks like every one I've ever seen."
Mr. Murphy came and grabbed the hands of the boys as they started to squirm again. He leaned forward also. "Gosh, if you think you could do as well with the boys, I’d sure love a portrait."
Myra drew in a sharp breath. No one had ever asked her for any of her paintings before, let alone one she hadn't even finished yet.
She’d never told anyone, but she harbored a secret desire to someday have her own gallery, where people could come and feel the same things that she felt when she looked at the pictures in these guest rooms, and when she painted her own. But her mother always told her it was a ridiculous dream, so she kept all of her paintings in her bedroom. She'd finish one and stack it against the wall, never to be seen again. The fact that these people actually liked her simple drawing had her heart aflutter.
"I've never done anything like that before," she said as she turned the drawing back around and stared at it. "I wouldn't mind trying, though."
"Thanks," Mrs. Murphy said. "If you're serious, I'll drop by a photograph that we had taken of the boys. I'd love it in oil and happy to pay for it."
Mira stared as the family walked down the hall towards their room. How had that happened? Yesterday, she’d never even consider doing a portrait. And today, she was doing a portrait of a gnome and two small boys. She shook her head as she turned back to her sketch, but didn’t even have time to start again when she heard Tony.
“A paying job? That’s fantastic,” he said as he plopped down in the chair at the side of the desk and placed a brown paper bag in front of him, smiling so wide his dimples seemed as deep as a canyon. “You’re famous.”
She flushed and brushed back her hair that had fallen as she was drawing. “Famous? I don’t think so. I’m still not even sure I can draw people. Or gnomes.”
“Well, the Murphys certainly believe you can.” He leaned over the sketch and his eyebrows rose. “And I believe they’re right. You’ve got him down perfectly.”
“Ah, you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I absolutely do. I paint, too, you know. I know good art when I see it.”
She jumped up and grabbed his hand, quickly running her finger down the guest roster, looking for an empty room. She found one that had a picture that she especially liked and she grabbed her key, pulling him down the hallway behind her. “I’ll show you real art,” she said as she unlocked a room and stepped inside.
He followed her inside and she closed the door. She flipped on the lights and stood at the foot of the bed, her hands spread toward the oil painting hung above it.
“Now that’s art,” she said, her hands spread toward the oil painting over the pine headboard. She couldn’t help it—she loved these paintings. This is what real art was, and she’d been excited to show him. To feel the feelings she felt when she stood in front of them.
She turned to him and her hands dropped to her sides. He was white as a ghost, with no dimples in sight.
“What’s the matter?” she asked as she stepped toward him, frowning. Surely he’d appreciate what a beautiful painting it was. She wondered if she’d done something wrong—he was security, after all. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be in the guest rooms at night.
“It’s lovely,” he said quietly as he looked from the painting to her.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her back toward the front desk, closing the door softly. “Grandma made us some lunch. I hope you like ham sandwiches,” he said as she followed behind.
She sat back behind the desk, chewing her sandwich, wondering what she could have possibly done to make him so uncomfortable.
Chapter 12
He left after they’d eaten their sandwiches and made arrangements to pick her up in the early afternoon, and for the next few days, they fell into a routine. They were still both working nights, and Tony would bring lunch from his grandmother—who Mira couldn’t wait to meet—and after work, they’d each go home and get a little shut eye. Fortunately, it hadn’t been too terribly cold for the past few days and in the afternoons, when the sun was bright, they’d go out to that spot she loved by the lake
and they’d paint. Sometimes, they chatted, sometimes they were silent. It had crossed her mind once or twice that he might have been bored, but each time she looked at him, he was deeply involved in his painting, and she knew the feeling well. There was no need to make small talk.
Today was a little colder than the past few had been. Every chance she got, she peeked over his shoulder and warmed her hands. The painting was just in its infancy, mostly a sketch, but she was learning some things every day and even thought she might be able to finish the landscape she’d started on her own with what she’d learned by watching him.
He looked up at the sky as clouds rolled over the mountains and the wind started to whistle. “Your hands have to be cold, right?” he asked as he turned toward her and smiled, gathering up his brushes and holding on to his canvas so it didn’t blow away.
She grabbed Gorgeous George—or her portrait of him, anyway—and placed it gently in the back of the truck. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Don’t tell me. No gloves?” he asked as he nestled his landscape securely in the back seat next to Gorgeous George.
She laughed and rubbed her hands together. “How’d you know?”
“Maybe someday, you’ll remember,” he said as he walked around the back of the truck and reached for the paints, brushes and easels she held and lifted them into the back of the truck.
He opened the door for her and helped her in, coming around the back of the truck after he’d closed the door. He’d paused and looked at her oddly for a moment before he closed his door, and then he turned around and looked at the paintings in the back.
“You know, you’re a brilliant artist. I could never do a portrait like that. It’s really coming together.” He turned in the seat after he’d started the engine and turned the heater on. He reached under the seat for the Thermos of hot chocolate that he never seemed to be without. “You could have a real future in it.”
Heat crept up her neck as she looked down at her feet. That was certainly something she’d never heard before. Certainly not in her house when she was growing up, and it was almost painful to hear now. And impossible to believe.
“Oh, I could never be a real artist. I’m not good enough. Believe me, I’ve heard that enough times,” she said as she took the cup he offered her and carefully blew on it.
“That’s ridiculous. Where’d you hear that?”
She looked away and out the truck window. She’d enjoyed her time with Tony—she’d never met anyone like him, in fact, and he made her feel comfortable, and safe—and hopeful. And in the past few days, she’d caught herself looking at him when he was deep in thought, or choosing a color and she was drawn to him in a way she’d never felt before.
She turned back at him and he was staring at her, waiting for an answer.
When she didn’t provide one, he said, “Mira, I want to know everything about you.”
She laughed and sipped her hot chocolate. “There’s not much to tell,” she said as she still wasn’t sure if she should tell him the truth. When she’d left, it had felt so big and hurtful that her decision made perfect sense. Now, she wondered why she hadn’t just been able to fix things on her own. She was an adult, after all. She could just picture him laughing at her when she told him she’d run away from home—at her age.
But he’d never met her mother. Marilee Walters Banks was a force to be reckoned with, a diva in her own right, on stage and off. It was hard to imagine, she supposed, unless you’d lived with it first hand.
“All right, then,” Tony said gruffly as he peered out the windshield at the clouds that now grew dark and threatening. Soft, white snowflakes landed on the windshield and Mira could make out their delicate shapes before they dissolved into water on the heated glass.
She looked up and he was watching, too, eyes glued to the shapes before they melted.
“We’re sure an exciting pair,” she said as she nudged him. “I don’t know too many people who are perfectly content watching snowflakes melt.”
He smiled at her and turned the engine over. “Yeah, maybe. We’d better get back, though. Looks like it might storm and the supplies are in the back.”
She hurried to finish her hot chocolate before he bumped back onto the road, and she sighed as the clouds spilled over the mountains, dark at the bottom and white on top, and she was sorry that their time together was over when he pulled up to her cabin.
Her heart fluttered and she remembered when he’d come to her house and strolled among her paintings—and how she’d thought he might kiss her. That seemed like a long time ago, and she felt like she knew him much better now. And the same thought crossed her mind, except this time, she wanted him to do it even more,
He followed her in the cabin and set Gorgeous George on his easel as she set her paints on the counter. He glanced around the room and turned back to where she stood, holding her breath.
“I meant what I said, Mira. I want to know everything about you,” he said before he leaned in and paused until she looked up at him. His deep, dark eyes moved her deep inside as they danced in the dappled sunlight. She hopefully tilted up her chin and closed her eyes, thrilled when she felt his warm lips brush against hers.
She sighed as he pulled away and brushed her finger over his lips as he smiled at her. Her finger moved to his dimple—something she’d wanted to do for a long time—and her fingertip tingled, just like she’d known it would.
He took her hand and kissed her palm. “I know you have the night off, but I’ve got to go in to work for a while. Charley’s off tonight and I need to see if things are going all right. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep? Tomorrow is enchilada day,” he said as he kissed her on the cheek.
“Oh, right,” she said as her heart fluttered. “I can’t wait to meet your grandmother.”
He stopped with his hand on the door knob and turned around slowly, winking at her. “I’m looking forward to it, too. See you tomorrow, Mira,” he said as he tipped his hat and headed out the door.
Later, as Mira sank into a bubble bath and closed her eyes, the tingle on her lips from the kiss startled her. It had been hours ago, and she could still feel it.
Her stomach tightened as she thought of everything he didn’t know about her and that now, when she really cared, she was afraid to say.
“Grow up, Mira,” she said to herself as she sank deeper into the water. She had to tell him. She was beginning to have strong feelings for him, and the longer she waited, the worse it would be. As she leaned back and inhaled the lavender scent that surrounded her, she decided that tomorrow would be the day. She’d tell him tomorrow. And if he thought she was silly, so be it. At least there would be no secrets between them any longer.
Chapter 13
In the time they’d spent together, Mira had found out a little bit more about his childhood, his friendship with the Westons and his grandmother—and he’d pointed out a picture of her in the lobby that they’d hung when she retired. It was amazing to her that the woman had been the original housekeeper when River’s End Ranch was just small, and she couldn’t wait to meet her.
She’d fallen dead asleep when she got into bed, and hopped in the shower when she woke up, groggy from missing an entire night’s sleep for almost a week now. One night hadn’t quite caught her up as she’d hoped it would. She was getting better at falling asleep “on command”, but not as good as staying awake when she was really tired. She hoped she’d be getting used to this routine soon, but in the meantime, she sure was enjoying her days with Tony.
She showered and dried her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail before she tugged on her clothes. She reached for the diamond necklace her mother had given her when she’d turned sixteen, feeling a little nostalgic that she’d be spending her first Thanksgiving alone in her entire lifetime, and she turned in the mirror as the sunlight streamed through the window, glinting off the stone.
After Tony had commented on the picture of her mother, she’d moved it from the kitchen to h
er dresser in the bedroom. She picked it up and tilted it toward the window, the sun sparkling on the rhinestones that graced the edge of the frame just as it had her necklace.
“I hope you’re having a good Thanksgiving, Mama,” she said to the woman behind the dark sunglasses, her expression hidden even more by the big floppy hat she wore as she looked out at the ocean.
She sighed and set it back on the dresser. She’d made her decision and left when her mother had delivered her ultimatum, and there was no turning back now. Thanksgiving or not.
Her stomach fluttered as she shrugged on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. As she stepped out into the cold afternoon air, she wiggled her nose and ducked her head against the wind. She was just about to the Old West town before she once again realized her error—no gloves or hat and she ducked into the general store to warm up and check the map Tony had drawn for her.
She rubbed her hands together for a moment as she smiled at the woman behind the counter. She reached into her pocket and drew out the paper, unfolding it and holding it toward the light. Before he’d left last night, he’d handed her a map to his and his grandmother’s house, but he’d also drawn trees, mountains, the Old West town and a stream that ran alongside the main River’s End Ranch compound, and at the bottom he’d written, “Over the River and Through the Woods,” and she smiled, even though the song would now be stuck in her head all day. She hadn’t paid much attention as he’d drawn the map, but it was very good...and almost seemed familiar.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked as she folded the map up and shoved it back in her pocket.
“Oh, thank you, but no. Just looking at some directions,” she said as she headed for the door, rubbing her hands together one last time before she struck out for the last leg of her journey.
Mischievous Maid (River's End Ranch Book 15) Page 6