The Bride Wore Denim (13 page)

By the time they’d each consumed every bite of their exquisite steaks, Harper had shared more with Cecelia than she had with anyone besides Tristan. She set her fork down for the last time, set her napkin on the plate and groaned as politely as she could. She truly didn’t need anything more from this lunch.

“
That
was delicious. And I’m kind of a steak snob after growing up with prime Wyoming beef cattle.”

“You’ve had a fascinating life, my dear. It’s no wonder you have such a variety of inspiration for your work.”

“Thank you, but it’s simply the way I’ve chosen to express my experiences. Everyone has a life full of inspiration. Not everyone likes to paint.”

“Not everyone
can
paint, Harper. You must know that.”

“I do. I feel very fortunate. I thank God every day that I can express my visions this way.”

Cecelia leaned back slightly as if to take in more of Harper’s frame and demeanor. Cecelia’s long jacket of ecru silk flowed richly over a striking brown-and-black African print blouse. Black slacks fitted her slender frame like custom couture—which, Harper figured, they probably were. Her brown, black, and off-white, bone-and-stone jewelry was chunky but tasteful, her shoulder-length bob classic and elegant. She oozed wealth but dripped charm.

“Have you ever thought of treating your art as a vocation?” she asked.

“Do you mean paint full time?”

“Exactly.”

Harper held back a sigh of longing. Her entire life she’d wished for more time to paint.

“I wish I could even fantasize about such a thing.” She smiled. “I paint whenever I can, but it’s never enough.”

“Have you ever heard of an arts patron?”

“Sure.” She narrowed her eyes warily.

“Most commonly, in this day and age, people who support the arts do so by giving to museums, art collections, and the like. I have done that in the past. But there are also a few old throwbacks to the days of private patronage. Harper, there’s a reason you’ve heard my name and knew who I was. I have made myself the biggest pest at art shows and galleries in and around Chicago. I love art. I love new artists.”

“And I’m so grateful.”

She smiled. “I’ve been trolling.”

“Trolling?”

“For an artist I could, to be crass, buy.” She laughed, a fun, musical sound.

“Buy an artist?”

“Of course not literally. But I would like to sponsor you. I’d like to commission several paintings, perhaps a dozen or eighteen. Then I’d like to pay you a small stipend so you can concentrate exclusively on painting.”

The world spun, even though Harper sat securely in a thick, comfortable banquette. Never in her wildest imagination had she pictured this being Cecelia’s reason for lunch today. Or any day. Or anybody’s reason ever to invite her anywhere. A patron?

“I’m not sure I completely understand.”

“It’s all right. This is a highly unusual request, I know, but I’ve thought about it a great deal, and I have lots of time to explain it. You have plenty of time to think about it.”

Harper forced herself to hold back the questions bubbling in fast-rising, disbelieving effervescence. Think about what? A stipend? Twelve paintings? What kind of—?

“What?” She focused again when she realized Cecelia had spoken again. “I’m sorry, my brain is trying to take this all in.”

Cecelia smiled.

“I’m sure it is. But it shouldn’t be. You completely deserve this. I want to see you go places, my dear. All I said was I’m talking about a rather substantial time commitment from you. I want to make sure you know exactly what that entails.”

“All right.” Her stomach rocked and danced. This was real. An honest-to-goodness about-to-be offer of something she’d never imagined. “I’m all ears.”

“First of all I have two homes, one here in Chicago, the other quite a large place I recently purchased on the ocean in South Carolina and hope to use for winter entertaining. That home is in the process of being renovated, and I have always dreamed of having it decorated thematically by one very special artist. That artist is you.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Nothing yet.” She laughed. “There’s more. I also have a bed and breakfast I inherited from a cousin who passed away several years ago. It’s a Northwoods lodge along the Canadian border in Minnesota. It’s dated and needs fresh décor. I don’t need to spend much time there, but it is a thriving business, and I do send a lot of my friends to visit.

“So, you see, I think I can start out by giving you exposure as a very up-and-coming new talent through people who spend time at my properties. And, while all this is going on, I’d like the world to meet you.”

“If this doesn’t sound too rude,” Harper said, “what are you getting out of this?”

“Not rude at all. I’m getting a lot of very valuable artwork, for starters. Second, I’m getting the pleasure of calling myself the person who discovered you. In two years, that will be worth a lot.”

Heat from excitement as well as embarrassment rose in Harper’s face. She longed for a cool breeze, yet dreaded the thought of this all being a dream she might blow away with the slightest stray breath.

“That’s a lot of faith in someone completely untested and unknown,” she said.

“But I have that faith.” She patted Harper’s hand. “That’s why I’d like you to think about a commission of thirty-five thousand dollars, which I’d pay over the course of the first year. For that you’d agree to the first twelve paintings. The only other thing I would require from you would be a promise to be available on occasion to attend social gatherings where I could introduce you as my artist.”

Harper’s ears buzzed with the white noise of utter disbelief. Her brain had clicked off after the words “thirty-five thousand.” She couldn’t comprehend such a stratospheric amount of money for her crazy paintings. Paintings that didn’t yet exist. She’d heard of such things, in fairy tales and circles far removed from the ones in which she traveled.

“Oh, Cecelia.” It took a moment for her to form a coherent thought. “That can’t be right. Nobody does this—it’s far too generous.”

“Harper, in my world now and my late husband’s world before he died, of course people did this. They did this kind of thing all the time. And it is a very good thing to do with one’s money. It’s not a real estate takeover or a high-stakes gamble. It would cost me three times as much to buy a top-of-the-line car or boat or horse or any of the million things wealthy people buy for pleasure. Your talent is my pleasure. It’s that simple.”

“My heart is pounding; I have no idea what to say. Again. This is the most incredible thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Well, I want you to think about it. Think about it very hard. It’s going to put us in each other’s pockets for the next year. You may come to hate me.” Her smile said she didn’t really see that happening.

“Never.”

“I don’t think so either. And, that, my dear Harper, is what this lunch was all about.”

“Thank you. Whatever happens. Thank you.”

“My joy and my pleasure. Now. I have to ask about your name, Harper Lee Crockett. I could make all kinds of suppositions about it, but I’d love to hear from you how you came by it.”

“Your suppositions would probably all be right. My father had very eclectic heroes and heroines. I’m named after the author Harper Lee, and I am Davy Crockett’s ninth cousin twice removed. Somebody worked it out.”

“That’s the most marvelous thing! Can you imagine the hook your beautiful name will be for getting people interested? This gets better and better, my dear! I’m thrilled.”

Harper could hardly breathe for excitement, although the first taste of commodity pricing, as it were, over her name gave her a twinge. But it was nothing. There didn’t seem to be a downside to this. She wanted to dive into the deal like an Olympic champion into a pool. Still, she knew she had to think about it for appearances sake. Probably for her own sake as well.

“I do hope you’ll consider this—I know it’s a lot to ask. But I have great hopes and plans for you. And once you’ve considered it and come up with what you need and want to add to the deal, I hope you’ll say yes.”

She thought two things simultaneously: Cole would be so excited, she couldn’t wait to tell him, and she already knew there wasn’t any question of her answer.

S
KYLAR STARED AT
Cole sitting comfortably on his horse. He leaned forward with his forearm resting on the saddle horn and laughed at something Grandpa Leif told him. She loved looking at him, even though he never looked back except to tease her about her new dog or the way she complained about school. She knew she should think of him as an old man, but she couldn’t. Every time he flashed his smile, her heart melted—like in the romance novels her mom didn’t know she read. The ones Grandma Sadie let her borrow and promised not to tell about. For a really, truly old person, Grandma Sadie sometimes acted younger than Skylar’s own parents.

She sat up straighter on Bungu and scanned the hills for cattle. They were in this five thousand acre pasture somewhere. Her dad, Cole, and Grandpa Leif were waiting for a radio call from Cole’s dad, Russ, who was surveying the area in his plane. The two ranch hands that still worked for Paradise Ranch, Rico and Neil, had their families with them and were spread out on horseback waiting for word. Rico’s black lab, Shaggy, and Neil’s husky-lab cross, Lolly, criss-crossed the field between owners.

This was one part of ranch life Skylar loved—gathering the cattle. There were three herds, each in a separate place. This first gathering of the early fall was of the closest-in herd and was always the most fun—everybody helped, from youngest to oldest; nobody was sick of the work yet; and this fall, for the first time in as long as she could remember, they weren’t going to use a helicopter to drive cattle—just some four-wheelers.

They usually brought the cattle in the last half mile and sorted them on horseback. Today they were starting farther away—about five miles from the ranch—and would have an old-fashioned mini cattle drive—a one-day exercise so they could appreciate the old ways. Those were Joely’s wishes, handed down before she’d left for California with Mrs. Crockett three weeks ago. Skylar’s dad had told her this once-a-year drive had been a tradition for years, but Mr. Crockett had stopped it a while back. Joely and Mrs. C were due home today or tomorrow, and Cole wanted to be able to tell them the tradition had been revived.

Skylar couldn’t have been happier. She thought Joely was making some good rules.

A faint familiar whirr caught her attention, and she shielded her eyes to stare into the blue September sky. She saw the helicopter approaching straight toward them, and she frowned. The whirr morphed to a tell-tale whoop and she pointed to show her brother Marcus.

“What’s that? I thought we weren’t using a chopper this year.”

“We aren’t.” Sixteen-year-old Marcus met her frown and copied it.

Moments later everyone could see the big, white-and-silver helicopter.

“It’s a medi-vac chopper,” Cole said. “Must be coming from the VA.”

“Seems a might low,” Leif said. “Don’t like seeing them. Means someone’s life is probably changing, and not for the better.”

“Oh, don’t think like that.” Skylar’s mom chided them. “Somebody’s life is being saved.”

The chopper passed overhead and continued on. Skylar watched it with an odd premonition in her stomach, but everyone else went back to work before it was out of sight. She didn’t like thinking about the kinds of injuries that required an air lift. Although, she reminded herself, because roads were far apart in this part of Wyoming, an injury didn’t have to be that serious. One Interstate highway did cut through a corner of Paradise, but that section of road was a long way from anywhere an ambulance could get to quickly. Medical helicopters weren’t uncommon.

She shook her head. Her mother was always warning her about the gloomy thoughts she often let grow. Normally the admonition to cheer up irritated Skylar to death. Now, however, her mother was probably right. She didn’t want to dwell on accidents on a day like this.

She turned Bungu toward her brother, ready to follow him as she’d been doing all morning. His horse Scout knew everything there was to know about working cattle and made a great partner horse for Bungu who was still learning. The walkie-talkie on her father’s belt squawked. At the same moment, Cole’s did the same. Then her grandpa’s followed. Cell phones didn’t work out here in the middle of the ranch, but the radios had ranges of around eighteen miles, sometimes more if there weren’t any hills or other things in the way. To have them all go off meant someone was hailing them.

Her dad pulled his unit free and pushed the talk button. “Bjorn here. That you, Sadie?”

“Bjorn?” Miss Sadie’s voice crackled with age and distance. “You all need to come back. Right away. There’s been an accident.”

Skylar’s blood froze.

“Sadie? Tell me what’s going on.” Her father’s voice soothed, even as he exchanged worried glances with the other adults.

“Chet Reynolds is here.”

Chet Reynolds was a Teton County sheriff.

“Bella and Joely. Chet says it isn’t good.”

“What?” Cole grabbed his radio. “Sadie? It’s Cole. Darlin’ let me talk to Chet.”

The rest of the conversations and crackles and moans of disbelief blurred after that. With sickening clarity, Skylar realized the chopper they’d all seen, flying low, had been heading for the accident scene on Highway 191, twenty-five miles from the ranch. The knowledge made her want to throw up. She’d known something was wrong.

The cattle were allowed to disburse into the pasture without a second thought. Her grandpa, her dad, and Cole launched themselves, with Rico’s and Neil’s youngest kids, into the pickup truck that served as a chuck wagon, and disappeared toward the ranch at breakneck speed. Skylar, left behind with her mother, Neil and Rico, Marcus, and Rico’s wife, Sarah, to make the ten-mile ride back home leading three horses, paid only enough attention to know Joely and her mother weren’t dead, and that Joely, the most seriously injured, was unconscious and badly hurt. Something about a logging truck and broken chains and logs smashing through the car windshield. After gleaning that much, Skylar let herself go numb.

The ride home seemed to take forever. All Skylar could think about was that there’d been a funeral only a month before. That one was still fresh in her mind. She didn’t think she could stand another one. And definitely she couldn’t handle two.

She expected to find chaos when she got back, but the ranch yard was quiet. She wanted to run and find Cole, but her mother made her help with the horses first, and by the time they all reached the main house, there wasn’t any chaos there either. Even so, Skylar recognized the pall that permeated all the rooms. It was as crushing as when Mr. Crockett had died.

They found Grandma Sadie cradled in the oversized arms of the living room armchair. She was wrapped in blankets, and Cole squatted beside her. At first she thought Grandma Sadie might have finally succumbed to grief, but she was the one speaking. As Skylar approached the words became clear—and immediately comforting. Grandma was praying.

The Crocketts had always been known as good church-going folk—at least according to her mother. “The girls slipped a mite after they moved away.” She could hear her mom’s voice, telling her the story as a warning, so she wouldn’t become one of the ones who strayed. “We all hope they come back to the fold in time. You’ll have to remember to keep them all in your prayers.”

The funny thing was her mother cared about God and religion more than anyone Skylar knew, even the pastor at their church in Wolf Paw Pass. But when she said the Crockett girls had slipped, she didn’t say it like she thought less of them. It was sometimes impossible to figure out what things her mom would take a dislike to, like going to school in town, and what things she’d be tolerant of, like the Crockett girls who’d “slipped.”

“So please cover Joely and Isabella with your precious spirit and lead them through the valley back to us,” Grandma said, her eyes closed. “And pour your love and mercy over the rest of the girls. Comfort them. Let them know you are with them as you are with their sister and mother.”

The words were kind of old-fashioned and churchy. Skylar mostly didn’t know what she believed. Her dad didn’t say much about religion. Sometimes religion was all her mom talked about. When Skylar was out riding and drawing, she thought there must be God somewhere. When he was being stuffed down her throat, she was sure people were making him up to scare her.

Grandma Sadie’s prayer didn’t scare her. It was sure and strong, like she was just reminding God to do those things instead of asking him. When she finished, Cole kissed her cheek and stood.

“You okay?” he asked when he saw Skylar.

She nearly cried. Not a single other person had asked her how she felt.

“I’m scared,” she admitted and the admission caused a miracle. He put his arms around her and held her in a huge hug.

“I’m sure you are. We all are,” he said. “It’s pretty hard to be brave when we don’t know what’s going on. Your dad and your grandpa went to the hospital. They’ll let us know.”

“Are they going to die?” It was a question she normally never would have voiced, but she was braver than usual with Cole there. She held onto his waist, and he felt more solid and strong than her own dad.

“Aw, honey, I sure hope not,” he said. “I don’t believe they are, but that’s because I’m hoping so hard. I wish I could lie and tell you I knew they were going to be fine. But you’re big enough to know that I can’t make a promise like that yet.”

“I know.”

He pulled away and patted her on both arms. “Hey, where’s that pup?”

She’d forgotten about Asta. “She’s in her kennel in the barn.”

“Why don’t you run and get her. Bring her here. I’ll help watch her. And, hey, even if she pees on the floor, it’s more important for you to have a friend right now.”

Wasn’t he her friend? She’d rather stay here with him. She also knew he was right.

“Okay,” she said. On her way to the back door she stopped and looked back. “Did anyone ask you if you’re okay?”

He smiled, his eyes a little surprised. “You’re a nice girl, Skylar Thorson, anyone tell you that? I’m okay.”

She felt a little better, like she did after she’d been helpful around the house or the barns. The satisfaction didn’t make the cloud hanging over the whole house go away, but she wasn’t as reluctant to leave by herself. She’d taken good care of Asta as she’d sworn to her parents she would when they’d very reluctantly allowed her to keep the pup. She didn’t want to mess that up now. Cole was right about her needing a friend, but more than that she needed someone to take care of the way Cole had taken care of her.

“Hey, Skylar?”

She turned back to his call, her heart thumping at his smile. “Yeah?”

“Could you ask Rico if he’d call Dr. Ackerman? Tell her we need to postpone the pregnancy testing on the cows tomorrow. We’ll call and reschedule.”

Her heart floated. He was trusting her with ranch business. Easy stuff that anyone could do—but he’d asked her. “Sure, I’ll tell him. Anything else?”

“Come back quickly. I don’t want you wandering around by yourself—we all need to be together. ’Kay?”

At that her heart officially soared. She could be here for him—she definitely could. Maybe people were wrong. Maybe a crush wasn’t ridiculous after all.