Nobody's Dream (13 page)

“I’d love to see your studio. Nothing but snow plowing on the agenda today, and I’ll need some breaks.”

He had been doing all kinds of fix-it projects around her cabin and shed, thinking she was not aware of his activities. She could not quite allow herself to smile and hoped she had not made a mistake by inviting him inside such a private place.

But she truly wanted to share with him the piece she had been working on the past few nights and days.

*     *     *

Luke approached the studio and saw that the door was ajar. No sense actually knocking.

“Knock, knock, darlin’.”

Cassie stood facing an easel, surveying an oil painting of an older couple. Luke hated seeing the stiffness return to her shoulders and back at the sound of his voice, as if steeling herself for an attack. What would make her think he would ever hurt her? He thought they had moved beyond that level of discomfort and distrust after Millie was born.

Give her time.

She had relaxed a lot more than when he’d first come to in the cabin. Cassie had invited him to her studio—finally. That alone spoke volumes in his favor.

Maybe she was in the middle of something and didn’t want to be disturbed. “Sorry, darlin’. I’ll come back la—”

“No, Lucas, stay!” She turned to face him. Her dusky cheeks hinted at a blush. Hard to tell with her skin coloring, but he liked to think he could make the girl blush, whatever the reason. “I…did not hear you come in.”

Oh, yes, you did
. He hung his coat and hat and walked toward her. “What are you working on?”

“Actually, I finished it earlier—a portrait of my parents. Just want to make sure it is right before…” She trailed off, and he turned his focus to the piece.

She’d mentioned this piece before. Said it was something she planned to have delivered to Peru. The colorful oil depicted her mother’s bright red headwear suggesting Native origins, but the man was dressed in a black embroidered shirt with a bolo tie, definitely more of a Spanish influence. Something about the man’s green eyes seemed familiar.

The couple’s gnarled hands clasped before them suggested a hard life. They stared out with little emotion.

He didn’t know why, but a sense of sadness in the painting made his eyes sting. His parents had never been particularly demonstrative with each other—with him, either, for that matter—but they loved one another and him, too.

“It’s beautiful.” He cleared his throat of its raspy sound.

She nodded and turned away from him and the easel. With their advanced age in this portrait, surely Cassie wouldn’t refuse to return home to see them every chance she could. Then again, some families became estranged for varied reasons. She seemed adamant about having no desire to return to Peru.

If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you.

Having her allow him to visit her in her studio was enough for now. He glanced around the room while she crossed the room to a cloth-covered canvas.

Clearly, she spent most of her time in here. The cabin was merely functional—cook, eat, sleep, and not much else—but this room had a homey feel to it. The wall of windows likely allowed for natural light much of the day, but it was cold as hell in here. A freestanding, black woodstove occupied the corner opposite the bed, although no fire burned in it now, despite the chill in the room. The girl preferred the cold, although he spotted a space heater near her workspace. She’d need to keep her oils warm enough to work with, for sure. A stained coffeemaker sat on the counter next to the sink.

A futon waited in the corner for those nights when she didn’t want to abandon her work for too long. He sometimes slept in his workshop/studio, too tired to make it back to the house. Lying there next to whatever he was working on often gave him further inspiration.

They were two peas in a pod in that way.

In a corner to his right, he saw what looked like a prayer mat on the floor in front of a low table or stool decorated with plants—bay leaf and fennel, for sure—as well as stones and some type of pagan statue. Probably Peruvian. He smiled at the sense of joy and abandon in the figure.

But the art pieces covering the three walls soon captured his attention, especially one of a native woman with arms upstretched to the moon that hung just beyond the altar area. The vibrancy absent from her house and studio, except in her Indian blankets, reminded him of the underlying passion in the woman he had first noticed at her gallery opening in Denver several months ago. At that exhibition, her work reminded him of Georgia O’Keeffe, but this one had a Lee Bogle feel in some ways, perhaps because the subject appeared to be Native American.

He pointed to what looked to be a depiction of a moon goddess near an altar in the corner. “Did you paint that early in your career?”

She nodded. “I am sure it shows, but she has been with me such a long time that I cannot bear to part with her. Not that anyone would buy that one.”

“Oh, I wasn’t knocking the skill. Just thought perhaps you were emulating someone else’s style on your way to developing your own. I did that a lot, too.”

His gaze strayed once more to the oil painting of her parents. “You’ve matured as an artist with this one.”

She followed his gaze before glancing away. “Thank you.”

Her style had changed with this one, though. He felt a tension not obvious in the others.

Dutiful.

The word rattled around his mind, and he wondered about it a moment before he realized that word described the feeling the picture exuded perfectly. Had she created the portrait out of a sense of duty rather than because her artistic heart had been moved to do so? Had she done it to please and honor her parents than from inspiration?

Guarded.

The painting didn’t express the exuberant emotion he felt in some of her other art such as her moon goddess. True, most of her other pieces showed glimpses of nature, rarely human subjects. Yet the emotion in her flowers and trees was much more evident than in the faces of her parents in this one.

Closed off.

Was it their personalities—or Cassie’s distancing herself from them? “When’s the last time you visited Peru?”

“Five years ago.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No. This is my home now.”

He understood what she meant. “I like it much more here in Colorado, too, than at my old home in Texas. If not for my parents, I’d probably never go back there, either.” But wouldn’t she suffer through a visit to Peru again to see her parents? What kept her away from them?

“So you came to the States to study art at Columbia. Bet there was a great deal of culture shock between Peru and New York City.”

Cassie shrugged. “I enjoyed my time in the city. That is where I met Kitty. I felt…safe there.”

Luke didn’t think he’d ever heard New York described as being safe before, but she didn’t elaborate.

“I invited you here to show you this.” She removed the cloth from the canvas, and Luke positioned himself so he could see what she wanted to reveal.

Wow.

“Me and Millie?”

She nodded and cleared her throat. “I was moved very much by your actions and inspired to create this piece to remember what you did.”

Luke drew closer to the pastel of the newborn cria cradled in his arms. He’d never seen himself depicted in a painting before. The muted pastels cast him in the shadows while a beam of sunlight bathed Millie in brighter, warmer colors.

“It is not much, but I want you to have it, along with my eternal gratitude.”

Luke’s eyes burned. He turned toward her. “You sure you don’t want to keep it? I know I regretted not having a camera to take photos for you to have.”

“No. The image will never leave my mind. I just thought…you might like to see…I mean, well…” She turned away.

“It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me. Thank you, Cassie.”

“
No es nada
.” She started toward the door, dismissing him. “I should check on Milagrosa and Graciela before I start supper.”

Not so fast, baby girl.

Luke placed his hand on her shoulder, but didn’t grab or force her to stop and turn toward him. When she halted her retreat, he spoke. “Thank you, Cassie. I’ll cherish this forever, just as I will the memory of our delivering our first cria together.”

Cassie stared at him a moment and blinked before she retrieved her poncho from a hook by the door. She turned to him, quirking a brow but not smiling. “Would you like to join me in the shed?”

Luke grinned. “Love to. I feel like a proud godparent. I want to check on Millie, too, and make sure she hasn’t had any setbacks.”

Cassie nodded curtly, covering her head with a wool hat and opening the door to a blast of wind. He pulled his coat closed and turned the collar up to cover his ears as he followed. They ran down the path to the shed, and he helped her close the door behind them, fighting another strong gust.

The alpacas began clicking and bleating as soon as they heard Cassie enter. He smiled, watching the pure joy erupt on her face as she nuzzled Gracie and accepted her adoration.

Surprising him, Gracie broke away from her mistress and moseyed toward him, baby Millie in her wake. The new momma met his gaze, and he could have sworn she conveyed her appreciation to him. If he hadn’t been around his horses so much and seen similar looks in their eyes after months of working hard to give them a sense of peace and security, he might have scoffed at his musings. Instead, he reached out and patted her slim neck.

“’Tweren’t nothin’, little momma. All in a day’s work. Gotta earn my keep with the boss lady.”

“I am not your boss.”

Luke raised his head and met Cassie’s gaze over the backs of the two alpacas. He’d hit a nerve, but she needed to understand his boundaries, too. “Listen, I know it’s hard for you to have me around, but while I’m here, I need to feel useful. Think of me as a temporary hired hand until someone can clear the road and get me off the mountain. It might decrease some of the tension.”

“I am sorry. I will try.”

Gracie nudged his hand, reminding him he was in the middle of petting her. After a few minutes of appeasing the momma alpaca, he returned his gaze to Cassie, who had started the nighttime ritual they’d shared the past few nights. As if she hadn’t had it wrested from her hand every night, she lifted the huge bucket to fill it with fresh water.

“Here, let me do that!”

He rushed over to take the heavy bucket from her, but she glared at him, daring him to try. “I can do this, Lucas Denton. I have been taking care of my animals alone for months. Go back inside before you have a relapse.”

Back off, Denton.

Something else was going on with her tonight. Was it sharing the drawing and her studio with him? Did that make her feel vulnerable and exposed? One thing’s for sure, he wouldn’t endear himself to her by charging in like a stallion. This girl had a serious problem with men. Hell, she didn’t even have any male alpacas.

He let go, and she hefted the bucket until the contents had been emptied into the trough.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t handle it, darlin’. Just that I want to pull my weight around here. After all, you saved my life.”

She didn’t make eye contact, but took the rake and tossed some more straw bedding into Killa’s stall. “You do not owe me anything, Lucas. You saved Milagrosa’s life. We are even. Why do men always think they have to take care of women, as if we cannot survive without them?”

Clearly, she wasn’t too keen on any member of his gender. He’d seen her response to Adam at daVinci’s and at Adam’s house while he was recovering, too. That man raised Cassie’s hackles every time. Was it just resentment toward him for taking her friend away? He didn’t think so.

Suddenly, he realized where he’d seen her father’s eyes before—in Adam Montague’s.

“What’s your father like?” Was he the reason she couldn’t stand men? The man’s eyes in the portrait of her parents were much colder than her momma’s. Some despicable men abused their daughters horribly. Luke always suspected Maggie’s father had molested her, but she never wanted to talk about it.

She spun around to face him. “What?”

“Your father. Did he… Did you get along with him?”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears before she glanced away and began petting Killa. Damn. If the man had hurt her, Luke would—

“He was hard working, but is retired now. Honest. Fair. A man of integrity. He is much older than my mother. He does not understand the way the world has changed. He did not understand me. We…became estranged while I was in college.”

It didn’t sound like she was angry at him for abusing her. Was it the age difference between Karla and Adam that set her off around the Marine?

But she wasn’t too fond of men in general. Take Luke. He’d never done anything to hurt her. He’d been extremely careful not to come on too strong, either. After nearly two weeks here, Luke had seen only a few moments when she’d let down her guard and become, well, civil.

Sharing the birth and rescue of the cria should have softened her more. Tonight, though, he was clearly wearing on her nerves. Again. Her mood swings left him dizzy.

Even so, the lady hadn’t taken her Tahoe’s plow blade to the snow mass yet in an effort to try and clear the road faster. Maybe she wasn’t as sick of him as she pretended to be.

He grinned. Could he be wearing down her defenses a little?

After Cassie said goodnight to her alpacas—just short of tucking them into their straw beds—Luke followed her out of the shed, and they hightailed it back to the cabin as the wind bombarded them. How’d she stand living on a mountain pass like this? Luke couldn’t wait to return to his cozy, warm house in the basin below.

He might as well admit he would have nothing more than friendship with Cassie. Even that might be a long shot. The woman preferred isolation. Solitude. Why was it he always chose the ones who didn’t need him?

Luke sighed. He longed for some time with his horses. They loved him unconditionally, needed him to see to their needs, and were learning to trust him. At least he had made some progress with some of them. Unlike Cassie, they liked spending time with him.