"How much time do we have?"
"Not much," I said blushing.
"I don't need much," he said with a mischievous grin.
Chapter 28
Laura and Tim's breakfast delivery was great. We ate pancakes, sausage, bacon, scones and fruit while we enjoyed the teasing they delivered. Laura and Tim started talking about wedding plans and ideas. I spoke up then.
"Actually, I think I want to hold off on the planning part of everything for now. Until everyone knows about it, that is."
"You mean you told us first?" said Lauren.
I smiled and nodded. I watched as she blinked tears away. It was a great way to conclude the breakfast. We had dinner at my dad's house that evening. It was hard to keep the news from him once he saw my engagement ring.
"Dear Lord. Is that what I think it is?" he said in wonder.
I smiled and nodded while Daniel put his hand on my shoulder.
"It is, daddy. We are getting married."
He didn't fuss or even look angry or upset about it. He just sighed and nodded.
"Well, I guess congratulations are in order."
He then shook Daniel's hand before giving me a long hug. After releasing me, he finally smiled at both Daniel and I.
"It comes as no surprise, you two." I couldn't stop my eyes from getting teary. "I'm glad it's you, Daniel." He said to Daniel.
I felt Daniel squeeze my shoulder and take a deep breath.
"Thank you, Luke. No one is happier than me."
I turned around and looked at his glassy eyes.
"Not true," I whispered back.
Just then, Arnold came in. After hearing the news, he laughed and cheered before shaking Daniel's hand. It was a wonderful dinner. Laura and Tim showed up too and we all discussed wedding plans.
"So where is it going to be, Lauren?" asked Arnold.
I looked at Daniel and smiled before turning to face my dad.
"Actually, we were hoping we could have it here on the ranch, dad."
My dad stopped drinking from his stein and stared at me with a look of surprise on his face.
"Here? On the ranch?"
"Yes."
He shook his head at that.
"No. It's not nice enough, Lauren."
I smiled, relieved that he wasn't saying no just because he didn't want us getting married here.
"We can rent out the hall at the bed and breakfast near Loomis Forest. You can get married outside during sunset with lots of candles, white chairs, and white flowers. Leave it to me."
My dad got up from his chair and took his cell phone off the kitchen island and began to hit buttons on it.
"Daddy, you don't need to worry -”
But my dad was ignoring me. Apparently, he had found the number he wanted and dialed it. I stared at him in surprise as he spoke on the phone.
"Johnny! This is Luke McCoy calling you. How are ya?" He was silent for a moment before he continued. "Great. I'm good. Hey, my baby girl is getting married in the next couple of months and I was thinking about maybe renting out your banquet hall for it - the one that overlooks the forest."
I went from staring at him in surprise to turning to Daniel.
"Daniel. He's hijacking our wedding," I whispered.
Daniel half smiled and shrugged.
"So what?"
I sighed at that. "I thought that maybe...we'd be the ones to do the planning."
Daniel set his beer down and put his arm around me.
"Lauren, let your dad feel like he's doing something. It might help him out."
Arnold kicked me from under the table.
"Ow," I said, rubbing my shin.
"Yes, Lauren. Be nice to pa," he said through clenched teeth.
"Fine," I grumbled back.
Daniel looked from me to Arnold then.
"Hey. Kick her again and I'll break your foot."
Arnold blushed and half-laughed.
"Understood."
Daniel smiled again.
"Good."
Chapter 29
In the days that followed, my paintings were very happy. Lots of yellows, pinks, and blues filled up my canvasses. Lots of road trips between Daniel's home and my own filled my time too. It was such a happy time.
I'd been working on a painting of the pond outside of my house and meadow just before it when I heard my doorbell ring one morning. Surprised, I looked at my watch. It was only noon; Daniel wasn't due back from his business trip to Fort Worth for the next few hours.
After wiping my paint off of my fingers with a rag, I walked to the front door. I smiled as soon as I saw that it was Tim.
"Hey, Timmy. Whatcha doing?” I asked after opening the front door.
He walked in and stared me down for a second.
"What?"
"Why does everyone except for me get a painting of yours?"
Surprised, I smiled and laughed.
"Well, that ain't exactly true, Tim," I replied as I walked back to the room containing the works in question.
"Is so. Dad's got one and so does Arnold."
I sighed and explained that Arnold was the only one who I gifted with one and that my dad had actually confiscated one from me.
"Well, I want one too," he meekly added.
Laughing, I pointed to all of the paintings that lined the baseboards surrounding the rooms and all of the ones hanging from the walls. There were probably about forty of them.
"Take your pick, Tim."
He laughed and clapped his hands.
"Good. I'm taking two."
"Two?!"
"One for me and one for Laura."
I sighed and agreed, which was easy to do as I was so flattered by the attention.
The wedding planning went wonderfully. We'd decided to get married four months from the day that Daniel had proposed to me. We'd even decided to go along with daddy's request that we have the wedding at the banquet hall near the forest. I went wedding dress shopping with Laura, Greta and Betty. I almost invited Mara, but demurred at the last minute. Things were just too sore between us. I chose the most beautiful dress, though. It was as simple white lace sheath, but I picked a picked a veil that had yellow and pink roses embroidered on it. I couldn't be without my color, after all. We even had a honeymoon planned out which was so exciting. Daniel had been asked to go to Germany to introduce a weapon his shop made, and we decided to make a honeymoon out of it. We would leave a month and a half after our wedding and would be there for three weeks; I went and got my passport made and everything.
We were at Daniel's house in Mescalero grilling outside with his brothers and their families. Greta was there too as was Daniel's mom, Maria. Someone made a joke about a pig that I caught the end of. I did not know how the beginning went, but the hilarity that came at the end that made everyone laugh out loud made me laugh too. After Daniel finished wiping his tears, he wiped my own.
"Did you understand the joke?" He asked, sounding skeptical.
I laughed and put my head on his shoulder as his arm came over my shoulder to pull me close.
"No. But everyone was laughing so hard that I started laughing too. Everyone is just so darned happy. I am too," I quietly admitted.
"You are happy here? On the middle of the reservation in the middle of the night?"
He looked so serious.
"Yeah. I am. How could I not be?"
He sighed and gently kissed my forehead.
"I can't wait to make you my bride."
"Me neither," I replied, tears filling my eyes.
Moments like that filled our days, which was wonderful. Well, with the exception of the airing of season two of American Sharpshooter on the outdoors channel. I was setting up the digital video recorder on my flat screen TV that Daniel had brought home one day (and refused to let me pay for) when he said something about it from his spot on the couch.
"You can watch this show. All I ask is that you don't watch it while I'm around."
Surprised, I turned to
face him from my seat at the coffee table.
"Why?"
His eyes widened at that. He then nodded and set his beer bottle on the small table next to the couch before answering.
"I met you on that show," he said as he pointed at the TV. "I don't forget that nor will I ever regret it."
His face went to an angry sneer then, startling me.
"But that is also the show where my wife-to-be and the host were having sex every night."
My face immediately turned crimson in shame. I spoke up to defend myself, though.
"Daniel, I -”
"Lauren, I am not asking you defend yourself," he cut me off. "You can watch this show. I won't ask you to stop. But you can't ask me to watch the show where that son-of-a-bitch did you and then dumped you. I won't do it."
I sighed, understanding. I then glanced back at my DVR recording and stared at the episode that was due to air the following night. We'd been intimate so soon after my arrival to the show. Probably every time that Trevor's face and mine would show up on the screen would have probably been taped only hours after we'd been intimate. I hated the fact that my affair with Trevor had ruined the show for Daniel; I hated that it had ruined it for me. I quietly cancelled the recording. Daniel groaned.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know," I replied, still not looking at him.
I heard the couch creak as he stood up and then heard the coffee table creak under his weight as he sat next to me.
"Lauren. Look at me."
I did so. He looked mildly abashed.
"This is my issue, okay. Watch the show. I want you to. You worked hard out there. Don't let my jealousy ruin your fun."
Looking into his eyes, I saw that he was being truthful...mostly. At the end of the day, my fiancé was a jealous man - a jealous man who had not yet let go of a dead affair that preceded him. Still, I didn't want him to hurt. If he walked in on me watching the show and caught me smiling, I didn't want him to have to wonder if I was smiling at something that happened in the show or because I saw Trevor's face. I loved him light years more than I loved anything that I saw on the show.
"It's okay, Daniel. I know how it ends."
He sighed. "Really? How does it end?"
I smiled and squeezed his hand. "With a happy ending, of course."
Daniel took the remote from my hands and shut the TV off. After that, he stood up and picked me up like I weighed nothing, making me laugh out loud. Carrying me like that, he turned off the lights to the living room and the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm going to give my wife-to-be a few happy endings."
I blushed at his heated words. Still, I was excited.
Chapter 30
One month before our wedding, Arnold, Tim and my dad surprised me with a pre-wedding gift. We were having dinner out at Applebee's when I caught my Arnold making faces at Tim.
"What is going on?" I asked as I cut a big chunk out of my Bourbon Street Steak.
Daniel half smiled and took a sip of his beer before squeezing me knee.
"Do you know what is going on?" I asked him.
"I only found out a few hours ago, myself."
I turned to stare at my brothers and my father with barely-contained excitement.
"What did you guys do?" I asked.
My dad turned to Arnold and spoke.
"It was your idea. Go on. Tell her."
With a smile, he then told me what he'd gone and done. He'd taken the painting I'd given him along with the ones that I had given my dad and Timmy and had loaned them to an art gallery near Fort Worth.
"What? You did what?" I asked him in a scared voice.
"I e-mailed them pictures of your paintings, Lauren. They loved them!" He nearly yelled. "Once I told them about your back story and whatnot, they wanted to display your paintings for an exhibition. That exhibition is tonight!"
Terrified, my hands went from the table to my mouth, toppling over a glass of soda onto the table. My brothers exclaimed and went to dab the table with paper towels. Suddenly, I felt Daniel's hand squeezing on my shoulder.
"Hey. Are you okay with this?"
My eyes widened. "No. I am not okay with this. I am not ready for this. I'm not good enough for this. I've got to go get some air."
With that, I got up off my chair and dashed to the nearest exit. Outside, I took deep breaths of air. My art. Exposed. In a big city art gallery. With lots of people looking at them and judging them. I couldn't believe that my brothers had gone and done that to me.
A couple of minutes later, Daniel came outside to join me.
"Why didn't you tell me they did this?" I asked in a hurt voice. Because I was hurt. He knew what they did and he could have told me.
He tilted his head and then took a step closer to me.
"I told them, Lauren. I told them that I was an artist too and understand how...vulnerable and sensitive our art makes us. I told them that they should have asked your permission first. But then, they told me about how many people were requesting to buy your art, Lauren."
The last sentence caught me off guard.
"What?"
He smiled.
"That's right. The gallery owner had made everyone aware that the four works of yours are not for sale. That has not discouraged art collectors and other customers from putting in offers on your paintings."
That stunned me into silence. Shocked, I sat down on the bench near the front door.
"People want to buy my art?"
Daniel laughed and sat down next to me.
"They do. Why wouldn't they? You are a wonderful artist, Lauren."
"I can't believe this," I replied.
"Believe it. And thank your brothers too."
I groaned at that.
"Ugh. Arnold. He is always pushing me to do things that I'm not quite ready to do."
But he was usually right, I silently added. Shortly after that, I allowed Daniel to take my hand and escort me back inside the restaurant. Once seated (and with a new glass of soda), I thanked Arnold and Tim for what they did for me.
"Of course you are thankful. You guys ready to hit up Fort Worth now?" said Arnold.
After the hour and a half drive, we parked outside of an art gallery I was completely unfamiliar with. Then again, I'd never been to a gallery in Fort Worth, either. As we left Daniel's truck and walked towards the gallery, I nervously squeezed Daniel's hand.
"You are terrified, aren't you?" he kindly said.
"I am."
He sighed at that. "I'm sorry I didn't stop them."
"They probably knew that you would try which was why they probably only told you a few hours ago," I said with a groan. "Come on. Let's get this over with."
He gave me a quick peck on the lips after which we followed my family. I was stunned into silence as soon as I walked in. Beautiful paintings lined the walls placed throughout the large space - modern art, classic art, and impressionist art...all wonderful pieces that demanded the attention of the people milling about. We all took our time looking at different pieces. Just then, a young, teenaged girl staring at a beautiful painting of a windmill shrugged.
"I don't get what the big deal is. It's a picture of a windmill. Sure, it ain't ugly. But is it worth seven thousand dollars? Is a bunch of paint on paper really worth that much money?" she asked of no one in particular.
I took note of her then and saw that she was very pretty. Her expression wasn't distasteful either; it was just a confused one. I decided to answer her.
"What is attractive or pretty is subjective - it all depends on the person who is looking at it."
She then looked at me.
"Do you think this is attractive? Do you think this is worth seven thousand dollars?"
I took another look at the post-impressionistic windmill. It was old and lonely. It was beautiful. I said as much.
"I could see why this painting would demand so much money. It stirs something inside of me."
<
br /> The girl rolled her eyes and shrugged.
"I don't understand that about art at all."
I sighed, wondering just how hard I should convince this girl that art was worthwhile. I then decided to go for it.
"Art is the oldest form of written history in our world. It predates writing, you know."
"See, I can understand why an old book would be worth money - it tells you something. It tells you what happened long ago."
"Art does the same thing, only more accurately. At best, written history is what someone wants you to believe."
That took her attention from the painting and put it right back on me. I noticed that her little black eyebrows had developed a little furrow between them. She was hooked.
"Written history is like a journal or a diary. Say there's a guy who is in love with you, but you don't love him back. Let's say there is a conversation you have where you tell him you just want to be friends with him and that's it. When he goes home, he might write down that you are just an evil girl who broke his heart for no reason at all. If someone reads his words many years from now, they will believe him."
I watched her eyes widen in shock and her mouth drop open. It was time to reel her in.
"Now, let's say someone painted a picture of the way both of your faces looked when you tried to let him down easy. Your face might probably be sad because you knew that you were hurting him. His face might have been angry because he didn't want to hear what you said. Or maybe it was sad too. If people were to see that painting of that exchange instead of reading what that boy said in his diary, they would have known that you weren't a bad person. They would have seen an accurate picture of what happened without anyone else's opinions or interpretations distorting that."
The girl looked from me to the painting with widened eyes. After a minute, she spoke in a more serious voice.
"I get it now. Thank you."
I smiled at the painting.
"You are welcome."
A couple of minutes after she left, I finally approached my own paintings where Daniel, Arnold, Tim and my dad were stood. Daniel smiled as soon as he saw me and grabbed my hand. My art looked beautiful on the white wall it hung from. My hogs looked pained, majestic, terrified and terrifying; my boots looked tired and forlorn.
Nice Shootin' Tex Page 28