Her Cowboy's Promise (Fly Creek)

by Jennifer Hoopes

  Adam choked. Painting lessons were one big euphemism for sex. Did she feel it? She had to. So how was she so calm? He risked a glance, and noticed her chest moving harder than normal. Her skin was slightly flushed around the collar of her shirt. Well, well.

  “Are your eyes closed?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Good. Now what do you see? What image comes to mind? Since you’re starting out, pick the simplest part of the scene in front of you, and we can start with that.”

  Adam shifted his weight. He had an image all right. But probably not what she expected him to paint.

  “Okay, open your eyes. What do you want to paint?”

  You.

  He met her curious gaze and smiled. “Clapton Field.”

  Her eyes softened, and she swallowed several times before saying, “That’s a good choice.” She looked to say more but shook her head. “The best works come when you try less for perfect detail and more for the bigger picture.”

  Adam’s bigger picture was starting to include more and more than he’d ever thought, but it was the details that messed it up. Details like his connection to Drew and his inability to live in a small town.

  Her hand slid across his and together they laid down the first color. Something he assumed would become a tree.

  “Did you feel how the paint moves across the canvas? If you force it, it fights back. Work within what you see and what you’re capable of.”

  Together, with her directing and him executing, they painted a broad picture of Clapton Field. Every once in a while she would add a little detail, leaning over him and bringing her scent and heat swirling through and directing all his attention to how much he wanted to unwrap her stroke by stroke.

  He’d just dipped his brush in blue when she leaned forward to add something. The result was a blue slash down her forearm.

  She laughed and reached for a rag.

  “Wait.”

  Emily met his gaze with a question.

  “You have something there.” He brushed her cheek leaving an identical blue slash to the one on her arm and reminiscent of their first meeting.

  Her eyes widened but before she could retaliate, he stepped closer and slid his free hand through her long brown strands.

  She came willingly to him, and the first contact of their lips exploded in a million tiny nerves all begging for more. He angled his head and swept deeper into her mouth. Then just as quickly as he initiated it, he pulled away and stepped back. Her hazel eyes fluttered, and he waited until she finally met his gaze. “Have you ever been painted?”

  “No,” she confessed. “Have you?”

  He shook his head. “But we can save me for another time. Tonight you’ll become my masterpiece.”

  Emily moistened her lips and glanced down. His body begged him to forget the foreplay, and he ordered it to behave. Tonight would be special. For both of them.

  Before he could formulate a plan, she stepped back far enough to grab the bottom of her shirt and lifted it off in one smooth move, revealing a silky purple bra.

  His heart pounded through his ears as blood flowed south. If he didn’t have a plan two seconds ago, he sure as heck wasn’t coming up with one now. A sultry laugh escaped her lips, and she proceeded to remove her yoga pants revealing a matching pair of underwear.

  “Your canvas awaits.”

  The gift of herself shattered what little resolve he had. This may be his first and last time with her. One chance to make her smile and sigh with pleasure. One chance to feel her in his arms, her breath tickling his neck. To taste her sweet mouth. To make a memory, an emotional connection that hopefully would bring a smile to her face many years down the road.

  “Are these paints safe for your skin?”

  She nodded. “They’re water based.”

  Adam picked a tube of green and squirted it into the little indentation of the tray. Dipping his brush, he turned her around and brushed her hair off her neck placing a kiss at the top of her spine.

  “Ready to become my first masterpiece?”

  He stroked the brush leisurely down the length of her spine, and Emily arched and shivered as the cool paint hit her skin.

  “Ah, ah, no moving or my stroke might miss its mark.”

  She turned and narrowed her gaze, but Adam pressed the brush to the base of her spine and she gave him her back once more. He let the brush trace first one globe, then the other, the bottom of a heart disappearing underneath.

  His own heart swelled with each little noise she made and encouraged him to produce another and another. He returned to the paint, choosing a purple similar to the clothing that currently enticed more than it concealed. Kneeling, he let his breath fan over the back of her thighs as he ran crisscrossing circles up the length.

  Breathing heavy, he leaned his forehead against a sleek thigh. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Yellow,” she sighed.

  Grabbing the yellow tube, he squeezed some on the tip of his finger and rubbed it between his hands.

  “Turn around.”

  She complied, her eyes heavy with desire. The look left his mouth dry, his entire body taut and ready to spring. Slender, muscular, and golden. She was a gift. One he didn’t deserve but would accept anyway.

  He ran his palms down her sides, the skin silky and smooth and gripped her hips, the paint leaving handprints and marking her temporarily as his. He stared at his work.

  “You were painting us downstairs.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement he knew to be 100 percent true.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  No explanation. No equivocation. Whatever else may or may not occur between them, Emily and he reached each other somewhere beyond the physical. The weight of the revelation settled on his chest urging him to claim this moment. Claim her and their connection and hope she arrived at the same conclusion.

  “I want the painting when you’re done.” He dove in for a kiss and maneuvered them step by step toward the bed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sound of seven Girl Scouts enthusiastically chanting had Emily caught between laughter and the need to search for ear plugs. Her gallery never contained this much noise even when a quartet of senior citizens got into a heated discussion over knitting needles. In fact, she hadn’t had this much emotion and interaction surrounding her since before Drew died.

  Just thinking of him didn’t close up her throat as it had just a week or so ago. Had she really turned her corner? Risen above the all-encompassing grief? If her night with Adam was any indication, the answer was yes. The trust she’d extended him, the moments of connection that had nothing to do with touching bodies and everything to do with unspoken words communicated through a look or a sigh or even a moan.

  “No, she didn’t,” one girl exclaimed, her eyes the size of saucers.

  “I swear. I saw it.” Mel replied.

  Emily smiled. These girls shifted conversation links every three words, and every single one of them followed the shift. Her head was dizzy, and she gave up after the transition from favorite color blue to blue jays on the hike to Polly being caught jay walking to walking in high heels to a pop star tripping on stage.

  Funny, she couldn’t recall her students ever being that way but then again she’d purposely shied away from memories of her teaching years. They were inextricably linked to Drew, who’d been a gym teacher at the school. But just these brief moments of cacophony brought back to the surface the joy of leading and watching young artists at work. She was seriously considering Shelby’s offer to teach a class or two at the ranch and might even approach the school district about evening or weekend classes.

  She glanced at Peyton in time to see her shaking her head, her hand ruffling her daughter’s black curls. Melanie showed no lingering concern from the awkward encounter the other night, broadly smiling at Emily when she bounced through the door, spirit instantly infecting every other girl already there. She currently held court, the other girls contributing but han
ging on the young girl’s every word.

  Emily whistled and all heads snapped in her direction.

  “Evening, ladies. I hear we’re hoping to earn a badge by tonight’s end.”

  Heads bobbed. Several girls glanced down at their sashes where their other accomplishments were proudly on display.

  “If you have fun, listen carefully, and let your imagination infuse your work, I promise each of you will walk out of here with an original piece of artwork and a new patch to add to your collection.”

  Claps and hoots circled around, and Emily gave her first instruction. The girls instantly warmed up to her and Emily was thankful. Her teaching background helped to focus them when they got off track, but they instinctively trusted her to lead them. The joy of that gift spread through her, lifting her heart and her step.

  She’d convinced Peyton to participate, using Peyton’s own party idea as ammunition for her agreement. Her natural flair, which her daughter clearly inherited, shone through in her painting. Her colors were slightly deeper than the girls’, who leaned more toward pastel hues despite the silver and gold palette on the sample. Even Peyton’s strokes were stronger and more contrasted. Emily gave a broad suggestion for each step but encouraged them to work with whatever they pictured in their minds. Everyone’s eyes viewed colors differently, so blue to one girl might border on green to another.

  Peyton and Emily were cleaning up a slight spill, initiated by one girl’s enthusiastic showing of her tree, when Melanie called to her mom. Peyton rounded her daughter’s canvas and her expression blossomed into maternal pride. Emily’s throat tightened, tears pinpricked the corners of her eyes, and she turned away abruptly.

  What the hell was that? She didn’t cry. Not anymore. But it was as if a layer, a veil, had been ripped away showing her something she’d never thought to look for. Something that was missing. Something that until that instant she hadn’t given a thought to in three years. Something she now wanted more than remembering Drew’s smile. More than extended time with Adam.

  Choosing to remain aloof from life…to be a bystander and not an active participant never seemed to have any drawbacks. There were no risks, and because emotions weren’t involved, she never felt she lacked anything. You couldn’t want what you didn’t feel. But that protective layer was gone. Dissolved in a puff of maternal pride. If she was being honest, it had peeked through the other day watching Adam with kids in the ring, but Peyton and Mel ripped it away like a Band-Aid, revealing a fresh wound she had no idea how to heal.

  She’d always wanted a family. She and Sofie joked about having babies at the same time so their children would grow up as close as they were. They would live in the same community, take their kids to dance or baseball. But that dream, that plan, drowned in the river with Drew.

  Hadn’t it?

  Emily made it through the rest of the class, but her revelation simmered just under the surface. Like a rug burn, every movement, every word, every look was a brush against the sensitive spot. Peyton cornered her at one point to ask if she was okay, and even though Emily waved her concern away, she was startled that someone who didn’t know her well, recognized her struggle.

  At the end of class, Emily took a picture with all her students proudly displaying their artwork. She wanted a memento of this breakthrough, both the positive step and the eye-opening one. The girls’ beaming smiles and beautiful canvases helped to soothe Emily’s churning gut. She promised each of them a copy and praised them again for such a wonderful job. She’d just placed her camera back on the shelf when Peyton came to stand beside her.

  “Thank you, again. This was a fantastic time and the perfect way for them to earn their badge. You’re very good with children. I think you said you were a teacher before?”

  “Yes, elementary school.”

  “Lucky for us that you’re putting that experience to use.” She smiled, and Emily returned the gesture. Out of nowhere, Peyton embraced her. “Thank you.”

  She gathered the girls to leave, but not before mentioning the paint parties, citing this night as an indicator of Emily’s proposed success. Emily stood rooted to the spot long after everyone had left. Closing her eyes she saw Peyton’s face beaming at her daughter. The image morphed into Emily smiling down on a tow-headed little boy. Pride overwhelmed her as he smiled up at her with crystal blue eyes.

  She opened her eyes gasping for breath. Pain and loss merging deep in her gut. She wouldn’t have it. She would never feel that warmth suffuse her. A little hand nestled in hers. Chubby fingers gripping a paintbrush. They were lost to her unless she took the biggest chance of all. Unless she opened her whole self up to a possibility that frightened her to even think it. How could she do that? How could she care again? Love again? Lose again?

  Eventually her mind returned to the present, no answers flashing a neon sign in front of her. She turned off the lights, locked the door, and snatched the envelope Peyton left with the check off the front counter. They’d argued about it. Emily didn’t want to accept payment for something she knew gave her far more than she provided the girls, but Peyton insisted and not surprisingly won. Opening it, she removed the check, intending on stamping it for deposit, when a piece of paper floated to the floor. Bending down, she picked it up, not quite shocked by what it said.

  If you ever need/want to talk. 555-0189

  Butterflies tickled her stomach, the good, anticipatory kind. She slid the paper in her back pocket, took care of the check, and then climbed the steps to her loft. It seemed crazy, especially since so many other scents constantly invaded her space, but she swore she could smell Adam’s aftershave. She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the steaming shower. Instantly, memories of her and Adam flashed before her, and she let the sensations combine with the heat of the water to both calm and excite her.

  What was she doing? How had a simple decision to go to a bar snowballed into life-changing moments? Since Drew’s death, her sole goal was to get through one day at time. She woke up and found a way through the day and then went to sleep only to repeat. It was a routine driven by desperation, and she never had to look forward because she knew how the day would begin and end. Her alone, wrapped in a shell devoid of feeling.

  Was that her misstep? That she’d never thought to look beyond the moments at the bar. That she’d never anticipated the Pandora’s box of moments and questions and, yes, regrets, that single Friday night at a bar would unleash. And just like Pandora’s box, she couldn’t gather them all back and shut the lid.

  The truth was, she no longer wanted to. Her time with Adam, with Peyton at the ranch, even her phone call with Sofie, all brought her step by step out of the protective armor she’d built after that day at the river. She’d been living instead of existing, and the biggest revelation, one that buoyed her more than any steps she’d taken so far, was that in living it didn’t make Drew any more dead. It didn’t tarnish her memory of him. The guilt over her survival that day would always exist, but it no longer was the axis by which her life revolved.

  As far as revelations went, finding out you could live a happy, full life took the cake, and when one made a revelation like that you wanted to share that with those who cared about you. Who you cared about?

  But their time was limited. Adam would leave come September, running away from his past again. She didn’t know when she’d put two and two together, but if anyone could recognize someone being led by their past, surely it was her. What if she wanted more time with him? How could she get that? Get Adam to see past whatever had him fleeing without knowing what the cause was.

  She turned off the water and toweled dry. Sliding into her bed, she curled up on her side, debating any number of ways to convince Adam to give them a shot. But it all came back to knowing about his past. And maybe the only way to get him to open up was for her to open up first.

  …

  Adam sat on his front porch listening to the sounds of summer, the bullfrogs at the river, the cicadas with their rhythmic
tuning. Taking a drink of his beer, he closed his eyes and let the tension drain away. It was another non-stop grind, as every day on a working ranch was. Trail rides, repairs, even a stint at the kiddy roping class. It was there that he heard about a lake rescue. A family visiting the ranch had overturned, several nearby boaters and a few ranch hands helping get everyone to shore. No one was hurt, thank God, but it was so reminiscent of Drew’s faked death, that all he could do was pray Emily didn’t get wind of it.

  Life was changing for her. It was like a warning on the breeze, and he knew things were building up to a climax. He just prayed when the time came, he would know how to handle it and the fallout.

  Headlights swept ahead as a truck came down the road and slowed. A second later, Mel’s head popped out of the back window and scanned the area. She spotted him and he waved.

  “Hi, Mr. Conley. Guess what I made?”

  The young girl said something to her mother and then hopped out of the truck and sprinted across the small lawn, bouncing up the steps two at a time.

  She proudly held up a canvas, and Adam took in the painting of a lane of Aspen trees.

  “I made it at Miss Emily’s gallery tonight. Isn’t it beautiful? I’m going to hang it above my bed. I made sure the colors worked in my room. Miss Emily said we could use our own judgment even though she called out suggestions. We’re on our way to show Grandma now.”

  Peyton stepped up on the porch, leaned against the rail, and smiled. “Emily did a wonderful job with the girls tonight.”

  Something in Peyton’s tone had him examining her closer. At best they were co-workers. Talked on occasion about nothing of any consequence. Mel had played in the river behind his cabin a couple of times, but they’d never shared a meaningful conversation. It was clear Peyton was angling to have one now.

  She was a striking woman, but one who blatantly held the male species with suspicion. She played her ice queen role in regards to the opposite sex brilliantly. You left each encounter with her never feeling slighted, but knowing a boundary existed and there would be hell to pay if you crossed it. There was a story there, whispers among the men on the ranch about Peyton and Shelby’s son, but Adam didn’t know all the facts and really didn’t care as he wasn’t planning on making Sky Lake and Fly Creek permanent. And truth be told he respected other people’s stories. If she’d wanted it shared, it would be shared.