by Caroline Lee
But what do I know? I’m not an artist.
Andrew braced the ladder so Nick could climb down. “The router’s all set?”
“Yep,” said Nick, already thinking about his next job. “I mean, it’s not pretty, but they should all be good now, and have enough reach so we can nix those smaller ones in the rooms.”
“Alright.” The engineer pulled out a new stick of gum. “I’ll patch up the hole and do the paint touch-up. You go do your Bigfoot website.”
He smirked when he’d said that last part, and Nick knew it was Andrew’s way of teasing. So he gave the other man a casual salute.
“Aye-aye, Chief Engineer,” he said as he walked backwards down the hallway. “Good luck with your painting.”
“Good luck with your Bigfoot hunt, techie,” Andrew responded.
Bigfoot hunt, right.
All he needed was a new painting, and he knew exactly where to look.
CHAPTER TWO
Nick had a desk in the Engineering offices just off Main Street in the Old Town. He liked it, because engineers became engineers—especially at a property like River’s End Ranch—specifically so they didn’t have to sit around at their desks all the time. So he usually had the office to himself.
Today was no different, and after lunch, he sighed in contentment as he sank into his chair and logged on to his dual-screened set up. It took about an hour to get through the emails and issues which had built up overnight and during the hours he’d been working with Andrew, but soon he was ready for his own project.
The Real Bigfoot site was just as eye-rollingly silly as it’d been the last time he updated it, but he made short work of updating the proper page. Wyatt’s story, in his own words, would be a hit, Nick knew. He included a photo of Wyatt sitting atop a horse, those Weston-blue eyes staring at the camera.
The Bigfoot geeks are going to eat this up.
Once he finished, he could finally take the time to do what he’d been looking forward to doing: find a new painting for the site’s header. He’d been eyeing this artist’s portfolio on DeviantArt and had already purchased a few paintings off his or her website. He wanted to see if there was anything new.
The artist’s site was called “Puck’s Paints” and contained a really neat collection of digital paintings. It was obvious the artist was really good, and Nick found it interesting he or she had chosen to go into digital painting, rather than traditional. Digital was easier—at least he thought so—because you didn’t have to worry about lugging around paints or fixing mistakes or even letting something dry. But whoever this “Puck” was, he or she had a really cool style somewhere between Impressionism and Pop Art.
Similar to what that kid was doing this morning, in fact.
Once the idea had taken hold, Nick couldn’t dismiss it. He scrolled through Puck’s paintings, looking to see if there were any new mountain scenes, and he was struck again by the feeling he’d seen this work just this morning. The same use of color tints, the same bold strokes to capture the natural elements…
And then he reached the most recent page, and stopped scrolling. In fact, he took his hand off the mouse and sat back, staring at the screen. There, displayed large-as-life across one of his monitors, with the price tag underneath, was a painting of McIver’s Mountain.
The same painting he’d seen this morning.
What are the odds?
Puck was the kid he’d seen painting this morning!
He’d purchased three other mountain paintings from Puck’s Paints because he liked the kid’s style. And because the mountains had reminded Nick of the mountains around this part of Idaho, including the ranch. Wouldn’t it be wild if that’s because they were the mountains around the ranch?
Like he’d done the other times he’d purchased from Puck, Nick started with an email.
Hope you’ve gotten a chance to see your work on The Real Bigfoot site. I’m interested in your latest work. That’s McIver’s Mountain, isn’t it? –Nick Norego
He pressed send and tapped his fingers beside his keyboard, staring at the painting on his screen. It would look perfect as a header on the stupid site, and he wondered if he’d guessed Puck’s identity correctly.
Then he wondered if the website was what had caused Puck’s—or whatever the kid’s real name was—comment that morning. The Real Bigfoot did claim that these mountains were where Bigfoot made his home, and thanks to Nick, Puck had been exposed to the site, now that his paintings were being used on several of the headers.
Was that comment this morning Nick’s fault after all? His website had been the one to influence the kid’s belief?
He sighed, half-proud and half-embarrassed for the kid. Not only was Bigfoot a hoax, but the entire website was a hoax.
To his surprise, a reply popped into his inbox pretty quickly. The kid must be on mobile.
Yeah, good guess. I suppose you know the area pretty well, huh? Since you’re always out there looking for the big guy, I mean. The price is listed on the painting. -Puck
“The big guy.” Nick snorted. He definitely wasn’t a believer.
He flexed his fingers, then bent over the keyboard again.
I do know the mountains pretty well, but it wasn’t a guess that’s McIver’s. I saw you painting it this morning. I was the guy with the coffee. -N
Not a minute went by before he got a reply.
No way! That’s wild. What are the odds? –P
That had been Nick’s reaction, almost word-for-word. His lip twitched again.
I want this painting for the site, but I want to pay you in person. Cash okay? Let me buy you a cup of coffee or something.
The kid looked like he could use it. He looked like he’d been living out of his car, frankly, and hadn’t changed clothes in a while. For all Nick knew, that could be the style these days, but it seemed more likely this “Puck” was some kind of starving artist.
And Sadie’s Saloon made the best coffee around.
Puck’s reply took much longer, and Nick hoped he hadn’t scared the kid away. He had seemed skittish this morning…
OK. But someplace public. You’re in Riston?
Nick approved of the kid’s paranoia. These days, meeting up with some stranger from the internet was never an easy decision.
I’m at River’s End Ranch right now. I’m their IT specialist, so I’m in charge of a lot of the websites associated with the ranch. We’ve got an awesome coffee shop. How does four p.m. sound?
He added his cell number under his name and pressed “send,” hoping Puck would agree to the time. That would give the kid an hour to get to the ranch and get comfortable, and let Nick finish up his other stuff. He hoped explaining he was the ranch techie wouldn’t blow his cover and make Puck wonder why the same person would run The Real Bigfoot and the ranch site. But Nick wanted to give the kid as much info about himself as he could in order to make him feel more comfortable.
Why didn’t he feel more nervous about meeting a stranger from the internet? Maybe because Nick had met him—or at least seen him—that morning. Maybe it was just because Nick was older, and felt wiser. More protective?
Doesn’t matter. He had an hour to finish up the admin tasks Bernie had asked him to do, then he had to pop over to the ATM and get out enough cash to cover the cost of the digital painting.
Then he’d go shake Puck’s hand in person.
Nick was already seated in the saloon at four o’clock. His phone was on the table in front of him, along with his coffee, but he hadn’t touched either. Sure, he needed to reset his base’s traps in Clash of Clans, and the delicious smell of roasted coffee beans was tickling his nose…but he couldn’t concentrate. He was staring at the door.
Three minutes after four, Puck slipped inside. He looked just as skittish as he had that morning, eyes darting around the room as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed there. The habit made him seem even younger, and Nick wondered if the kid was even old enough to be on his own. He’d have to find out,
and offer Puck some help if he really was as young as he looked.
Standing up, Nick caught the kid’s attention, then moved around the table with his hand out. Puck sidled up to him and shook his hand, his handshake as quick and furtive as the rest of his attitude. He hadn’t even met Nick’s eyes.
“You’re Puck, right? I’m Nick Norego.”
“Okie Pucklin,” the kid introduced himself, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his baggy sweatshirt. He had a backpack on this time—Nick wondered if that’s where he kept the Wacom MobileStudio—and still wore the green knit cap with the little brim on it.
“Okie? That’s an unusual name.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Nick winced. He’d never been one for social niceties, but even he knew that was a dumb way to start a conversation. Of course, the kid seemed to be even less interested in niceties—staring at the floor the way he was—so maybe it wasn’t the end of the world. Nick hurried to say something else.
“Well, how about some coffee?” He reached behind him and grabbed his cup, finally letting himself take a sip. “Sadie makes the best coffee in town, any kind.”
Okie shrugged his thin shoulders. “Don’t really drink coffee, but thanks.” His voice was a low alto.
“Tea, then?” Nick was already moving towards the counter, and was pleased when the kid followed. “Soda? It is a sarsaparilla saloon, after all. Or ice cream?”
To his surprise, the kid looked up at the last word, met his eyes, then glanced at the ice cream display.
Ah! Interest at last!
Nick greeted Julie behind the counter with a nod, then said, “I’m buying my friend Okie here some ice cream.” He turned to the kid. “Pick out whatever you want. My treat.”
Eyeing Okie’s small frame, Nick couldn’t help but think the kid could use some extra calories.
He handed Julie the money, then moved back to his table while he waited for Okie to order. He didn’t hear what the kid said, but he returned to the table with a small cup of something chocolaty, and Nick’s change. That surprised Nick— He’d expected the kid to order one of Sadie’s ridiculously extravagant sundaes.
Not surprising, Okie didn’t say anything when he sat down, just hunched over his ice cream and began to eat it slowly. With his first bite, he closed his eyes with a sigh, and Nick’s brows rose. He hadn’t expected the kid to enjoy ice cream so much. The way those long lashes fluttered in pleasure against his skin made Okie look even more elfin than before.
I guess that’s why he chose the name Puck.
No, wait, that was probably because his last name was “Pucklin.”
Nick wasn’t used to being in a situation where he had to be the one to keep the conversation going, but he gave it a shot. “You’re a really good artist. I was impressed this morning, and you know I’m a fan of your portfolio.”
Okie’s eyes flashed up to meet his, and Nick was surprised to see that they were hazel—brown with plenty of green flecks. For the first time, the kid didn’t drop his gaze immediately.
Instead, he said in a small voice, “Thanks.” He tapped his spoon against the cup’s rim. “And thanks for this.”
“You like ice cream?”
A faint smile touched Okie’s lips. “Who doesn’t?” He dropped his gaze once more.
Nick resisted the urge to clear his throat and shift his weight. So much for making small talk. “I went to the ATM to get the money to pay for rights for the painting.”
Shrugging, Okie took another small bite of the ice cream. “Thanks,” he said again. Then he swallowed. “But I’d rather not take cash. It’s easier to keep track of sales and numbers—and the digital licensing—if you buy it through the website like before.”
A frown pulled at Nick’s lips, and he grabbed his phone as a sort of security blanket. He didn’t turn it on, but twisted it between his hands in a nervous habit. “You don’t want cash? And you don’t drink coffee? Why’d you bother meeting me here then?”
Okie shrugged again, watching the phone turning over in Nick’s hands, rather than Nick’s face. “I was nearby—scoping out new vantage points of the mountains—and I wanted to meet you.”
“And get some ice cream?”
Hazel eyes flashed up once, briefly. “I didn’t know about the ice cream, but it is good.”
Nick sighed. “Look, I just wanted to help you, if I could. It was a pretty wild coincidence, seeing you painting that this morning.”
“Yeah, it was,” Okie said softly as he scraped the bottom of his ice cream. “But I…I mean, that’s a really cool site you run. About Bigfoot. I thought it would be neat to meet the guy who collected all that evidence.” His lashes twitched, like he wanted to look up and meet Nick’s eyes, but didn’t. “Meet someone who’s actually seen all of that.”
In his head, Nick muttered some not-nice-at-all words. Why’d the kid have to be a believer? Still, all he said out loud was, “Yeah, pretty neat.” He hurried to change the subject. “River’s End Ranch offers all sorts of cool things like that.” Aquatics, horseback riding, Bigfoot apparently. “Are you and your family staying here?”
It wasn’t exactly a subtle question, and the way Okie’s lips thinned slightly told Nick he’d screwed up again. He just wasn’t good at being polite, at figuring out what other people expected.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Nick fumbled, trying to explain. “I just…” Taking a deep breath, he forged ahead. “I’m not trying to be creepy, which, okay, offering you cash and buying you ice cream and trying to figure out where you’re staying, that does seem creepy, and I know the dangers of meeting up with some guy from the internet, but…”
He was a making a hash of this explanation.
Nick tried again. “We’ve all been in a rough spot in our lives at one time or another. I once lived out of my truck for a whole semester in college, crashing on people’s couches when I needed to. That’s the only way I could afford books.” Computer Engineering books were expensive. “And I saw you and I thought…I don’t know, I just thought you could use a friend. I mean, if you’re not here with your family or friends already.”
That bowl was completely empty now, but Okie still played with the spoon, tapping it against the bottom. Kinda like the way Nick fiddled with his phone—another nervous habit?
The kid took a deep breath and squared his shoulders—as much as he was able to, at least. When he finally met Nick’s eyes, there was something new in them. Amusement? Embarrassment? Confusion? Hard to say—Nick didn’t know the kid well enough to guess.
“I’m not here with my family,” he said in that low voice. “Just me and my truck and Rajah.”
“Rajah?”
A faint smile tugged at Okie’s lips before he looked back down at the tabletop. “My cat. He’s fat and lazy enough to be happy hanging out in the truck.”
“Gotcha.” So the kid was living out of his truck. Nick blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, is there anything I can do to help?”
Okie looked surprised. “You’re going to buy my McIver’s painting. And you’ve bought three others.”
“Not exclusive use though.” It wasn’t like he’d purchased Okie’s paintings to hang on a wall somewhere.
“No, but every sale helps.” The kid shrugged again and shifted so he was looking out the window towards the distant mountains. “I live in my truck so I can travel, go wherever I want to paint. I did that first mountain down in Colorado, and when you bought it for your site, I was intrigued, and I wanted to see where Bigfoot lived, so I’ve been working my way northwest. The second one was one of the minor Tetons in Wyoming, and the third you bought…” He frowned slightly, and rubbed the back of his neck while he thought. “It was a pull-off some place along a highway. I don’t remember.” He shrugged. “Anyhow, point is, I don’t have a lot of expenses, besides Rajah’s food—he eats more than me—and a data connection. And gas.” He patted his backpack, where he’d set it on the floor when he’d sat down. “I’ve got my ta
blet and my site, so I can upload as I need to, and I can make the arrangements with other sites to print if people order exclusives or commissions, or just want a print version.”
Wow. “You sound…satisfied.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t miss having something permanent?” That semester Nick had lived in his truck had been horrible, because he didn’t feel like he had a real place, a “fortress” to get away from people. “Someplace where you know you belong?”
Hazel eyes darted back towards Nick, and one corner of Okie’s lips turned up wryly. “I’d be dumb to say yes, since I just got done telling you how great my life is, huh?”
Well, that wasn’t a yes, but it might as well have been.
Nick finished the last of his coffee. “Look, is there anything…? I mean, I want to help. I’ve been there, man, and you’re like, what? Seventeen? Eighteen?” Too young to be totally alone, except for a cat.
Under his cap, one of Okie’s sharp brows lifted. “I’m twenty-four.”
Nick just managed to keep from snorting. Yeah right. The kid didn’t look fourteen yet.
“Listen, our third roommate moved out last December, and his bedroom is my office. But it’s got a futon, and the water’s nice and hot in the shower. You want to stay the night?” It wasn’t much, but it was what he could offer. “I’m not sure about the rules on inviting Rajah too, but Jamal—my roommate—works here on the ranch in the petting zoo, so I’m sure he’ll be alright with it.”
Something had softened around Okie’s eyes at the mention of a hot shower, and Nick sensed he could push him.
“You’ve got a right to be suspicious, I know, but around here…people help one another. And you just seemed like you could use a friend. I’m only offering because of that, nothing weird. We could—I dunno, talk about Bigfoot or whatever.” He thought of another incentive. “And I’ve got really great high-speed internet. You know, for Call of Duty tournaments.”
Okie surprised them both—it seemed—by bursting into throaty chuckles. He immediately clamped down on them, but watched Nick sidelong. Finally, he shrugged and reached for his bag.