by Jillian Hart
Before he could say anything, Alexa asked, “Why didn’t you tell us you were drawing for the Barnyard Town series?”
Because I would never have a moment’s peace with you two hounding me about the pictures. “We’re still in the talking stage. Nothing is finalized.”
“What’s there to—finalize?” Abbey cocked her head to the side. “You draw pictures and she needs someone to draw since Uncle John can’t anymore. It’s wonderful.” She exchanged a look with Alexa. “We can help you.”
Alexa nodded.
That’s what I’m afraid of.
Abbey patted the small chair next to her and pretended to pour some nonexistent tea. “The cookies are great.”
Ellie’s lips pressed together in a thin line as he settled his large frame on the tiny seat. “I can attest to that,” she said. “I didn’t have breakfast and I had two. I’ll take some more tea, Abbey.” Was she laughing at him?
While his daughter filled Ellie’s cup, the woman’s attention focused on Abbey, he studied her. Twenty-nine and a huge success, yet it seemed as though she went to pretend tea parties every day. Her smile encompassed her whole face and made it appear as though it was only for the child she was talking to. But what arrested him were her gray eyes. Expressive.
As if she realized he was staring at her, she glanced at him. He read amusement in those startlingly compelling eyes. He would love to draw her in charcoal. No oils or acrylics. A portrait that captured that face—not beautiful, but intriguing. From an artistic point of view only, he thought, and broke eye contact.
He swallowed hard, shifting in the chair and almost tipping it over. He steadied it and snatched up a cookie while his other hand clutched the sweatpants in his lap. “I brought you something to wear until your jeans dry. I know they’ll be too big for you—” his gaze skimmed her petite frame, hardly out of place at the children’s table “—but they’re dry.” He thrust the sweatpants at her. “There are socks in the pocket.”
“That’s sweet.” She scanned the room. “Where can I change?”
His daughters hopped to their feet saying in unison, “We’ll show you.”
Ellie left the playroom with Alexa tugging her hand. Half a minute later he heard footsteps pounding down the staircase. Brody relished the ensuing silence because it wouldn’t last long. He sensed Ellie had returned to the playroom before he turned and saw her by the doorway, a pensive expression on her face. She needed to talk to him. She’d come all the way up the mountain in a snowstorm and it wasn’t because she’d loved his new illustrations. He could use the money, but was it worth it?
“The girls took my jeans to put them in the dryer.”
She was wearing his sweatpants, the pant legs pooling on the floor. She must have them clinched as tight as the drawstring allowed, but his long-sleeve T-shirt hung down covering her waist. Not bad. At all. Again he thought she would be great to sketch. High cheekbones. Pert nose. Beautiful eyes. A long, slender neck. Short auburn hair that framed her face perfectly. He shook his head. They were business partners—at least for the time being. He’d loved one woman and her death had taken his desire to appreciate high cheekbones and a pert nose. Ellie was unsettling him.
She moved across the room and retook her seat, her hand resting on her thigh. “This is much better than those wet jeans. Thanks for thinking of it.”
He glanced toward the door. “I wonder what’s taking the girls so long.”
She chuckled. “Probably something else caught their fancy. They were telling me about the ice-carving contest at the First Night celebration tomorrow.”
“That’s one of their favorite events. Last year someone made a castle like one in a fairy tale. They loved it and were sad to see it melt. I can’t imagine spending hours on something like that and it only lasting a few hours.”
Her elbow on the table, Ellie settled her chin in her palm. “I know what you mean. I want something I create to last.”
“Yes, I guess you would.” A connection sprang up across the short distance that separated them. He wanted to deny it, but he couldn’t. She understood the creative mind.
“Once I was working on a story, and before I had a chance to save it, my screen went black. I lost it. From that day forward an automatic online service backs up my computer constantly.”
“You didn’t save as you were going along?”
“I usually do, but that day I got caught up in the story and lost track of time.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes I’ll be working, and before I know it, the girls are home from school and the whole day has flown by.” He paused. This connections was more than unsettling.
“I love it when it’s like that. It beats eking out a few words at a time. That’s murder.”
“Or staring at a sheet of paper or canvas and nothing inspires you.” Which was what was happening with her book.
“Right. You get what it’s like to be blocked.” Ellie relaxed her shoulders and sat back. “You have two cute daughters. I bet they keep you on your toes.”
“I hardly have to work out, that’s for sure. We’re outside a lot—active. And they have vivid imaginations. We discovered a cave once and, of course, a treasure chest had to be inside. But before we’d taken a couple of steps into the dark cave, they decided it was the home of a bear and ran down the mountain screaming. I could hardly keep up with them.”
“Ooh, that’s good!” she said, smiling. “I may have to use something like that in one of my Barnyard Town books. Have Henry and Calvin go on a hike and discover a cave filled with adventure.”
“I love Henry,” Alexa said from behind Brody. He hadn’t heard them come back in. He really should put bells on their shoes.
Abbey sat in the chair next to him. “Calvin is better than Henry.”
Brody released a long sigh as his daughters launched into an argument about it. He tuned out what they were saying and assessed Ellie’s reaction as Alexa and Abbey went back and forth. She seemed intent on keeping up with them—something he usually gave up on after a minute. But not Ellie.
“So which one is your favorite?” Abbey finally asked Ellie.
She tapped the side of her chin. “Hmm. That’s a tough one. I like each one for a different reason, but I guess if I had to pick just one it would be...” Pausing, she pursed her lips.
“Who?” both girls asked, each bending closer to hear.
“My newest one. Petunia.”
“Henry’s girlfriend.” Alexa drilled her gaze into Abbey.
Abbey’s mouth turned down. “Why can’t she be Calvin’s?”
Alexa perched her fist at her waist. “Duh. Because he’s a dog.”
“Girls, no arguing,” Brody said, secretly relieved his daughters had interrupted. When Ellie had talked about the creative process, he’d felt a kinship with her that he refused to feel with a woman again. When Irene died giving birth to his daughters, he vowed he wouldn’t get that close to anyone again. Her death had ripped a hole in his heart. He’d been the one who had wanted children.
“Tell you what, Abbey. I’ll think about introducing a girl dog after Petunia settles in at the farm.”
“You will?” Abbey sat up straight and tossed a smug look at her twin. “Ha. Calvin doesn’t need Petunia. He’ll get his own girlfriend. A better one.”
Before his daughters launched into another argument, Brody turned to Ellie. “I thought I could show you my studio. We have time before lunch.”
Abbey jumped to her feet. “We’ve been in his studio tons of times, Ellie. He’s been giving me and Alexa drawing lessons in there.” She leaned toward Ellie and whispered, “We can’t go in the studio without Daddy.”
“Right now I need to talk with your daddy. Later I’ll tell you a story I’m thinking of doing next and you can give me your opinions. Okay?”
/> Eyes like saucers, both girls nodded, quiet for a few seconds.
Ellie rose. “I had fun. Y’all throw a great tea party.”
Abbey blinked. “We can help you with your story. Is that what you said?”
“I love getting kids’ input. After all, these books are for y’all.”
“Will you sign our Barnyard Town books?” Alexa darted toward a bookshelf at the other end of the playroom.
“Girls, we’ll see you later. If she wants to sign them, she can then,” Brody said before his daughters had Ellie’s attention again.
Abbey opened her mouth to say something. He held up his hand, palm out. “Later. Right now go downstairs and help Marta set the table.”
Alexa and Abbey looked at each other. Seconds later they rushed out of the room with Abbey saying, “Maybe she’ll let us help her mash the potatoes.”
“That probably wasn’t my wisest suggestion. We may not be eating until one or two.”
Ellie glanced toward the window, a frown lining her face. “It’s snowing harder. Even if it stops soon, how am I going to get my rented car out of the snowdrift?”
He turned to stare at her. “A snowdrift? You didn’t tell me you went off the road.”
“I was so startled by the snowball, I must’ve forgotten to mention it. That’s why I walked past the girls’ fort. I had to abandon the car. Didn’t you see it? It’s not far, through the trees.”
He’d been so wrapped up with Ellie’s unexpected visit he hadn’t noticed. Striding to the window, he peered outside. He couldn’t see the end of his driveway because of the driving snow.
“Let’s check the weather station and see what’s happening in Snow Falls. It may be too late for you to leave, even if we could get your car unstuck, especially if they’ve closed the road.”
“Closed the road? You mean I might be trapped here?”
CHAPTER THREE
“IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE STUCK,” Brody said, turning off the weather station. He sounded nonchalant about it. Of course. He wasn’t a woman stuck at a relative stranger’s house without her makeup and clothes, which were sitting in her room at the Wildwood Lodge.
“Overnight?” Ellie stared out the window at the thick, falling snow and knew the answer to that question—had when she crawled out of her rented car and trudged toward his house.
He nodded. “Unless it lets up all of a sudden and the snowplows can get out. Even then it will take a while because my house is at the top of the mountain. I do have a friend who lives farther down who can pull your car out of the snowbank, but not in this weather.”
“Why couldn’t you live right in Snow Falls? Then this wouldn’t be a problem.” Ellie dug into his sweatpants’ pocket and pulled out her cell. No bars. She gritted her teeth. “No reception.”
“There never is up here.”
“How do you get internet? I know you have it. We’ve emailed back and forth.”
“I have a landline and my internet is dial-up.”
She breathed a long sigh. “Then I can call the hotel and find out what’s going on down below.”
“Sure. One is downstairs in the hallway.” Ellie marched out the door into the upstairs corridor, which was a feat in itself with the oversize sweatpants.
Making her way down the staircase carefully, hoping she didn’t trip, she couldn’t shake the notion she was wearing what he usually did. The thought accelerated her heartbeat.
There was something about Brody Kincaid that appealed to her and yet at the same time warned her off. John had said he was reclusive, especially after his wife died in childbirth. She’d known he was a father, but nothing about how old or adorable the two girls were. Maybe that was it. She wanted to have a family—be a mother—but she’d never found the man who would fit into her life. She’d dated an accountant once, but he’d never understood her creative needs. The way Brody did.
She was nearing thirty. Time was running out if she wanted more than one child, and she did. She lifted the receiver to her ear and called the lodge. Five minutes later she hung up from talking to a staff member at the front desk with the verdict. She was trapped. With a single man who shared her creativity. A single dad who clearly liked children. Interesting.
“What did they say?” Brody asked behind her.
She spun around, embarrassed by her train of thought. “It’s snowing in town, too, but not as much as up here. The weatherman has changed his forecast to snow for the next twenty-four hours on this side of the mountain. The town should be fine.”
“I know that one of the events for the First Night celebration is a play from your book Winter’s Folly because the girls insisted we go there no matter what. What time do you have to be at the playhouse?”
“Five. The play starts at six. I’m narrating it and then having a book signing afterward.”
“My drawing lesson for the kids at the lodge is at three. If it stops by ten or eleven, that’ll give the snowplows several hours to get the main road cleared. We may be last, but it shouldn’t take more time than that.”
“I have to be at the town square in the early afternoon to open the festivities by starting the ball countdown to midnight at one.”
“That may be a problem. It’s eleven-thirty right now. Even if the snow stops in twenty-four hours, I don’t see how we’ll make it. But it could stop earlier. There’s no telling with the weather around here.”
“Great. What should I do?”
“Call your contact and let him know what has happened.”
“That’s the mayor. I left that info in my hotel room.”
“I can get you in touch with him. One of my cousins is a friend of his.” After Brody placed a call to his relative, he punched in some numbers then passed the receiver to her.
“Mr. Richards, this is Ellie Summers. There may be a problem with me making the opening ceremony tomorrow.”
“What?” the man said in a booming voice.
“I’m at my illustrator Brody Kincaid’s house on the mountain, and it’s snowing up here so much the roads are impassable.”
“Why in the world are you there in the middle of a snowstorm? Didn’t I put you up at the Wildwood? The children have been looking forward to seeing you. Does that mean you won’t make the play, either?” His tone held a frantic ring mixed with a touch of anger.
“I didn’t plan this. I’ll be there if it’s at all possible.”
“You’re the mistress of ceremonies. That’s an honor we only bestow on one celebrity.”
She pulled the phone away from her ear. “I know. I don’t want to let the children down.”
“Then don’t. Call me tomorrow. The snow isn’t too bad here. You’ll be able to make it. All you have to do is drive slowly and allow yourself plenty of time. I’m certainly not telling my two grandchildren you aren’t coming.”
When she hung up from talking with the upset mayor, she faced Brody. “I think he thinks I planned this.”
Brody frowned. “I should have known. He doesn’t handle change well. He’s the one who started the First Night celebration a while back.”
“Well, I’d hate to disappoint the kids tomorrow. They’re why I agreed to participate in the celebration.” She wouldn’t tell him he was actually the main reason she’d agreed. She’d known with his family it would be easier if she came to him, and she wanted to meet him in person to figure out why he couldn’t deliver what she wanted.
“My girls and I have been going since they were babies except for one year when Abbey was sick. They’ll be disappointed if we can’t get down the mountain.”
A sudden thought caused her to suck in a deep breath. “I just remembered I have a speech I’m to give and it’s back at the hotel.” Panic set in. “I was going to rehearse it this evening.”
“Where are
you staying?”
“Wildwood Lodge.”
“Oh, then there shouldn’t be a problem. We drive right by there on the way to the town square.”
She clenched her jaw so tight pain shot down her neck. “You don’t understand. I hate giving speeches.”
“Then why did you agree?”
“My agent insisted I do it. ‘Great publicity,’ he said. I need to practice saying no more often. I’m afraid the publicity won’t be favorable when the press catches me babbling nonsensically. Of course, that might not be a problem when I don’t show up.”
Brody glanced in the direction of the kitchen where they could hear giggling. “Let’s go to the studio. We can talk where two little girls won’t hear everything we say.” He strolled into the great room off the foyer. “The weatherman has been wrong before. This storm might fizzle out.”
“Do you believe that?” Ellie followed him toward a door at the other end of the large room.
He shrugged and let her go through first. A short enclosed breezeway separated the house from his studio. Chilled from the storm outside, she hugged her arms to her chest and was glad she had on a pair of warm sweatpants and socks—even if they were his.
He hurried past her and unlocked the door. “I tried working in the house. It didn’t happen. If I didn’t have a separate place even though it’s only five yards from the house, I would never get anything accomplished. I usually lock both doors, and if necessary, Marta pages me on the intercom.”
The studio was toasty warm. Slowly rotating, she saw several finished paintings as well as some in various stages of completion. One caught her attention—a large painting with slashing lines and vibrant colors of a view looking down on a lake surrounded by mountains. She couldn’t pull her gaze away. The scene stole her breath. He had captured nature’s beauty—raw and powerful. Should she look at doing something different for her books? How would this style translate into a children’s book?
She finally walked to a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows along the back of the studio and stared out at the driving snow. “What’s out there?”