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“Yes. And your Goddess, it seems. Who is Leto?”
“Many know her as the Greek Goddess—a Titan one—and a lover of Zeus. The dude got around, you know?”
I chuckled. “Yeah. You hear things.”
He grinned. “Leto was supposedly the mother of Artemis and Apollo, representing nurturing and motherhood. They also believed her to shift into a wolf while looking after the wolves.”
“You like Greek Mythology?”
“Some of it. It’s interesting: the dynamic, the depth, its saturation in history. But I’m more interested in the wolves and the Goddess, rather than the Goddess and the wolves.”
“Ah. I see.” I stroked another statue. “Did you have these commissioned?”
“I carved them.”
“What?” Surprised, I looked at them again, seeing the detail in the carvings created by an artist who invested their soul. “They’re beautiful. You have a gift. I can see it in the way you’ve captured something in their eyes, in their pose. They tell a story as if they’re forever watching, forever waiting.”
“You understand.”
“I do,” I replied, eagerly nodding. “Art may be subjective, but it is the artist who tells the story, often keeping its secret hidden while showing it to the world.”
“But you can see my secrets.” He played with the tendril of my hair. “Your drawing of me revealed that.”
“I don’t know. But I started off drawing the landscape, and then, when I thought of deceiving you, what I had to do to save my uncle, I felt in a cage. As if I’d always lived in a cage. And that’s when I began drawing you. This morning, when I looked upon the landscape, I felt the freedom you must feel by living here. It’s stunning.”
“Damn it, Savannah. You’re stunning.” He kissed me again, keeping his arms around me. It wasn’t sexual. It could have turned that way, but it didn’t. He tried to tell me something with the soft and slow way he caressed my tongue. It hit something inside that felt so wondrous it scared me to analyze or touch it with my mind. Instead, I rode it with him and appreciated the euphoric wave pulsing through me at his touch.
Too soon did he pull away, leaving me languid and at peace. I held on to him to steady myself.
“Have breakfast with me,” he said in a silvery voice. “We can talk some more.”
“I’d like that.”
Pancakes and bacon piled high and armed with steaming coffee, we carried it outside and sat beneath the morning sunshine on a wooden table on the east side of his cabin.
“Did you carve this, too?” I asked about the table. The many features of the tree stayed at home in the wood.
“I did. It’s a hobby of mine. Sometimes I donate things to the town, and sometimes I keep them. Like this one.”
I glanced back at the large cabin behind us, wooden materials used wherever possible on the home built for comfort. “You built your home?” I guessed.
“With help. But the outside, infrastructure, the design. I wanted to take charge of that.”
“Wow, and wow,” I gasped. “You have a gift. The detail in your work is mind-blowing.”
“I could say that about your art,” he replied, handing me a plate. “Pile high.”
“I prefer oils and a canvas myself. But sketching is something I can take with me when I travel while I come up with concepts to pass the time.”
“Do you enjoy being a bounty hunter?”
I thought about it. How it had become a chain around my neck of late. The monotony. The loneliness. And how it had landed me in this damn position. “It’s not something I would have chosen for myself. I mean, I like the law, the justice, and catching those who think they can evade it. But do I enjoy the long hours, the traveling, the risks? Not really.” I shrugged, helping myself to the food. “I can handle myself. Have done so from a young age. But I hate that I have to, sometimes. And then, on other occasions, I like the thrill. And it’s all I know. That and my art.”
He studied me. “Do you have much waiting for you back in Idaho?”
“No. Not really. I rent my apartment. I know people, have some acquaintances I can go out with now and again, that’s all. I’ve dated. Tried the relationship gig. They didn’t work out so well, unable to handle the job or me. So I stuck to casual dating. For the companionship mainly, and, sometimes, the sex. But no. I have no ties.”
His face clouded over. “I hate that you’ve had sex with other men.”
