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“If that’s true then why is there a pile of wood like this behind the cabin?” She moved toward him.
“My father piled it there. I just hadn’t moved it.” He wanted to kiss her again. Hadn’t it been forever since he’d been with a woman?
“Tell me what you would do first with a freshly cut piece of wood.”
Over the next few minutes, he explained his process. The more he talked about it, a spark of excitement grew. He hadn’t felt this fire in a long time. Moving to the workbench, he fingered the tools of his trade lined up in an orderly fashion. “I use these to tease out the form I want.”
“It must be exciting to see your vision come alive.” She looked at him with bright eyes.
An inkling of that feeling tingled in his fingers.
She returned to looking at the man and woman. “How long does it take for you to make an image come alive?”
Were they still talking about his work or something intimate? Whatever it was his mouth had gone dry. “It depends on how large it is. How much I want it.”
She blinked. A hint of pink filled her cheeks.
Brandon dipped his voice low. “It’s like any other thing worth having – it takes time and care to cultivate it.”
She looked around as if more sculptures appeared from a cabinet. “Have you done anything since the accident?”
“I have but they weren’t worth keeping.”
Laurel faced him. “I’m not sure I believe that, and I’ve not even seen them.”
“I only keep these to remind me not to bother to try.”
She stepped in front of him and took both of his hands in hers.
Until Laurel, he’d never had anybody voluntarily hold his damaged hand outside of the medical staff. He pulled his hand back, but she wouldn’t let it go. She ran her fingers along the scar where his fingers had once been. “There’s magic in these hands. Such talent for producing beauty. So many people wish they had what you have. I wish everyone saw what I see.”
“I only have half of what I used to.”
“You’re so wrong.” Laurel let go of his good hand and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “No, the ability to create something and see something in a piece of wood is right here.” She tapped his forehead. “You can still create. It may not be the same as it was. It can be different and still be amazing. Your work wouldn’t be any less beautiful.” She kissed the palm of his hand.
A sensation he thought dead shot through him. Laurel made him come live. More than that, she had him starting to care. But was he ready to face what could be? “Please don’t do that.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?”
He wanted her to touch him everywhere. But he couldn’t say that. “My hand. It looks awful.”
“You don’t believe that. You’re using it as an excuse because you’re scared.”
He jerked his hand back and shoved it in his jeans pocket. “I’ve seen how people look at me. I’ve had a woman leave me.”
“You’re gonna let a few people and an idiot woman define how you live your life? Here you are, hidden away in this cabin in the woods looking like a bogeyman pretending that you don’t want to work anymore when there’s a pile of wood behind the cabin just waiting to be formed into something astonishing. I think your fear is holding you back.”
“I can’t even hold the sander like I did before.” He picked up his hand-held sander. “See.” He could barely grip the bar.
“Then let’s figure out a way where you can. Maybe some sort of strap around the top. Or using your other hand.”
“I can’t get the same texture with my left hand.” He put the sander down.
“Maybe that’ll bring a new dimension to your work. It’ll be different but still a B. Wheeler’s piece.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He stepped out of the workshop and went to his chair. He sat, placing his elbows on his knees, and watched the flickering fire. So much of what Laurel had said was true. That was the problem.
“I’m sorry if I upset you.” She went to where her boots sat beside his. There was something intimate about that. She pushed that thought away. “I should go.”
