“That was a commission. But they changed the décor of their house at the last minute, and it no longer fit.”
He frowns. “Did you still get paid?”
“It wasn’t worth arguing over.” I sip my tea. “I could have tried to sell it, but…I’m glad I got to keep it.” I almost didn’t hang it in such a prominent place, but I couldn’t resist.
He walks to the dining area and gazes up at the painting. “How do you paint something so big?”
I join him. Up close, contrasting textures and subtle color changes are more visible. So are the brush strokes that I failed to line up perfectly and the blend of yellow-gold that never quite warms in the light the way I wanted it to. “I start with a plain color background, then I outline the mountains in pencil, which determines the scale, and everything flows from there.” That’s the goal, anyway.
We’re standing close enough that Rowdy’s warmth mingles with mine. I also get a hint of his scent. It’s familiar, like the woods, and intriguing, like some kind of spice.
“The clouds…” His gaze drifts from left to right, like he’s drinking in details. “Makes me think of summer storms.”
Don’t get sucked in by his praise.“I wouldn’t have pegged a conservation officer to have an appreciation for art.”
He arches an eyebrow. “How many conservation officers have you met?”
Good point. “You’re my first.”
“So where’s this bias coming from?”
“Most, uh, people…don’t show an interest.” Most men anyway. My ex included. Drew might have occasionally remembered to ask what I was working on, but if my reply stretched past four syllables, his attention would drift, or he’d sigh like I was testing his patience. However, if I spent over my meager budget we’d agreed on for my art supplies, he wouldn’t fail to give that subject every drop of his focus.
Rowdy has wandered into the hallway leading down the side of the house, where I’ve placed a set of two new pieces. One is half evergreen tree with a moody, stormy sky forming the background, and the other is the extension of one of the boughs, the bristles spiky and aggressive thanks to how much I obsessed over them, which contrasts with the colorful Ojo de Diosweaving I found hanging from it.
“These are different.” His serious gaze sweeps the designs before he glances at me. “Darker.”
“You picked up on that?” I laugh but it comes out high and flighty. “It’s based on something I saw last fall on one of my rambles.” Lest he thinkI’mdark. Though why should I care what he thinks?
He shoots me a curious look. “What’s with the ornament?”
“It was just hanging on the tree.” That day I’d strayed too far from the trail and stopped at the creek to get my bearings. The weaving looked so out of place against that angry sky, and at the time, I was feeling out of place too. Not lonely, but restless, melancholy in a way I didn’t understand yet.
“Huh. Where were you?”
I pull out my phone and scroll through my pictures. “Here.” I tap the info button below the image, and a map pops up of a narrow valley with a thin ribbon of blue running down the center of it.
He gives a little shake of his head. “That’s not a safe area.”
My hackles perk up.
But he’s still looking at my map. “The Sons of Eden compound is just north of there.”
I sip my tea as I process this. Now that I know they hurt theirchildren, they should be more afraid ofme. “Is Sons of Eden some kind of cult?”
He licks his lips. “It started up north, but it’s spreading. The closest sect is just north of the county line, in a tiny town called Elk Flats.”
I swallow the sticky knot forming in my throat “You’ve dealt with them…harming their children?”
“There have been a few other runaways. We’ve been trying to shut the cult down for over a year.”
I cock my head. “We?”
“The Finn River Sheriff’s Department and other law enforcement agencies.”
“And you’re involved because they’re also hurting wildlife?”
“And abusing natural resources. Illegal logging. Poaching. Squatting on public lands.”