Painted by the Sun

by Elizabeth Grayson

  "I think it's only the money Ty earns that's been keeping them afloat since they came down from the mountains," she mused.

  "Was Ty's father any different then?" Cam asked.

  "I only saw them together for a few minutes and didn't realize how much Morran depended on Ty," she answered. "I think his father began to drink out of loneliness and grief when Ty's mother died, and I'm sorry for him. But damn it, Cam, that boy needs someone to look after him, too. He needs a home and security. He needs to be in school."

  "If they're settled here in town," he offered, "I could have the truant officer look in on them."

  Shea thought that over, then shook her head. "If you did, I'm afraid they'd disappear into the mountains again."

  "Then I think you're doing all you can. You're befriending Ty, giving him work—"

  Shea shook her head, dismissing her own efforts. "It's not fair that there are people desperate to be parents who don't have a child," she said bitterly, "and parents who refuse to look after the children they have."

  Cam saw her eyes sheen bright with tears and saw her touch the locket that lay at the base of her throat. For a moment he thought she was going to explain about the children in the photographs, the children from the orphan trains. But just then Owen appeared at the half-open doorway.

  "Boys are back," he reported.

  "Thank goodness," Shea breathed and stepped away.

  Cam couldn't be sure if it was the boys' return or avoiding the conversation they'd been about to have that pleased her more. He pushed to his feet and followed her into the reception area.

  Shea skimmed a hand along Rand's shoulders in gratitude on her way to where Ty was standing just inside the door. She smoothed his hair, his tear-smudged cheek, then hugged him against her.

  "Are you truly all right?" she asked softly.

  Cam draped his arm around his son. "Where was he?"

  "Down at the river throwing rocks."

  After the scene Ty's father had made tonight, it seemed a remarkably reasonable thing for a boy to do. "I'm glad you and Emmet brought him back. Shea's been worried."

  Rand slid his father a knowing glance. "I figured she would be."

  Cam pulled Rand closer. Across the entry hall he gave Emmet a grateful nod. Emmet had proved his friendship twice tonight.

  It was as Ty was trying to apologize for his father that Owen exclaimed that one of the portraits was missing from the display in the entry hall.

  "Now whatever could have happened to that photograph?" Shea wondered aloud, going to inspect the gap in the double row of pictures. "We put those up just this afternoon!"

  Cam noticed Ty's eyes widen as he stared at the empty space. "Well, I didn't take it!" he declared hotly.

  She turned to him. "My heavens, Ty! No one said you did! Besides, what would you want with a portrait of a perfect stranger? What would anyone want with it?"

  Cam saw something in the set of Ty's shoulders and the sudden dip of his head that made him wonder if Ty knew more about the missing picture than he was letting on.

  "You don't have any idea about who might have taken that print, do you, Ty?"

  Ty looked up, desperation crimping deep, tight lines into that childish face. "No!" he answered. "I don't know a thing about that photograph!"

  Cam took care to nod as if he believed him.

  Chapter 10

  When Shea unlocked the door to the studio the Monday morning after the opening, three people were waiting on the stairs to see her photographs. Notes began to arrive at midmorning, requesting appointments. Two buxom, well-dressed sisters stomped up the stairs just after lunch and demanded that she make their portraits immediately.

  As Shea posed the first one in the velvet armchair beneath the skylight, she couldn't help asking, "And how did you find out about my studio?"

  "Oh, my dear!" she answered, beaming up at Shea. "When we saw the article in the newspaper and read how you and Judge Gallimore had befriended that young boy, sister and I said to each other, 'Now there's someone we ought to patronize,' and here we are."

  "There was an article in the newspaper?"

  "You mean you haven't seen it?" The second sister produced a copy of the Rocky Mountain News from her voluminous canvas shopping bag. "It makes you quite the heroine."

  Shea scanned the column on the second page. It was more or less a factual account of what had gone on Saturday night, except that it portrayed Cam and her as if standing up for Ty were more than common decency.

  Maybe this newspaper story was why Ty hadn't come by the studio this morning, Shea thought as she removed the lens cap on the camera and counted to ten. Maybe Sam Morran had seen it and wouldn't let Ty come.

  Though the reporter had given neither the child's nor his father's name, Morran would surely recognize himself, and there was no telling how he'd react. When she'd met Morran up in the mountains she thought he was a negligent father, but one who truly cared for his boy. After Saturday night, she wasn't sure what kind of father he was, and she worried about Ty's safety.

  As she posed and photographed the second of the two sisters, Shea's nerves began to hum. Once the women left, she grabbed up her jacket and set off to find Ty.

  But Ty wasn't working for Mr. Johanson at the livery stable this afternoon. He wasn't sweeping up at the mercantile, and when she peeked through the doors at the Golden Spur, she couldn't see any sign of him there, either. The only other place Shea could think of to look for him was the shack the Morrans had rented down by Cherry Creek.

  Though she tried to convince herself she wasn't afraid to face Sam Morran, Shea found herself standing in front of the building where Cam kept his office a few minutes later. Without taking time to consider the coincidence, Shea climbed the stairs, passed through the well-appointed outer office, and knocked on the door to the private one beyond it.

  When Cam shouted for her to come in, she passed from the impersonal neatness of that outer room into the warm, tempest-tossed chaos of the sunny corner office. The overflowing shelves and filing cabinets, the tipsy towers of books and sheaves of papers, the yards of unruly clutter all belied the calm, well-ordered mind of the man who sat at his crowded desk with his back to the bank of bowed corner windows.

  Shea scuffled her way through the crumpled foolscap pooled on the floor around the wastebasket and confronted him. "Have you seen the newspaper?" she asked by way of greeting.

  Cam looked up from what he was writing. "Ridiculous pap," he snorted. "All we did was stand up for the boy."

  Shea nodded in agreement. "Indeed it is. Still, I'm worried that Mr. Morran has seen the paper and taken it out on Ty. He was supposed to be at the studio first thing this morning, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of him."

  "Do you think Morran would hurt the boy?" Cam asked with real concern.

  Shea shook her head. "I don't believe he meant to put Ty in jeopardy Saturday night, but I don't trust him. Who knows what he might do if he's seen this story? I've been looking all over town for Ty and no one's seen him. I want to go over to where they live, but I—I—"

  "Would you like me to go with you?"

  "Oh, yes!" Shea exclaimed, and was halfway down the stairs by the time Cameron had grabbed up his coat.

  The weather-beaten shack where Ty and his father lived was tucked into the alley behind one of Denver's most notorious saloons. While Cam rapped on the battered door, Shea danced a little from cold and nervousness.

  If she could just see Ty was safe, perhaps the snarl of concern in her belly would ease; if she could just make sure he'd be at the studio tomorrow, she'd be able to breathe. She didn't need to lay hands on him, she told herself. But if he wasn't here, she wouldn't rest until she knew what had become of him.

  "Pa?"

  Shea heard the hopefulness in Ty's voice as he pulled open the door; she saw how his face fell when he realized who it was. She recognized that she wasn't the only one worried about someone today.

  "Hello, Ty," Cam greeted him.

>   Ty looked them up and down. "What are you doing here?"

  "When you didn't come by the studio this morning like you promised, I thought I'd come and find out where you were," Shea said, trying not to sound anxious and proprietary—and failing miserably.

  Cam looked down at the boy. "Your pa's not at home?"

  "No, sir," Ty answered.

  "Do you know where he is?"

  The boy shrugged, trying to pretend it didn't matter. "Some men from up in the mountains came by Saturday afternoon. It's them that took Pa drinking and got him all riled up. It's their fault he was the way he was at the party."

  Shea supposed that was about as much explanation for Sam Morran's behavior as they were likely to get. Now that Ty mentioned it, she had recognized a couple of the men from the mining camp in the crush at the studio.

  Cam laid his hand on Ty's shoulder. "And your pa?"

  Ty hung his head. "I left him at the Golden Spur Saturday night. I ain't seen him since."

  As dismayed as she was to find that Ty had been alone here all this time, Shea couldn't help drooping a little with relief. If Sam Morran was still carousing—or sleeping off a drunk—he probably wouldn't see the article in the newspaper.

  "Then why don't you come back to the studio with me?" she suggested. "We've got cookies and cake left over—"

  "No, thanks." Ty cut her off, then stood staring down at the toes of his boots. "I—I'm not sure I can keep sweeping up for you, either."

  Shea's belly flip-flopped. If Ty wasn't coming by the studio, she'd have no way to keep an eye on him. "Did you decide that," she asked him, "because your father doesn't want you seeing me?"

  Ty's gaze came up to her, those pretty brown eyes dark with worry. "I'll cause trouble if I come," he said. "Bad things will happen."

  "Oh, Ty," she said, reaching out to him. "I won't let any bad things happen."

  Yet here she was standing on his doorstep because she'd been afraid for him. She hadn't been able to prevent his father from belittling Ty in a roomful of strangers, or from manhandling him, either. How much trouble would she cause him, if she persisted?

  She looked to Cam, willing him to come up with some way they could help.

  He hunkered down and spoke to Ty in that quiet, earnest way of his. "Has your father been treating you all right, son? He doesn't hit you, does he?"

  Ty's chin came up. "Oh, no! Pa never hits me."

  "Because if he hurts you there are things judges can do to make him stop," Cam said softly. "There are places you can stay where you'll be safe."

  "He'd never hurt me on purpose," Ty denied. "Please, I want to stay with him. He's my pa."

  Cam looked up at Shea as if he were seeking her sanction, then turned back to the boy. "Of course you can stay with your father. But I want you to know I'm going to keep an eye on things. Is that all right?"

  Shea saw Ty nod before Cam continued. "You know you can come to Shea or me if you need us, don't you, Ty?"

  The boy fidgeted and stared at his boots.

  "You know we'd help you no matter what."

  Ty glanced up, quick and disbelieving. "No matter what?"

  The boy's incredulity tore at Shea. How long had it been since Ty had had someone he could turn to or depend on?

  Cam's voice deepened. "We're friends, Ty. You and Shea and Rand and me. Friends help friends—always. No matter what."

  Shea could tell by the shine in Ty's eyes when he looked at Cam that he believed him.

  "You'll remember that, won't you, Ty?" Cameron insisted.

  "I'll remember," the boy promised. Then, as if he'd accepted all he could from them, he ducked back into the cabin and shut the door.

  "Do you think he'll really come to us if he's in trouble?" Shea asked as they made their way up the garbage-strewn alley toward the street.

  "I think we've done all we can right now."

  Tears simmered at the back of Shea's eyes. "If he were mine," she promised fiercely, thinking of Rand, "I'd take such good care of him."

  "I know you would."

  "I'd see he got enough to eat and had a clean bed to sleep in." Her voice quavered. "I'd make sure he went to school, and I'd keep him safe. I'm not sure that little boy back there has ever had anyone who made him feel safe!"

  Her throat ached with the conviction. Shea herself had only begun to rediscover what safety was and to mark the distinction firsthand.

  "You've done everything you can for him, Shea," Cameron assured her gently. "He trusts you; he likes what you can teach him. He'll come back to the studio when he feels he can."

  Shea let her breath out on a sigh. "Somehow that doesn't seem like much."

  As they turned up Larimer Street, Cam slid her a smile from beneath the curve of his mustache. "You know, Shea, you should have a child of your own someday."

  His soft, half-teasing words ignited a fierce, raw heat beneath Shea's ribs. They ignited a firestorm of guilt, a sear of terrible confusion, a flare of hope and wonder and regret.

  I do have a child, she wanted to shout at him.

  Some miraculous twist of fate had brought her face to face with the boy she thought she'd lost. After years of wishing and yearning and seeking, she had finally found her son. Through circumstances too extraordinary to question, she was able to see him every day, share a portion of his life.

  Now that that child had become a real and essential part of her life, she ached to acknowledge him. Though Cam was the very last person on earth with whom she should share this secret, Shea wanted to tell him about her boy—not who he was, or that she'd found him—but that she'd had a child to love, once long ago.

  The secret she'd kept so long—and so well—pressed up her throat. She came so close to speaking the words that she could taste the sweetness on her tongue. She could sense the relief she'd feel by admitting the truth.

  "I do have a child," she whispered.

  She thought she'd spoken softly enough that Cam might not have heard, but he stopped right there in the middle of the street. He caught her hand and turned her to face him. "You do?"

  Hot color flared into her face as the full scope of what she'd revealed caught up to her. In telling Cam about her son, not only had she acknowledged her boy, but she'd opened the door to scores of questions. If he asked, she'd have to own up to being a woman of easy virtue, to the shame of bearing a child who had no father. Why hadn't she remembered the contempt she'd seen in people's eyes when they realized she'd borne her child unwed and alone, when they realized her son was a bastard? Could she bear to see that in Cam Gallimore's eyes when he learned the truth? Could she face either his questions or his scrutiny?

  "But, Shea, where is your child?" Cam asked her, still clasping her hand.

  To say more would mean owning up to what she'd done, to becoming an outcast all over again. It would mean courting the censure of a man she liked and respected. A man who could keep her from Rand if he found her an unworthy companion.

  Old, enduring guilt and bright, new fear pierced her vitals. She jerked her hand out of his grasp and fumbled for words to fob him off. "It's a very long story, I'm afraid," she said and started off up the street.

  Cam caught her in three long strides. He caught her hand again and drew it through the crook of his arm. "I'm a lawyer, Shea," he said, falling into step beside her. "I like long stories. You can spend the rest of the afternoon telling me this one."

  * * *

  Shea stood in the tall, bowed window of Cam's office staring up Larimer Street. Though the sun beat warm through the glass, it could not penetrate the stone-cold dread that lay at the very heart of her.

  What had she done?

  She linked her arms across her waist as if she could hold tight enough to keep from coming apart. Behind her she could hear Cam making tea, setting the kettle on the wood stove, unearthing a teapot and canisters from the tumult of that cluttered office.

  As he boiled and brewed, as the windows steamed and a faintly herbal scent filled the air, She
a tried to fathom what had possessed her to talk about her child. She supposed that seeing Rand every day had made him real to her in a way he'd never been before. Smelling the chalk and cold on him when he came in from school, wrapping her arms around him and guiding his hands as he focused her big box camera, shaping his observations of a world he was just beginning to discover had put a face on the phantom she'd been chasing. It had made it impossible for her to deny her son a moment longer.

  Shea just wished she'd found someone else to confide in.

  "Tea?" she heard Cam ask.

  With a shiver of dread, she turned from the window and saw that he was offering her a delicate porcelain cup and saucer. While the tea had been steeping, he'd cleared the clutter from the two leather wing chairs that sat before his desk and was waiting for her to join him.

  Reluctantly she skirted his broad desk and closed the distance between them. Taking the teacup into her trembling hands, she lowered herself into one of the chairs.

  Cameron settled in the opposite one and sipped his tea. "So tell me about your boy," he invited.

  "My boy?" she echoed. His assumption surprised her. "How can you be sure my child is a boy?"

  Cam appraised her over the rim of his cup. "I've seen the affinity you have for Rand and Ty, so I thought you might have a son—maybe one about their age."

  A chill trickled down her back. Cam was far too bright, far too perceptive. He knew things without being told, knew them with a sharp and almost uncanny intuition.

  "He is about their age," she admitted almost reluctantly.

  "And where is your son that he isn't with you?"

  She stared down into her cup breathless and terrified, knowing exactly where her answer would lead. "I'm not entirely certain where my son is."

  "Oh?"

  Shea heard a thousand inflections in that single word, and she didn't know how to respond to any of them. How could she reveal to this fine, upstanding man the things she'd done and watch disillusionment steal across his features? How could she deliberately tell him things that would taint his opinion of her forever? How could she risk his friendship when it meant so much to her?