Copyright
ISBN 978-1-61626-531-1
Copyright © 2011 by Darlene Franklin. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. niv®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Prologue
Bruce Wayne—at least that was the name he’d given to Kirby Kent—paced in front of the storage unit while his associate fiddled with the lock. He had a bad feeling about this. That puddle of water by the door suggested Kent hadn’t taken care of the goods as promised.
With a pop, the door unlocked and Kent rolled it up. “Okay, Batman, go ahead.”
Inside, hot air blasted him in the face. Dust motes danced in front of his eyes before landing on blown glass vases and delicate wood carvings partially wrapped against the elements. Who knew what damage the summer heat had done to the fragile objets d’art? “This everything?”
“Pretty much.”
The shifty look in Kent’s eyes made Bruce wonder if he had pocketed an item or two for sale on the side. If Kent had, Bruce wouldn’t know; he didn’t exactly have an inventory list he could check.
He picked his way among one-of-a-kind works of art peeking out of packing crates. After checking each one, he replaced them with more care than he had found them. His mother would love to see this stuff. “Where are the paintings?”
Kent pointed to the far wall, thick with quilt-wrapped bundles. Bruce removed one quilt to find several paintings stacked together, and his heart skipped a beat. Foolish, inept, careless. . .if any of the canvases had received so much as a scratch, Kent would pay, in more ways than one.
The first stack consisted of a trio of abstract paintings, impossible to judge for minor damage at a glance. He bypassed a stack of angel prints as sentimental. Or was it guilt? He snorted. He didn’t want any angels looking over his shoulder on this day.
Another group included urban landscapes, reminiscent of the scenery he had seen on the light rail line into Five Points here in Denver.
Last of all he encountered one thin bundle. A single painting, perhaps the pride of the collection. He peeled the quilt away.
Tall mountains like the ones that greeted his sight whenever he stared west down a Denver street dominated the canvas. Dark clouds shrouded the peaks. In one tiny crevice Bruce spotted a handful of figures heading for a crack of light. He sucked in his breath.
“I’ve found us a dealer,” Kent said.
Bruce jerked his head up. “No dealers. I told you that from the beginning.”
Kent shrugged, his hands panning the assortment filling the storage unit. “It’s a shame to let all this go to waste.”
“You haven’t been paid to think.” Bruce took out a stack of hundreds and counted out fifteen bills.
Kent frowned. “That’s not what we agreed on.”
“And this isn’t what I asked for.” Bruce gestured around the unit. “Move everything to a climate-controlled environment, and I’ll give you the rest.”
“Yessir, boss.” Kent tilted his cowboy hat back on his head. “How long we talking about?”
“A month to start with.” Bruce forced his lips into a smile. “I’ll know more as soon as I make a little trip.”
Phase one in his plan to reinvent himself: completed.
On to phase two.
One
Sonia Oliveira pivoted a full 360 degrees, not wanting to miss a single change. She took in the lighting—including a skylight—that reached every corner of the room, easels, plenty of shelf space, everything she had suggested and more. Her survey ended on the sign that read Welcome, Sonia! She allowed her breath to escape in a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s perfect.”
“So you have no regrets about accepting our offer.” A small grin played around the corners of Joe Knight’s mouth.
“None.” Any hesitation on Sonia’s part about the move fled in a moment of clarity. “I will gladly be the first artist-in-residence at the Trojan Horse Art Gallery here in Ulysses, Colorado.” And pray that over the next six months God gives me the peace that’s been missing so I can return to work. Already her fingers itched to break in the pristine brushes prepared for her use.
“Good.” Joe rubbed his hands together and glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes. Let me show you what I’ve done in the showroom.” Without waiting for a reply, he led her to the sales area.
Sonia followed Joe through the door to the front of the store. He had an instinct for display, almost as important to a gallery owner as his ability to recognize good art. Splashes of vibrant color along one wall magnified the impact of several of her angel paintings, while small wooden figurines chatted together atop a pedestal and Indian pottery took up another corner. She explored every nook and cranny of the store until Joe turned her around and made her look at the back wall. Unlike the rest of the room, the space was blank, waiting for a canvas. “Your new painting will hang there.”
Her mouth went dry. “God willing.” She coughed.
Joe brought her a cup of water. “There’s no rush. You’ll turn things around here. I know you will.”
She couldn’t abide his compassion. “So when is Michelle expecting me?”
“Whenever you’re ready.” He glanced out the front windows at the small trailer she had pulled behind her car. “No moving van?”
Sonia shook her head. “I travel light.” She didn’t want to drag too many remnants of her past with her on the odyssey she hoped would mark a new start in her life.
“Michelle can’t wait. She’s been busy getting everything ready ever since you finalized the details of the offer.” Even though Joe and Sonia had dated once upon a time, the glow on Joe’s face and the matching trill of excitement in Michelle’s voice when they had spoken by phone suggested everything was going well in the romance department for her two friends. But Sonia still wondered if her prior relationship with Joe would matter to her new roommate.
They left the store, and Joe locked the door behind them. While she followed his truck, she studied her surroundings. When she had visited Ulysses before, she had come as a guest. Now she looked around as a member of the community, at least for the short-term.
Late this Saturday morning several businesses were open. Joe turned a corner from the main drag, and she spotted a grocery store. She made a mental note to go shopping before sundown. Joe said the town closed for business on Saturday night and didn’t open again until Monday morning, all except for a couple of restaurants that accommodated the after-church crowd. She didn’t know towns like that existed anywhere in the United States anymore, but Ulysses was one of them.
Joe stopped in front of a small cottage, and she pulled into the driveway. Michelle, a lithe blond dressed in a pumpkin-colored sweater and sage-colored slacks, opened the door. “Welcome home!” She dashed forward and wrapped Sonia in an enthusiastic hug. “I have been so looking forward to your arrival. I’ve been missing middle-of-the-night girl talks Carrie and I used to have.” She released Sonia and urged her up the walk. “This way.”
“Carrie sends her love.” Sonia had met both Michelle and her close friend Carrie Romero a
few months ago, when Joe had wooed his now fiancée in a whirlwind courtship. For someone new to living in a small town, Michelle had adapted well. The cottage hummed with color and contentment, from fresh flowers on the table to the handcrafted items Sonia guessed were from Romania, where Michelle had served two years as a missionary. Michelle headed down a hallway and opened the second door. “This will be your room.”
Sonia had stopped following. Hanging above the fireplace, in easy view of people entering the cottage and those sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs, hung a familiar sight.
“You have one of my angels.” She leveled a look at Joe. Why didn’t you warn me?
A grinning Michelle reappeared. “Faith. I couldn’t resist. She was the perfect expression of the lessons God has been teaching Joe and me.” The couple exchanged a look of pure longing, and Sonia turned away. She didn’t begrudge them their happiness, but she felt like an unwelcome intruder.
“Anybody home?” a deep voice called.
The connection between Michelle and Joe broke. “Ty! Come on in. And I see you brought the rest of the gang.”
A small army entered—two men, two women, and two small redheaded girls. “Sonia, you’ve already met my mother,” Joe said.
“Nel.” Sonia resisted the urge to curtsy, something Joe’s mother always seemed to bring out in her.
“And my brother, Brian.” He waved at a man who could be his double, as well as his wife and their two children.
“But I haven’t met you before.” Sonia approached the one man who was a stranger to her, as tall as the other men but dark. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like my girlhood fantasies. Her stomach flip-flopped.
Before Joe could introduce him, the stranger stepped forward. “I’m Joe’s cousin, on our father’s side. Ty Knight.”
His voice held a trace of a gentle drawl. She considered. “South Carolina?”
“Virginia, actually. And you must be Miss Sonia Oliveira, the world-famous artist.” He brought her hand to his lips.
A Southern gentleman. Her heart did that flip-flop thing again. Ty looked the part, even dressed as he was in comfortably fitting jeans and a T-shirt that stretched the letters of Colorado across his chest. She bet he’d look even better in a football jersey. An interesting subject for a painting, if she could bring him to life. She’d think about that later. The time had come to move in.
“There was no need for all of you to trouble yourselves.” With this crowd, they could almost unpack the trailer in a single load. She’d put most of her things in storage, packed and ready to move back into an apartment when she returned to Denver in six months’ time.
The older girl—Pepper?—handed her a drawing of a house with the obligatory door, four windows, and peaked roof. “Welcome to Ulysses, Miss Sonia.” She curtsied.
The younger girl handed her a bouquet of flowers that almost matched the carrottopped color of her hair. “Uncle Joe said you’re the nicest lady.” She threw herself at Sonia in a hug.
Sonia took a half step backward, into Ty’s broad chest. His hands landed feather-light on her shoulders and settled her on her feet. “Whoa, there, Poppy. You almost knocked Miss Sonia down. Come on, I bet there are some things you can help carry.” He chased both girls to the waiting trailer. Joe snagged the keys from Sonia and followed.
Sonia allowed herself a moment to enjoy the view of Ty’s back before she joined them outside.
❧
So this was the famous Sonia Ty had heard so much about. The impression he’d formed from the descriptions he’d received led him to expect someone who looked like an urban gypsy, complete with head scarf and wrist bangles. The only hint of that vibrancy today was a bright-red scrunchie holding her dark hair away from her face.
Maybe she’d turned into a pale imitation of her old self after her best work was stolen and she lost her sense of direction. He had gathered that much from the little Joe had told him about the artist. His mouth twisted at the irony of it.
Sonia gazed west across the plains, in the direction of Denver. He joined her. “Not much to see, is there?”
“Joe would disagree with you.”
Ty chuckled. “Joe thinks Ulysses is heaven on earth. But on my behalf, I would also say welcome to our humble town.”
He received a shy smile in return. “Maybe what I’ve heard about Southern hospitality is true, if you feel compelled to welcome me when you’re a newcomer yourself.”
“I get the impression you don’t have to be a six-generation Coloradoan to belong.”
“Where does this go?” a girl’s voice piped in. Pepper.
“Duty calls.” Sonia turned in the direction of the trailer. Joe held a wooden crate. “Stop!” Sonia trotted over. “Leave that.” She peered into the trailer. “Everything on the left wall goes to the studio.”
Joe set the crate down and looked at Ty. “Come over here and make yourself useful, why don’t you?”
Perhaps Joe meant it as a joke, but Ty gritted his teeth. He reached for a medium-sized carton, figuring it was easy pickings. When he lifted it, he discovered it felt like Sonia had packed small boulders inside. He adjusted the weight. “Where does this belong?”
“The kitchen. I brought my pots and pans.” She shrugged. “I like to cook, and I prefer using my own things. I’ll make everyone a thank-you dinner as soon as I get settled in.” She looked straight at Ty as she said it, as if he would be her guest of honor.
He wanted to earn the title, so he pretended the box weighed next to nothing. “Good, I’ll hold you to it.” Planting his feet one in front of the other, he managed to get the box into the kitchen without dropping the contents.
“Oh good, that must be the cookware Sonia e-mailed me about. I cleared this space.” Michelle pointed to a freestanding whitewashed cabinet before disappearing in the direction of the bedrooms.
Unpacking dishes? Ty shook his head. He should be used to it. He had helped plenty of people move around during his college days but usually that meant putting together beds or hitching up a washing machine. He dug out a pocketknife to open the carton and plunged his hands into the newspaper-filled container. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sonia coming down the hall from the bedroom.
“How do you want to arrange your pots?” He had unwrapped the first item, a quart-sized glass measuring cup.
Her dark eyes lit up like blazing coals. “I can make almost anything with that cup and a whisk. In a pinch, I can make do with a stirring spoon.” She took the cup in her hands, flicking off an invisible bit of lint. “I’d like to wash these before I put them up. I wonder where she keeps her kitchen linens.” She set the cup in the sink and bent over to open the door underneath, pulling out a dishpan and a washrag. From the top drawer she grabbed a dish towel. “You can help me dry.” He handed her pots from the box. She squirted dish detergent into the water and swished the dishrag around until bubbles formed.
If he was going to get all domestic, he might as well take care of the newspaper as he unpacked. In the drawer below the dish towels, he found trash bags and started working his way through the box, setting pans on the countertop and throwing paper away. Near the bottom of the box he found a smaller box.
“I’ll take that.” Sonia opened it and took out an assortment of cooking utensils, including some murderous-looking knives.
Ty whistled. “Remind me not to come around you when you’re working in the kitchen.”
“What, afraid of a little swordplay?” She whirled around, pointing a steak knife at his chest. “En garde.”
He grinned. Here was the Sonia he had expected to meet—playful, flamboyant. In another century, she might have sailed aboard a brigantine with a pirate crew. “Maybe another time.” He examined the knife more closely. “This looks like good quality stuff.”
She shrugged, running the dishcloth over the knife and adding it to a growing pile in the rinsing sink. “For a time I wasn’t sure if I wanted to become a chef or an artist. My father thought I should
be a chef, since it seemed like a less risky career choice, and he bought the cookware for me.”
Ty could see his face reflected on the glistening stainless-steel surface. “Some gift.” He set it on the counter next to Sonia and dived into the box again. It seemed as bottomless as Mary Poppins’s carpetbag.
“Are you just visiting Joe, or will you be here awhile?” Sonia looked at him over her shoulder while she rinsed a pot cover.
Ah. The inevitable what-are-your-plans question between two single adults interested in each other. “I’m afraid I’m in the doghouse with my family back in Virginia. I guess it’s the twenty-first-century version of ‘send a boy out West, and he’ll come back a man.’ ” After emptying the box, he washed his hands and picked up the dish towel. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t followed the path laid out for them by their family.”
Sonia grunted an acknowledgment while she scrubbed an invisible mark at the bottom of a sauce pot. A strand of black hair fell out of the scrunchie and curled around her ear. He considered stacking the pots after he dried them. Better not. He might scratch something, and that would never do.
“What are you chuckling about?” Sonia looked sideways at him, and the loose curl tumbled over her eyebrow. She brushed it back with soapy fingers.
“Wondering what your reaction would be if I scratched one of these pans. Like this.” He held the bottom of the pot next to his mouth. “Screeeech.”
Sonia jumped, dropping a whisk back into the dishpan, splashing them both in the process. She grabbed the pot from his hands and turned it over and over. “Where’s the chalkboard?”
“Got the teacher every time. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The look she sent his way said she suspected that’s exactly what he meant to do. “And I apologize for soaking your shirt. So we’re even. Sort of.”
“No problem.”
She dug in the linen drawer for two aprons. “These might help.”
Ty eyed the ruffled item that would tie around his midchest and shook his head. “No thanks.”
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