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At this point, Jakob was willing to try anything to get a solid night's sleep.
The flyer she had given him didn't have much to go on — just a big image of a cartoon artist at an easel, painted-splotched smock and beret and all. Underneath that was the time, date, and location.
It was over in San Morado, of course. Most everything was.
A full hour's drive away from Chance's Harbor, he and Cassie had made an afternoon of it after she'd gotten home from school; done some Christmas shopping, picked Cassie up some new jeans for riding, had a bite to eat at a place where they showed you to your table and poured their water in goblets.
A bit pricey, but Cassie’s smile as she pretended to be some snooty society lady, tutting as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with the cloth napkin? Worth it and then some, to Jakob’s mind.
And now the art class, to top it all off. Even if it turned out to be a dud, the rest of it had been a pretty good day. Hopefully, it wasn't a dud, though. If they came back next week, Jakob wouldn't mind doing this all again.
He wasn't quite sure what to expect from the class, however. The only details were the instructions to bring whatever art supplies felt most comfortable, with a note that there would be limited supplies available at the class on a first come first serve basis.
He'd had to send Cassie up into the attic; waiting at the bottom of the ladder until eventually, she returned with the familiar shape of a dusty old tackle box. Truth be told, Jakob'd had more hope than actual memory of it having survived both decades and divorces, but there it was.
Something of a minor miracle, really.
It was a relic from back when he had thought getting to stare at naked chicks in a life drawing class sounded like a pretty good way to tick the boxes for his degree's fine arts requirement.
Boy, did I have the wrong end of the stick onthatone,Jakob snorted as he rifled through the old art supplies.
Somehow he’d managed to talk his best friend into joining him despite such a billing. Ethan had cackled for an entire week to find out all the models that year would be dudes instead; happily waving the scrap of paper in Jakob's face that he'd managed to score, bearing one particularly attractive model's phone number.
It had been a pretty good class, actually. Eye-opening, to say the least. In more ways than one…
Jakob grinned fondly at the memories as he sorted what supplies had gone bad and what might yet be salvageable; two separate piles quickly forming on the battered top of their kitchen table.
Most of the stuff had to be tossed out. Rotten erasers and dried-up pots of ink, paintbrushes either falling apart or so poorly cleaned you could pry up nails with them. But the charcoal and sticks of graphite looked like they were still okay, and Cassie had picked him up a sketchpad at the craft store that would do well enough while he gave this thing a shot.
She drove them both to the class, of course. Jakob had driven a manual all his life. Far too many years to not reflexively press the clutch when he heard the pitch of the gears; pain shooting up and down his leg from the action just as soon as he did.
Cassie was trying to be supportive, even bringing her own sketchpad and set of colored pencils along.
"The good kind, though," Jakob had told her when he'd handed her the money for it. "None of that back-to-school crap."
With a laugh, Cassie had kissed his cheek and promised, before heading out to meet up with some of her friends.
She was a good kid really, got a level head. Had been the one to call in the emergency on her cellphone. Even organizing Nash and some of the other ranch hands to cover things at the stables while she hopped into the back of the ambulance with him.
He was so proud of her, proud of the woman he could see her becoming. Jakob's divorces had been hard on her, he knew. And Lord knows Jakob had maybe more than his share of regrets. But not once — not even for asecond— had she ever been one of them.
In fact, she might be about the only thing in his life he somehow managed to do right.
She was telling him about some video a friend had sent; something from a game they all played together as she held the door open for him to the coffee shop where they were holding the art class.
All the available glass had been painted with winter scenes; a festive parade of holiday cheer, all brought to you by a nice steaming cup of whatever was on the menu inside.
Jakob had his hands full between his cane and his old backpack with his art supplies that kept trying to slide off his shoulder, when he heard it over the tinkling of the bells hung above the door.
It was a low rumble, bringing with it a flood of warm memories and complicated emotion.
And it was saying his name.
Chapter 3
"Jakob?"
Jakob's vision doubled and for a moment, he felt as if he was in that riding ring once more. Flat on his back in the dust gasping for air, Cassie's voice ringing in his ears as he stared at the image of a younger face; rugged and broad with a shit-eating grin that meant either great fun or big trouble or some combination of the two, layered over the one before him now.
