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Surprisingly, it had been people.
The citizens of Rust Creek Falls had become her test subjects, either in the park, the community center or while sitting tucked away in a corner of a local business. Sometimes she asked for permission, but usually the sketches were done so quick the focus of her practice exercise didn’t even realize what Vanessa was doing until she’d rip out the page from her sketchbook afterward and offer it to them.
So far, no one had been upset with her. She’d figured most had just been tossed away, but she had spotted a few, like Callie’s, posted around town. Evidence that her creativity was trickling back little by little.
“The drawing you did of my mother working the counter at Crawford’s Store is now matted, framed and holds a place of honor in my father’s study,” Nate said. “Callie and I were there for Sunday dinner and that drawing got me thinking about the mural, the resort and you.”
Surprised at that, Vanessa’s gaze was drawn back to the empty space over the desk, looking very much like the oversize blank canvases in her cabin. Nate’s request caused her fingers to itch, a familiar sign they wanted to be wrapped around a paintbrush again. But Vanessa knew what would happen. As soon as she’d pull out her paints...nothing. Sketching a few random subjects was vastly different than taking on a commissioned work, where the nuances she’d have to capture in oils required planning and a delicate touch.
Things that were still beyond her reach.
Moving far away from home and memories of Adele had been her way to start her life again, and deep down, hopefully restore her spark, her inspiration for her craft. Except for those rare moments when she tried to paint and still failed, Vanessa was enjoying her time in Rust Creek Falls. She’d been lucky enough to find a great place to live, joined the Newcomers Club—a social group of women new to Rust Creek Falls—made some great friends and explored the area. The art program at the center kept her busy, she’d gone on a few dates with some of the local cowboys and made a point to appreciate each day of her new life.
Number thirteen: stop and enjoy sunrises and sunsets.
Another check mark on her list, made the first morning she woke up in Montana. Adele had been right. Concentrating on her life, and using their list as a guide, had helped her to find joy again.
Which made this idea of Nate’s downright scary. What if she said yes and her creative block kept her from putting anything on the wall? And her work was abstract in the truest sense of the word. Powerful color compositions with no reference of any kind to anything recognizable. What Nate was describing was much more detailed, and in a way, more personal.
Still, she found herself wanting desperately to take on the challenge.
Maybe this mural was a chance—her last chance—to find her talent again.
* * *
Jonah Dalton breathed in the cool morning air, holding it for a moment in his nose and mouth, like he used to do as kid. The air had a bite to it—like the fresh tartness of a Granny Smith apple the moment you first sink your teeth into it—that couldn’t be matched anywhere but here in the wilds of Montana.
He’d missed that taste more than he’d been willing to admit.
The air in Denver, his home for the past eight years, had a flavor that was a mix of excitement and culture, but that was to be expected in a sophisticated city of over 600,000 people, he guessed.
He released his breath, watching the white puffs disappear. He stood on the large circular drive outside of Bledsoe’s Folly, soon to be known as...well, whatever Nate Crawford decided to name his as-yet-unopened resort. All Jonah knew was that when the chance came to restore and revitalize this twenty-year-old log mansion into a state-of-the-art, and hopefully popular destination for year-round vacations, his architect’s heart wouldn’t let him turn down the project. Not when the initial construction of the castle-like mansion had fueled his love of architecture and design all those years ago.
So he’d taken a leave of absence from his job with one of the top firms in the country and worked pretty much nonstop on the plans and blueprints for the necessary renovations.
And now he was here.
Even though he’d been less than thrilled about Nate’s condition that he be onsite for the last three months of the project in case any problems arose, Jonah had always enjoyed seeing his designs come to life. At work, he forgot everything else. And that’s just how he liked it.
He figured he could do the same thing here, even if it meant coming home. And he had to admit he was looking forward to the quiet and slow pace of his home town, especially after all the craziness—professional and personal—he’d left behind in Denver. He’d arrived late last night after driving fifteen hours straight and hadn’t made it past the living room couch at his parents’ place.
