Summer on the Mountain (22 page)

She got her son’s answering machine and left a message, asking that he call her.  She replaced the phone on the hook and then headed back out to join Summer in the gallery.

As she perused the paintings on the walls, she suddenly had an inspired idea.  Since Leonard wouldn’t be home for at least a week, she decided to hang Summer’s mountaintop paintings on the gallery walls.  Although she had no intention of selling them, she knew the beautiful paintings would generate interest—both in Summer as an artist and in the gallery.

She hurried into the office, retrieved three of the paintings, and then to Summer’s surprise, displayed the paintings prominently in the gallery.  Gwendolyn stepped back and gasped.  Although she didn’t especially appreciate landscapes, she had to admit she found these intriguing—that they beckoned to her in a way that certainly surprised her.  Summer had managed to visually convey her appreciation for the beauty of Leonard and Jarrod’s mountaintop on these canvases, and even Gwendolyn felt a tug toward them.

Summer hurried to her side after finishing up with a client.  “Gwendolyn, what are you doing?”

“I thought I’d hang them until we put them in their final home in Leonard’s study.”

“Buy why?” she asked, watching her boss curiously.

Gwendolyn shrugged her thin shoulders.  “I don’t know.  I … really like them.”

“
You do
?”

Gwendolyn seemed taken aback, searching for the right words.  “These paintings speak to me somehow.  I’m not sure how or why, but they do.  It’s clear to even me that you, Summer, love that mountaintop—and that you love my son.”

She smiled softly, pleased that her boss liked the paintings, but unsure how she felt about the constant reminders of what she had left behind.  How could she look at them —even for a relatively short span of time—without thinking of Jarrod and how much she missed him?

“Summer, do you have that sketch you showed me of Jarrod?”

Her eyes narrowed and she nodded.  “I do.  Why?”

“I want to hang it.”

Summer winced and shook her head.  “I don’t think so, Gwendolyn.  I don’t want…”

“You don’t want Jarrod to see it.  He won’t, nor will I tell him about it.”

“Why do you want to display it?”

“I just do.  Summer, I have a strong feeling that displaying these paintings and the sketch for even a short time will lead to positive things for you.”

“You think they might generate a commission or two?”

“I know they will.  Frankly, my heart tells me your art is your ticket to financial success.”

“And happiness,” Summer added with a laugh, but sobered, searching Gwendolyn’s face.  “You really believe that?”

“I do, Summer.  I really do.  And I also believe…”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“I believe you won’t be working for me for very long.”

“Wait a minute.  What makes you think I might be leaving the gallery?  I don’t have any plans to leave,” she assured her friend.

“You love my son.  And I have no illusions Jarrod will ever leave his mountain- top.”

“And you think I’d leave everything behind and move to the mountain?”

The instant she said the words, she knew it was true.  She would move for Jarrod in a heartbeat.  She could easily envision herself there, living with him in his cabin, carving out a life together lakeside beneath towering trees. 

“I believe you would, Summer,” Gwendolyn responded honestly.  “And as Jarrod’s mother and your friend, I would be thrilled to see you together.”

She choked back a sob.  “Thank you, but I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”

“If you can’t bring Mohammed to the mountain…” Gwendolyn said mysteriously, just before she walked away.

***

Jarrod arrived home, disheveled and weary, but pleased with a job well done.  He stepped into the shower, rinsing away the grime he’d accumulated over what felt like a lifetime, and then changed into shorts and a t-shirt.  He grabbed a soda and then stepped out onto the porch of his cabin.

He glanced over at his folks’ place, feeling a stab of pain slice through his heart.  He knew Summer wasn’t there—knew she had left several days before.  He had stopped by the week before and had found she’d moved out.  The shock had practically dropped him to his knees, but then he’d had a stakeout to get back to, and hadn’t had time to register or process that she was really gone.

He suspected that reality would register tonight—his first night back home after having ended the stakeout, and after having caught the poachers. 

He could thank Summer for providing the lead that led to their capture, and wished he could tell her.  But she had left without so much as a note, or a telephone call. 

Just in case she might have called, he checked his machine, and found the message from his mother.  He called her back, sensing something in her voice that worried him.

“You’re home,” she said succinctly when she heard his voice.

“Yep.  I’m home.”

“Have you spoken to Summer?”  She asked the question, though she knew the answer.

“I just got home,” he said tiredly. 

“So you haven’t spoken to her.”

“She hasn’t spoken to me.”

His mother laughed without humor.  “The girl loves you.  She has a broken heart, by the way.”

He gasped.  “Mom, how do you know she didn’t break my heart by leaving?”

“Summer broke your heart?  Oh, Jarrod!”  Gwendolyn had expected she’d have to employ her strongest arsenal of guilt tactics to get through to her stoic son, but Jarrod had certainly surprised her with his words.  His acknowledgment that Summer had broken his heart by leaving spoke to his deep feelings for her.  That was definitely a good sign.

“She did,” he said in even tones.  “She left, without a goodbye.”

“She … had her reasons,” she said in defense of her friend, but found herself pulled in opposing directions.  She heard the pain in her son’s voice—the same pain she’d earlier heard in Summer’s voice.

“She could have told me those reasons before she left,” he said, running a hand across his jaw.  “Imagine how I felt when I stopped by your cabin and found she’d moved out.”

“You were on a stakeout,” she reminded him.

“She could have reached me.”

“I suppose…” Gwendolyn muttered. 

“If that’s all, Mom,” he said tiredly, “I’m really worn out.”

“No, it’s not all.  Come to town.  Talk to her, Jarrod.  Please.”

He didn’t respond.

“Jarrod,” Gwendolyn prompted.

“We’ll see.  For now, I need sleep.”

“Get some rest then, but come soon.”

“Bye, Mom.”

***

“Summer, call him!” Gwendolyn intoned for the umpteenth time.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“How do you know that?”

“He hasn’t called,” she mumbled miserably.

“You could call him,” Gwendolyn cried in frustration.  “You two are impossible!”

Summer shrugged as she stood back from a newly hung painting.  “How does it look?”

“Better than you.”

“Thanks,” she said glumly.

“Well, you’ve seen yourself in the mirror.  You look like a woman who has lost the love of her life.”

“Do you have to remind me?”

“Why … won’t … you … call … him?” she implored.

Summer turned to her friend, her eyes agonized.  “It’s my fault a beautiful animal was slaughtered.  And I didn’t tell you, because, frankly it’s embarrassing, but Jarrod had to save me from a bear intent on eating me.  There were onlookers—friends and coworkers of Jarrod’s, Gwendolyn—who saw me running away from a bear!  Jarrod was mortified!”

  Gwendolyn watched her as if she’d taken leave of her senses.  “And those are your reasons for turning your back on my son?”

Summer laughed without humor.  “If you’ll remember, he hasn’t called me, either.”

“Like you, he’s stubborn.”

“How is he doing?” Summer couldn’t refrain from asking.

“He’s tired, and done with his stakeout.  Why don’t you drive up and see him?  I’ll give you the afternoon off.”

She shook her head sadly.  “It’s better that we both get on with our lives.  I don’t belong in his world, and Lord knows, he’ll never come to mine.”

“You do, too, belong in his world, Summer!  Look at those paintings.  They were painted by someone truly in love with her surroundings.  I couldn’t paint them!”

“You can’t paint,” she reminded her friend in a droll tone.

“Well, even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to paint that darn mountain so beautifully and reverently.  And look at the sketch you did of my son.  You are in love with the man!  Love trumps pride—or should.  Forget your pride, Summer.  Talk to Jarrod.  I happen to know he’s miserable without you.”

“He is?”

“Yes!”

She sighed.  “I should get back to work.”

Gwendolyn shook her head sadly, but then crossed the gallery and began collecting Summer’s paintings.  Soon, they would hang them in Leonard’s study.  As eager as she was to see the look on her husband’s face, she couldn’t get the sound of her son’s voice out of her mind. 

Jarrod was hurting, and she knew that a reconciliation with Summer would ease his pain.  If only she could bring them together.

***

Rick Sanders drove up to Jarrod’s place.  He was eager to talk to his friend, since he’d been off work the day law enforcement had apprehended the poachers.  Jarrod had been correct when he’d approached his superiors with suspicions about the couple living lakeside.  He had effectively planted the seed with Benton that there were animals ripe for the picking at Clancy Meadow, and sure enough, Benton and  his poacher co-conspirators had eventually shown up there and walked right into the hands of waiting law enforcement. 

There was also another matter on the agenda, though Rick wasn’t especially eager to broach the subject with his friend, nor was he certain how to broach the subject. 

He eased to a stop in front of Jarrod’s place, surprised to see him sitting on the porch steps, looking out over the lake.  The man hardly glanced his way as Rick lowered the tailgate of the truck to allow Brutus to jump down onto the dusty driveway.

He seemed to finally register their presence about the time Brutus slathered a sopping wet tongue across his cheek.  “Brutus!” he hissed.  “Dang it, Rick!”

“Hey, don’t yell at me.  I can’t stop him.  Besides, if he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t be kissing you.”

“Well, who asked him to?” Jarrod said with a disgusted snort.

Rick sighed heavily.  “Poor Brutus.  So misunderstood.”

Jarrod met his gaze.  “No.  The answer is no.”

“I didn’t even ask you yet!”

“Well, you were about to.  The answer is no.  I don’t want that horse.”

“You and nobody else,” Rick muttered, dropping onto the seat beside him.

“Meg finally give you an ultimatum?”

“Yep.  It’s her or the dog.”

Jarrod shot Brutus an assessing glance.  “My advice to you—pick the dog.”

“Just because you’re unlucky in love, don’t take it out on the rest of us,” Rick said testily.

“If you’re so lucky, how come you’re here, attempting to pawn that mastodon off on me?”

He shook his head.  “I’m in a quandary, all right.  I love my wife, but I love my dog, too.”

Jarrod hitched a thumb toward Brutus.  “You had him first.  I’m thinking loyalty should count for something.  Besides, he’s as warm a body as you’re liable to find.”

“He’s warm all right, but trust me, it’s not the same as having Meg beside me.”

“I guess not,” Jarrod muttered.

Rick snared his gaze.  “Jarrod, please.  Will you take him?  I’ve asked the few people I trust, and frankly, you top the list.  I love the doggone dog, but I can’t keep him.”

Jarrod sighed, glancing heavenward.  “I can’t afford him.”

“I’ll buy his dog food.”

“That wouldn’t be right,” he said tiredly.

“He’s a great watch dog,” Rick said, realizing Jarrod might be warming to the idea.

“I’d run if I saw him,” Jarrod admitted.  “Heck, I want to run now.”

Rick nodded eagerly.  “I know Summer appreciated having him with her.  He made her feel safe,” he said, nodding his head to make his point.

The instant he said the words, he regretted them.  Jarrod rose from the step and began walking toward the lake.

“Jarrod, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to…”

Jarrod waved a hand dismissively.  “It’s all right.”

“Have you talked to her?” he asked, falling into step beside him.

“No.”

“Have you called her?”

“She hasn’t called me.”

“Well, you did try to have her arrested…”