One of Bellamy’s.
The gold leaf and silver flecks she used make it shine. Violent slashes of blues and greens and red streak across the canvas. But in those messy layers of paint, a lilac sunset slowly fading to gold, is a house. A ranch. She painted our cabin.
That first year after we were divorced, I flew to San Francisco, praying she’d hear me out. Praying she’d come home. It was the night of her big art show. I crossed the showroom floor, her ring in my pocket. But when I saw her, smiling bright and beaming, I stopped in my tracks.
I couldn’t do it. Not when she looked so damn happy.
I left without seeing her. Before she knew I was there.
But I had to have some part of her, so I bought her painting.
How different would my life be if I had just talked to her that day? I’ll never know. But I could have walked across that showroom floor and kissed her. Should have. Should have told her how proud I was of her. Spilled my guts and told her I wanted her back. That I was a fucking idiot who didn’t deserve her, but that I wanted to try again.
But I didn’t.
Just because I couldn’t live without her doesn’t mean she felt the same way.
The door cracks open slowly, and my heart stumbles. Breath held, I look over, hopeful it’s Bellamy. But it’s my dad, shuffling inside, flecks of snow blending with his white hair.
“Pops.” I sigh. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”
“I’m an old man, son.” He tips his hat at me as he settles into a chair next to the stove. “If I go out like Frosty the Snowman, so be it.”
“Jesus.” I set down the needle and thread. “You’re a morbid bastard, you know that?”
“Tell me somethin’, Hank.” He steeples his fingers in front of his face, a familiar gesture that tells me I’m in for a lecture. “You’re out here, Bellamy’s in there.”
I grimace at the reminder.
“You tell her about the farm yet?”
“Do I need to?”
His eyes narrow, seeing right through me. “She deserves to know.”
The silence lingers between us. My father looks older, more tired than he did a few months ago, and for damn good reason.
We’re in the shitter with the bank. The tree farm and the surrounding land, including the cabin, are scheduled to go to auction the week after Christmas. The only way to keep that from happening is to come up with back taxes.
Thinking about Bellamy inside the cabin,ourcabin, makes me want to save it that much more.
But I don’t know how.
“She doesn’t deserve to know,” I mumble, looking away from him. “We’re divorced.”
My father’s bushy brows draw together. “Hell, I thought you came up here to keep her. To win her back.”
“I thought I could, but…” Bell’s words from last night come back to me. “It’s too hard,” I say quietly.
My dad looks at me like he did the time he found me smoking a cigarette and made me smoke the whole pack. “Kid, you’ve never been a quitter. Not when your mama died. Not when that roan got stuck in the river with a broken ankle. Not when youmet that girl and made it work, even though she lived a thousand miles away.”
The ache in my chest flares. “Yeah, well, I’m quittin’ now.” I shove up from the workbench and pace, needing to move. “She doesn’t want me back, Pops. She’s made that pretty damn clear.”
“Then stop pining and get out there and date.”
I pull up short and give my father a sharp look. The smile twitching his lips tells me he knows what he’s doing. His words are a dare. One I’ll never take him up on.
I’ve been on a few miserable blind dates. I’ve gone out, looking for a girl to pick up. But the truth is, I haven’t been with a woman in three damn years.
