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“Nell was Ingrid’s wife. They were together about thirty years. Nell grew up here in Ouray. Her family ran a little inn outside town for decades. She was working in Amsterdam when they met, and Ingrid followed her back to Colorado.” Erin smiled. “Ingrid says she took one look at these mountains and told Nell she’d been swindled, because nobody mentioned the altitude. Then she unpacked her suitcase and never left.”
Claire was quiet beside her, listening.
“Nell died two years ago from cancer.” Erin’s throat tightened briefly, the way it still did when she said it aloud. “She lifted everyone around her. After an hour with Nell, you remembered what was good about your life and felt ready to face whatever was difficult.”
They turned onto the path that climbed gently above town. The plows hadn’t reached there, and their boots sank into softer snow. Below them, Ouray spread across the narrow valley floor, wood smoke rising from chimneys into the windless sky. The mountains stood so close that their shadows already darkened the western edge of town.
“Her first Christmas without Nell was brutal. This one was supposed to be easier.” Erin pulled her hands from her pockets and folded back the loose sweater cuffs again. “Ingrid never says when she’s lonely. She comes into the shop, handles the books, helps with workshops, and finds ten other things I didn’t know needed doing. She likes staying busy, and she likes knowing I depend on her.” Erin smiled faintly. “The truth is, I do, and I never let a week go by without telling her so.”
She stopped where the path widened into a clearing around a wooden bench. Below them, snow-covered rooftops clustered along the dark ribbon of the Uncompahgre River. Beyond town, mountain peaks rose one behind another until the farthest disappeared into the sky.
Claire stood beside her and quietly looked out over the town for a moment.
Claire’s gloved hand found hers, and Erin laced their fingers together through the layers of wool and leather. She looked down at their joined hands before returning her attention out across the rooftops she knew by heart. Showing Claire Ouray felt like opening the door to the life Erin had built here. Claire had stepped inside so naturally that Erin already wanted to lead her farther.
New Year’s was only a few days away. Another few days would never be enough to learn everything Erin wanted to know about her or discover what they might become if given the time. Erin held her hand a little tighter, already reluctant to surrender a single hour of the time they had left.
Chapter Twelve
The gallery occupied a narrow storefront between a climbing outfitter and a closed real estate office. A hand-painted sign above the door read Ridgeline Arts in letters that tilted slightly uphill, as though the name itself was attempting the ascent.
Erin pushed the door open and motioned for Claire to go in first.
“She changes the art on the front wall every two weeks,” Erin said, already moving past the threshold. “Last time it was a series of winter landscapes painted entirely in shades of blue. I came in three times that week just to look at them because it was so peaceful.”
Claire followed Erin past a table of handmade jewelry and a rack of small watercolors into the main room, where the front wall held six large canvases that stopped her mid-step.
Sunflowers covered the front wall with their enormous blooms leaning toward the viewer as if inviting her to step through the canvas and sit among them. Petals curled and bent like fingers reaching out of the canvas. The yellows ranged from pale butter to a hot, furious gold that bled into burnt orange at the edges. One painting showed a single bloom lifting its face toward a perfect blue sky without a cloud anywhere in sight.
“This is the work of Marisol Vega.” Erin stood in front of the largest piece with her hands tucked into her coat pockets and her chin lifted. “She lives about twenty minutes south and grows all of them herself. She captures their energy so perfectly that you almost expect the petals to move. Every time I see her work, I want to touch the canvas just to make sure they aren’t real.”
Claire leaned closer to examine the ridges left by the artist’s brush, then stepped back to take in the full painting. “I can see why you like her work.”
Erin grinned and moved deeper into the gallery, pausing at a smaller piece near the back wall where a sunflower had bent completely sideways under its own weight. She waved Claire over.
“Look at this one. The stem is actually giving up, but the flower is still facing the window like it’s peeking in to say hello.”
Claire stood beside her and looked. Erin’s shoulder pressed naturally against her arm, like they had stood together looking at art for years.
Before they left, Claire chose a small print of the largest sunflower painting and carried it to the counter.
“You’re buying a sunflower print?” Erin asked with a smile.
“It makes me happy,” Claire said. “I’d like something in Denver that reminds me how much I smiled here.”
Erin stayed beside her while the gallery owner wrapped the print for its trip back to Denver.
Once they were outside, Erin turned to Claire. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m getting there.”
“There’s a Thai place nearby that I love.” Erin hesitated only briefly. “We could pick up dinner and take it to my house. I’d like you to see where I live.”
Claire smiled. “I’d love that.”
They drove to the restaurant three blocks off Main Street. The woman behind the counter greeted Erin by name and handed her a menu she clearly didn’t need. She gathered takeout containers while they decided how much food two women required after spending most of the afternoon walking through snow.
Erin’s house stood on a quiet street near the edge of town. It was a cheerful bungalow edged in deep green trim. A blue front door opened onto a living room full of color and pieces of Erin’s life. Books filled two tall shelves and spilled into smaller stacks beside the sofa. Framed prints shared the walls with family photographs and several small pieces of art that looked as though each had a story behind it. A rust-colored sofa faced the fireplace, and beyond the dining room, a glass door led to a sun porch lined by plants and even more books.
