Unconventional Series Collection

by Verna Clay

  Finally, Ryder lifted his hand, "Say no more. I'm convinced. Count me in. Let me know when the papers are drawn up and I'll have the money delivered to your attorney within two days."

  "Wise decision, my man."

  Ryder had grown weary of their conversation an hour earlier and wanted nothing more than to return to his home and lose himself in drink. For the sake of his health, he had stopped drinking heavily two years earlier; however, an occasional binge helped him keep his sanity.

  Charles said, "Before you leave, I want to show you two paintings I purchased in Ft. Worth while I was courting investors in that city. I'd appreciate your critique."

  Ryder stifled a groan. The last thing he wanted was to view paintings that were probably horrid, and then try to critique them in such a way as to not make Charles feel stupid for buying them.

  Charles continued, "I've hung them in my private office. They are so stark, as to be haunting. I am simply mesmerized by them.

  Pretending interest, Ryder followed Charles from the dining room and down a long hallway. When his host opened the door to his office, he moved aside to allow Ryder to enter first.

  Ryder stepped into the room and came face-to-face with two paintings, side-by-side. Immediately, he was stunned into speechlessness; the effect complete. In the first painting, the beauty of the countryside in the midst of a storm, painted only in muted blacks and grays, with trees bent into the wind, and a lone figure standing atop a rise, simply took his breath away. The figure was that of a woman in profile and wearing a pristine white bonnet, the only pure white in the picture. In a charcoal gray dress, she was heavy with child.

  Ryder's heart hammered at the familiarity of the brushstrokes. He glanced at the second painting. It was of the same countryside, with the same colors; however, it portrayed the deep of night with a full moon being the only white in the picture. The moon hung big and appeared to stand guard over a sorrowful scene of a man standing atop the same rise and gazing upward at it, perhaps seeking the answers to life. The man was missing an arm. Around him black trees bent forward as if to consume him.

  Charles stepped beside him and said, "If it weren't so ludicrous, I'd almost say that man was you."

  Ryder looked for the name of the painter, already knowing what he would find. In the right corner printed neatly was the name, J. Samson.

  Chapter Ten: Staring at the Past

  As soon as Ryder's coach returned home, he was out the door, not waiting for his driver to open it. His chest felt compressed, like bricks were squeezing out his ability to breathe. Rushing to the path alongside the porch, he followed it to his studio frantically searching his keychain for the odd shaped key. After several fumbles he finally inserted the key in the lock. Inside, he slammed the door and leaned against it, his breathing still labored. This was his first return to the studio since he had closed it the day after making love to Jenny. At that time, he had instructed his staff to never enter the room for any reason. Squeezing his eyes tight, he willed his pulse and breathing to slow. Finally, with the ability to breathe restored, he opened his eyes and waited for the inevitable emptiness to consume him. It did.

  For a long time he avoided looking at the settee and thick carpet where he had made love to Jenny. The image of the pregnant woman in the heartrending painting assailed his compassion. He forced himself to look at the settee and allowed the memory of Jenny's sweet mouth into his consciousness. "Oh, Jenny. I'm so sorry. What have I done to the girl so zestful for life; so full of vitality?"

  Pushing himself away from the door, an act requiring a superb amount of mental strength, he walked to the painting of the girl that still haunted him. Reaching for the drape he had replaced over the portrait, the last thing he had done before closing up the room, he tugged it off. Still, he averted his eyes, his fear palpable of seeing her again. Regardless of the quality of the painting, seeing her would forever seal the loneliness of his existence. Little by little, he turned his head to look at Jenny. Staring head on, he gasped, shook his head, closed his eyes, and looked again.

  Walking back and forth in front of the portrait, he perused it from every angle. Although the artistry was much different from his other works, it was superior in some ways. It was as Jenny had tried to tell him. He had created the ethereal woman, a vision of mystery. He had created a masterpiece.

  Suddenly, he walked to the tubes of paint on his table. Without conscious thought, he searched for the right colors, squeezing and blending them together. Quickly preparing his brushes and swiping dust aside with old rags, he finished what he had begun. He finished painting the wonder of Jenny. After that, he fell exhausted on the settee, sleeping until dawn. When he rose, caring not that he needed to shave and bathe, he began another painting. In this one, Jenny stood on the carpet wrapped in the meager coverlet with one breast almost completely exposed and her leg riding over the top of the blanket. Her hair floated around her and one arm was extended toward an unseen person. Her expression was that of a woman consumed by passion. Observers of the painting would mistake her ardor as being a woman for her lover. Ryder knew the passion he painted was that of Jenny trying to make him understand what she could see in his artistry and he could not.

  He painted for three days.

  After that, he returned to his house, bathed, slept, and then sent a courier to deliver a request that Jonas join him regarding an urgent matter.

  * * *

  Ryder waited in the library for Jonas to join him. His friend entered the room looking concerned and worried.

  "Ryder, I came as quickly as I could. Are you unwell?"

  Ryder sat in a chair with a book in his lap. He set the book on the table beside him and motioned for Jonas to sit across from him. He said, "I want to show you something. And then I want your honest opinion."

  "So you are not unwell? You made me rush over here to look at something?"

  "Yes."

  Jonas ran a hand through his black hair. "Ryder, from your cryptic note, you had me imagining the worst. What am I to do with you, my friend?"

  Ryder barely smiled. "I haven't the faintest idea how to answer that, since I don't know what to do with myself, either."

  Jonas sighed. "What is it you want to show me?"

  Ryder stood, "Come with me to the studio."

  Ryder led the way to the back of the house and then outside into a beautiful day with colorful autumn leaves floating against the backdrop of a pure blue sky. His awareness of the colors and his desire to capture them on canvas still astonished him. Of course, Jonas could dash his newly awakened awareness by proclaiming his paintings to be the sad attempt of a miserable man to restore even a modicum of what had been lost.

  Ryder opened the studio door and motioned to the canvases that were facing away from them. "Please give me your honest opinion."

  After a curious glance at Ryder, Jonas rounded the easels to look at the portraits. Unable to bear seeing the first expression to cross his friend's features, Ryder stared at the settee, allowing the rush of Jenny's memory to enfold his senses. He closed his eyes.

  Jonas exclaimed, "My God, Ryder, what have you done!"

  Fearing the worst, but resigned to it, Ryder looked at Jonas, waiting for his next words.

  "These are magnificent! I don't even have words to express how beautiful they are. Ryder, you painted these?"

  Ryder blinked, unable to comprehend his friend's words at first, and then he nodded.

  "Ryder, what's going on? You told me you couldn't paint with your left hand, but these portraits are exquisite. Of course, they're different from how you used to paint, but I find them more unique and…remarkable." Jonas paused for breath and then gasped, "That's Jenny Samson!" He lifted incredible eyes to Ryder's.

  "Yes."

  "She posed for you?"

  "Yes."

  "For the love of God, Ryder, will you stop speaking in single syllables? What the hell is going on? Are you the reason she left so abruptly? You told me that you made things right w
ith her."

  "Please sit down, Jonas, while I confide my utter stupidity."

  Chapter Eleven: Go Away

  Jenny put the finishing touches on her latest painting, stepped back, viewed the half-finished landscape, and sighed. As usual, it was dark, stark, dramatic, and sad. Like my life. Try as she might, the cheery paintings she had once created would not materialize. Sighing, she cleaned her brushes and determined that she would try again for a lighter note with her next piece.

  The gallery in Ft. Worth that sold her artwork had requests from patrons wanting to know when new ones arrived, but she was slow in producing them—only four or five a year. She still loved painting, but it was no longer her driving passion. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Her passion now was her two year old daughter, Joy. The child was as smart as a whip and captured everyone's hearts.

  Thinking about Joy reminded Jenny that Angel would soon be bringing her to the cottage from the main house. Jenny had moved into the caretaker's quarters at her brother's ranch after Boone and Marylou Keith had bought their own place the previous year. Although Jenny's pa and ma had been sad for her and Joy to leave their home, they had encouraged it so she could set up a real workshop. She had not painted after returning from New York and they had been ecstatic when she again expressed interest in her artwork. As usual, they had been right about what was best for her. Although she still suffered from melancholia, her outlook had improved over the past year.

  After closing the door to her studio, instead of waiting for Angel to bring Joy home, she decided to walk to the main house. Anyway, Angel needed a break. Between caring for Joy, so Jenny could paint, and Eva, her own three year old, as well as being four months pregnant, she had a tendency to overdo things; much to the displeasure of her husband. Of course, she was probably in the kitchen creating her latest piece of heaven. Although Angel was famous in Two Rivers for her apple pies and chocolate cakes, she was always experimenting with new recipes to the delight of everyone living and working at the ranch, aptly named by Luke, Slice of Heaven.

  Jenny smoothed her hands down the sides of her simple dress and laughed into the empty room, "You now have curves, Jenny. Eat too many of Angel's pastries and they'll become dangerous."

  Slipping on her bonnet, her gaze roamed her cozy living room and the latest clay sculpture Nate had carved for Joy—a prancing horse. At the age of fifteen, he was rapidly making a name for himself at the same gallery displaying Jenny's paintings. Just envisioning how awesome his sculptures would become when he reached his full potential gave her goose bumps. If Jake Ryder had done one thing right, it was to make lessons with Michael Santos, the premier sculptor in America, possible for Nate. Jenny amended her thought, No, the other thing he did right was sire Joy. Too bad he'll never know his daughter.

  On that sad note, the smile left her face and she stepped into the late afternoon of a day begging that the trees on surrounding hills be captured on canvas in their autumn glory. She was almost tempted to grab her paintbrush, but resentment toward Ryder still pricked her heart and robbed her of the desire as soon as it was born. His words still rang in her ears. Your paintings are artlessly poetic.

  Stepping off her small porch, she reached to shade her eyes and registered the approach of a single rider on horseback, but didn't pay much attention. Her brother's ranch was always a beehive of activity, with people coming and going. She retied her bonnet ribbons and repositioned the brim to shield her eyes from the sun. Something about the newcomer made her return her gaze to him. He remained motionless atop his horse, staring in her direction. His horse pranced and he expertly shifted the reins with one hand.

  Jenny gasped. Evident by the way the man's sleeve was attached to his side, he was missing an arm. He stilled the horse, returning his gaze to her.

  Ryder! Ryder is here!

  The shock of seeing him so immobilized Jenny that she could do nothing but gape. She wanted to flee back into her house and lock the door, but her feet would not move. He nudged his horse forward. Still, she could not move. When he came closer she saw that additional creases had etched the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. But other than that, he looked the same, and her heart thundered in her breast. She wanted to run to him and beg him to love her as she had once loved him. No! Her mind rebelled against her traitorous heart.

  Ryder halted his horse five feet from her. "Hello, Jenny."

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

  "I've come to see you. We need to talk."

  "You've come a long way for nothing because I have no intention of talking to you. You had your say three years ago."

  A flicker of pain crossed his countenance. It surprised Jenny, but years of alternately hating and loving this man had hardened her heart. She said coldly, "I want you to leave now!" He studied her face and it took all of her will power not to flinch.

  "Do you really mean that? Aren't you curious as to why I've traveled halfway across the United States to see you?"

  Without hesitation, she rasped, "No." But her heart silently cried, yes!

  Ryder removed his cowboy hat, dusted it against his chaps, gazed at the sky, and then back at Jenny's defiant posture. His next words sent her heart and mind reeling. "Jenny, do we have a child?"

  Jenny gasped and covered her mouth. Her reaction to his question and quick side-glance must have been his answer, because he said, "I thought as much. Do I have a son or a daughter?"

  Jenny could not speak, and after a long moment, Ryder promised, "We'll talk later," before flicking the reins and turning his horse toward the barn.

  Horrified, Jenny watched him talk to one of the hands who pointed to her brother walking out of the barn. Ryder dismounted and led his horse toward Luke. A couple of minutes later, Luke called to the ranch hand. Jenny's dismay increased when the cowboy accepted the reins of Ryder's mare and pulled her into the barn. Luke and Ryder then walked toward the corrals, deep in conversation. Jenny's brother was conversing with the father of her child!

  Jenny made a choking noise and rushed into the main house to find Joy. Angel was handing cookies to the girls. Joy looked up with a big grin. "Mama, want some cookie? I share."

  Jenny tried to look normal, but Angel perceived immediately that something was wrong. She said to the toddlers, "Eva, why don't you and Joy take your treats to your room and play with the dolls Grandma Abby made?"

  "We can take cookies to my bedroom?" Eva asked with big eyes.

  "Yes, sweetheart; just this once."

  "C'mon Joy; let's go feed cookies to our dollies."

  "Oh, yeth." The girls ran from the room.

  As soon as they were gone, Angel rushed to Jenny. "Honey, what's wrong. You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Jenny placed a trembling hand to her lips. "In a way, I have."

  Angel motioned to the table. "Let's sit down so you can tell me what's happened."

  Jenny sat in the chair Angel pulled out and placed her head in her hands. "Angel, I don't know what to do. Jake Ryder just rode up."

  Angel sounded confused. "Jake Ryder? The famous painter; the one whose academy you attended in New York?"

  "Yes," Jenny croaked.

  "I don't understand. Maybe he saw your paintings in Ft. Worth and he wants to purchase some."

  Jenny lifted her eyes to Angel's, her expression revealing what she had never told her family—the identity of the father of her child.

  Angel blinked when understanding slammed her. "Oh, my goodness. Does he know about Joy?"

  "I don't know. He asked if we had a child and I didn't answer him. Then he rode to the barn and dismounted. He's talking to Luke at this very minute!"

  Angel grasped Jenny's twisting hands. "We don't know what they're talking about, so let's not think the worst."

  "Oh, Angel, he's going to find out and want to meet Joy. I never meant for him to know. What am I going to do?"

  Angel hesitated. "Maybe he should find out. She's his child. Maybe he'll own up to his r
esponsibility."

  Unable to think of a fitting retort, Jenny gave Angel an incredulous stare.

  The kitchen door opened and both women's heads shot in that direction. Luke walked in alone. When he saw the women sitting at the table, he sighed, and said, "Jenny, looks like your secret is out. Jake Ryder just spilled the beans."

  Jenny groaned and asked hopefully, "Did you send him away?"

  Instead of answering, Luke walked to the kitchen sink, reached for a glass and poured water from a pitcher into it. After a long draw, he said quietly, "No, I didn't send him away. I hired him as a ranch hand."

  Chapter Twelve: Confrontation

  Jenny could not fathom what had possessed her brother to hire Ryder as a hired hand, and whenever she confronted him, he merely shrugged and made a remark about it being time for her to face her past. Even Angel, who had seemed confused by his action at first, now seemed to agree with him.

  When Jenny approached her parents about moving back to their home, they also sided with Luke. Now she spent her days hiding inside her cottage. Often, she would peek through the curtains to see Ryder leading horses in and out of the barn. After four days, she was so angry with her family and Ryder that she could spit nails. So far, Ryder had not approached her again.

  Joy was cranky most of the time and incessantly asked to go outdoors and play with Eva. The more Joy whined the angrier Jenny became. Finally, unable to bear another day of oppression, she lifted Joy into her arms, walked the short distance to the back door of her brother's home, and entered the kitchen. Angel smiled and stopped stirring the batter for whatever she was creating.

  "Jenny, I'm so happy you're here. Eva's been crying every day for Joy."

  Joy hollered, "Eva," and struggled out of her mother's arms.