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ALMOST TWO WEEKS LATER, at seven o’clock sharp on a Thursday evening, Annie pulled her grandmother’s car into a vacant space across the street from Willard Art Gallery. She switched off the engine and sat still for a moment, her heart pounding with nervous excitement.
“I think I’m just as nervous as you are,” her grandmother remarked. “Maybe more.”
Annie swiveled her head to look at her grandmother who was clutching her hands in her lap. “Why?”
“I’m nervous for both you and for my Andrew. This is the first time his work has been shown to the public. I hope they like it.”
Annie placed her hand over her grandmother’s and squeezed. “I know they will. I bet Grandpa is watching all of this from above, a big, proud grin on his face.”
“I know he is, sweet pea,” her grandmother said. She patted Annie’s hand. “Well, let’s go do this thing!”
Annie laughed.
When they stepped out of the car, her grandmother gave a little gasp. “He’s put Andrew’s pieces in the front window! What a thoughtful man. And look at all the people inside. I didn’t expect to see so many.”
“Word must’ve gotten out that there’d be free champagne,” Annie joked.
She hooked her arm through her grandmother’s as they crossed the street. Her legs were shaking a little. She shouldn’t have worn such high heels. Was she too dressy for this small-town event? Was the sleeveless, sky blue chiffon dress too daring? The front and back of it were a little more lowcut than she normally wore. But the color made her feel light and almost happy. Most of her dresses were black. That’s the color Maxwell had preferred her to wear, telling her it made her look sophisticated and smart. She was going to donate all of them to the thrift shop. She’d do that on Saturday.
“Don’t be nervous, Annie,” her grandmother said. “You look lovely. And it’s a hometown crowd. I’ve bragged about you so often. All of my friends are dying to see your work.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Annie said under her breath.
“There’s Bert and Jo. Hello, girls!”
They paused on the sidewalk outside the gallery entrance to chat with Bert Wakefield, her sister, Jo, and Jo’s husband, Hank Atkinson.
“Zelda told us some of your pieces will be on display,” Bert said to Annie, her eyes twinkling. “How wonderful to have your work shown with your grandfather’s.”
And that was the only reason why Annie hadn’t phoned Lawrence to tell him she wanted to back out of the gallery’s opening gala. It was a great honor to share her first real showing with the man who’d taught her how to draw so long ago.
She smiled at Bert. “It is wonderful.”
“Don’t we all look grand,” Jo enthused. “I love that dress, Annie. And Zelda, where did you get that purple scarf? It’s lovely.”
As the older women admired each other’s attire, Annie shared an amused look with Hank Atkinson. As usual, Bert and Jo had gone all out with their coordinated outfits. Tonight, it appeared to be a 1920s theme, complete with sequined dresses, beaded shoes, and feathers in their hair. Bert sported a black feather boa, Jo a faux-fur collar.
“Oh, girls, look at the moon!” her grandmother said all of the sudden, pointing towards the eastern horizon where a full moon—looking like a giant plate in the sky—was slowly rising. “I don’t think I’ve seen a moon like that since I was a little girl. That’s a Strawberry Moon.”
“Mm, a full moon,” said Mr. Atkinson. He gave Annie a sly wink. “Watch out, Annie-girl. Strange things can happen on the night of a full moon.”
Annie grinned. “I’ll try to be careful.”
All traces of nervousness vanished as she followed everyone into the gallery. As she glanced around the room, she saw several familiar faces, and those that were not appeared to be open and pleasant. These weren’t snobby or pretentious people. They were ordinary, hardworking, fun-loving, honest and decent people. She didn’t understand how deeply she’d missed the small-town life until this very moment. Smiles, hugs and handshakes were freely given. Praise for her work greeted her at every turn. Lindy and Devin Wakefield were here. Polly Winslow and Joe Matthews too, just days before their wedding. Ethan and Jessica. Nate, too, Mimi at his side. He laughed at her surprise upon seeing him. He wouldn’t have missed his big sister’s special night, he teased.
She was feeling elated to the point of bursting when a glass of champagne was placed in her hand. “You look like a puppy who’s found a leather shoe,” Lawrence said, standing before her, the smile on his face expressing his delight at the success of the gallery opening.
She laughed. “That’s a good way to describe it, especially when spoken with a British accent.”
His smile widened. “Have you seen where I placed your work yet?”
“No. I haven’t had a chance. So many people have wanted to talk to me. Most of them I don’t even know. This is a great turnout.”
“It was your grandmother’s doing more than mine. Her word is gold around here.”
“Thank you for putting my grandfather’s sculptures in the window. She was thrilled to see that.”
“That’s where they deserve to be. A collector from San Francisco asked me if they were for sale.”
“Are they?” Annie would’ve been shocked if her grandmother had agreed to that. Those pieces meant the world to Zelda.
“No. But I’ve posted the agreed upon prices for your pieces. Come and see.”
He set his hand lightly on her back as he guided her through the gallery.
She’d met with Lawrence a few days after Memorial Day and, together, they’d selected the pieces that best represented her style. They chose four in all, only one, Blue, from her academy days. The other three were works she’d done before going to New York. There was a watercolor of her grandmother’s garden and an oil painting depicting her grandfather’s bible on a rustic wood table beside a lit candle. The final selection instigated a brief squabble, but Lawrence was adamant. He insisted it was her finest work thus far.
“But it’s not for sale,” she argued.
“Good heavens, why not? I could get a hefty sum for it. It’s a gorgeous painting.” His tone softened when he noted the belligerent set of her jaw. “There’s a bridge every artist has to cross, Annie. You pour your heart into a painting, only to have someone take it away from you to hang over their mantle, or, God forbid, put in their bathroom. Sometimes, with certain pieces, it’s difficult to let go. I understand that. But, don’t you want others to feel some of the same things you were feeling when you painted this?”
“I suppose so.”
But despite his continued entreaties and several cups of tea with the biscuits he had shipped from his favorite shop in London, she didn’t relax her stance. “Not that one, Lawrence. I can agree to selling prints of it, but not the original.”
Now they stood before the painting that had caused such a tussle. Lawrence had placed it prominently in the center of the largest display wall, on its own, under a focus of soft light.
“I presume you still won’t tell me why it’s called Remembrance?” he inquired, a teasing note in his voice.
“I’ve often been asked why,” she answered. She took a sip of her champagne before adding demurely, “I’m afraid I’ll have to keep it a secret.”
Two men she didn’t recognize beckoned to Lawrence. She wandered over to her other paintings, all placed in the same section of the gallery. She had to force herself to look at Blue. She hoped someone bought it and took it off her hands forever. There were too many memories tied to it, all of them unhappy ones.
She was standing before it, lost in thought, when a familiar voice spoke from behind her, low and gentle. “I almost didn’t see you at first. Your dress blends in with that painting.”
She turned too sharply. Champagne splashed out of her glass. Her heart kicked up a few beats.
“Careful.” Jake took the glass from her hand and set it on the edge of a nearby pedestal. His eyes swept over her, alighting for a moment on the bare skin at her neckline before rising to meet her eyes. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. So do you.” He was wearing slim-fitting black slacks and a white dress shirt with a solid blue silk tie. She pointed at the tie. “Look at that. We almost match.”
“How about that?” His mouth crooked into a smile. “How’s it going so far?”
“Very well. Lawrence is thrilled. Look at this crowd.”
He didn’t take his eyes from her. “How are you feeling?”
She exhaled. “Good. I was really nervous at first. But everyone’s been so nice.”
“A lot different from that gallery in Manhattan,” he said. Then he winced. “Sorry. I swore to myself I wouldn’t bring that up.”
“It’s okay.” Her smile was relaxed. “You’re absolutely right. I was thinking the same thing when I first came in.” She waved her hand, indicating the crowded room. “These are my kind of people. Besides, I don’t care anymore about doing my art to please others. I do it to please myself.”
“That’s really good to hear, Annie. Have you started anything new?”
She met his gently probing look. “Yes. I spent a few hours on something on Sunday afternoon.” She laughed a little. “Until my arm got too tired. I told your dad we’d better finish painting the barn by this weekend or else he’s on his own.”
Jake grinned. “It’s a big project. It was good of you to help out. Matt’s happy too. It would’ve been him doing the painting if you hadn’t pitched in. You’ve given him more time to spend with Gracie.”
She wanted to kiss his grin. She clasped her hands behind her back instead. “Did you finish the bid for the house?”
“Dropped everything off at the architect’s office an hour ago. Thanks for your help with that.”
“You’re welcome. I had no idea how much work was involved. All the pressure to meet a bid deadline. I hope you win the contract.”
His grin broadened. “Do you have any doubt?”
She grinned back. “Not a one.” She tilted her head to one side in a wistful look. “Do you know this is the longest conversation we’ve had in almost two weeks?”
“Since Memorial Day. I know.”
They stared at each other, her eyes asking a question, his not giving an answer yet.
He hadn’t been intentionally avoiding her. She knew that. When he’d picked her up the morning after the barbecue, he’d informed her of a call for bids that an upscale architectural firm had sent out to several contractors the night before. He felt honored to have been included on their list. It was for a high-end, custom house on the west side of town. Jake explained that he preferred building custom homes, not the cookie-cutter development houses that were close to completion. If he were to be selected as the contractor for this job, it’d be just the opportunity he’d been hoping for to expand his company into the custom home market.
Caught up in his enthusiasm, Annie had been eager to help him with the project. It was all they talked about every morning. He still spent every day at the job site, but he called her cell phone several times during the day with one request or another. She researched prices and plugged numbers into spreadsheets in addition to managing the other everyday office tasks.
After work each day, she rushed back to her grandmother’s house for a quick dinner before changing into her grungy clothes and returning to Lancaster Ranch to help Tom paint the hay barn. On the first evening, Matt made a halfhearted attempt to help them, but Annie shooed him away. “Go and spend time with your wife.”
Jake didn’t offer to help, but she hadn’t expected him to. As soon as he returned to the ranch each evening, he went directly to his office to work on the bid as well as deal with the letters and bills and other paperwork she left in a neat pile on his desk each day.
To be truthful, she didn’t want anyone else around while she and Tom painted. He was a quiet man. Like her, he seemed to prefer to work in a contemplative silence, lost in his own thoughts and the therapeutic movements of the paint brush or roller. She admired him, this man who’d lost his wife at such a young age, who’d raised his two sons to be decent, hardworking men. She wondered at the many sacrifices he’d made over the years. Zelda had hinted that Tom was thinking about retiring soon, possibly marrying Caryn Stevenson. Annie hoped that was true.
All of the Lancaster Men deserved to be happy.
So, since that devastatingly beautiful moment when Jake had kissed her in the old apple orchard, she’d been content to give him the time and the space he’d asked for. She’d give him anything he asked for. Because she loved him so.
And he still loved her. She knew this. With the reawakening of her heart came the inspiration to paint again. Colorful landscapes filled her imagination, valleys and orchards, creeks and vineyards. A magical mural for a baby’s room. And people. She wanted to paint her grandmother. She wanted to paint a portrait of her grandfather. There were so many things she wanted to paint. It would take years.
And it was because of Jake. It had taken her all this time to recognize that her love of art and her love for Jake were one and the same. Without one, there couldn’t be the other. Lawrence had been partly correct when he’d observed that King’s Valley was where her heart was, and that her best work would emerge from this place. The truth was, this man, this wonderful man standing in front of her, was where her heart was. He held it in his strong, capable hands. In New York, she’d been too far away from her inspiration. He was her inspiration.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her now, taking a step closer. “You look like you’re lost in a dream.”
She shook her head. “Just thinking of all the time that’s been wasted.”
“It wasn’t a waste. Not completely.”
She was astonished to hear him say that. “No?”
He merely smiled. He glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen that painting before.” He pointed at Blue. “Tell me about it.”
She turned around to look at the painting. He came to stand beside her, his arm curving around her waist in a light embrace, his hand resting on her hip. Taking a breath, she launched into the process she’d used, the layers, the shadowing, how long it’d taken her to finish, everything but the reason why she’d painted it.
“I don’t like it,” he said.
“No? Why?”
“Because you’re not in it.”
“I thought I was at the time.”
“Maybe. But that was the angry Annie. The sad, depressed Annie. You aren’t any of those things anymore.” He turned her towards the opposite wall where Remembrance was on display. “This is the Annie you were. And you still are. But even better now. I hope you paint more things like this.”
“I will. I have hundreds of images like this stuck in my head. It’ll take me years to paint them all.”
He laughed softly. “Good. What were you feeling when you painted this?”
She glanced up at his innocent expression. “Very smooth. I see you’re still trying to get that out of me after all this time.”
“What’s the big secret? Why won’t you tell me?”
Her answer remained unspoken as Lawrence, a beaming Darlene attached to his arm, hurried forward. “Annie! I have good news! We’ve had an offer for Blue. They’re paying full price.”
Annie’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking.”
Lawrence laughed at her expression. “I am utterly sincere. Those two gentlemen I was speaking with own a seafood restaurant in Sausalito. They want Blue for the main dining room. They absolutely love it.”
She was suddenly having trouble finding her breath. She closed her eyes for a moment. At last. Her work had finally sold. An honest sale this time, without any coercion on her part. Someone genuinely appreciated her art.
She was thankful for Jake’s steadying arm around her; her knees were wobbling a little. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “Someone bought my painting,” she whispered.
His smile was tender. “Congratulations.”
“Congratulations, Annie,” Darlene said.
Still in a daze, Annie thanked the other woman before sending Lawrence a questioning look. “Are you sure they were talking about my painting and not someone else’s?”
“Yes. I’m sure. They said it was the first piece that caught their eye.”
She lunged forward, heedless of Darlene, to embrace the kind man. “Thank you, Lawrence,” she whispered. “Thanks for believing in me.”
“I knew the second you walked into my gallery that you were someone special.” He gave her a quick hug before stepping back.
“I have to tell my grandmother the good news,” Annie said excitedly.
She rushed away, intent on finding Zelda. There she was, up on the mezzanine, chatting with a group of friends that included Jo and Bert as well as Ethan and Jessica. Annie clambered up the circular staircase as quickly as her high heels would allow. Her grandmother, seeing her excitement, held out her arms. Annie fell into them, hugging tight.
“I sold one of my pieces, Grandma!”
“Of course you did. How wonderful!”
Everyone expressed their delight at the news. Annie went from one embrace to another, congratulatory words ringing in her ears. Jo flagged down a server and insisted that everyone take a fresh glass of champagne. They all raised their glasses in a toast. Annie drank hers down and reached for another. She felt so light and happy. Alive.
She turned towards Jake. She thought he’d been right behind her all this time. But he wasn’t there. Looking around, she spied him down on the first floor, hands in his pockets, talking with a middle-aged couple that she didn’t recognize. He must’ve felt her looking at him because he glanced up, gave her a quick smile and a wave, before continuing his conversation.
Maybe he’d wanted her to enjoy this special moment with her grandmother on her own, she thought. She drank some more champagne and decided to stay where she was for now.
After talking with Jessica for a while, she wandered slowly along the mezzanine, examining the other pieces with a critical eye. Inspiration was growing stronger inside of her. She wanted to go back to her Orchard Retreat right this minute and work on her painting. No. She preferred to work in natural light. She’d go tomorrow. Maybe Jake could give her a day off. They’d both been working so hard. Now that the bid was in, maybe he could take a break too? Maybe he could sit in the studio with her. She’d never minded when he watched her paint.
Hank Atkinson joined her, and they chatted as though they’d been friends forever as they strolled along the gallery before sitting down on a velvet bench placed against the wall. It was here that Jake found her sometime later. She glanced up quickly at his greeting, her head spinning a little at the sudden motion.
“Looks like things are starting to wind down,” he remarked. “Zelda left a little while ago. She asked me to take you home.”
“Oh. Have my brothers left too?”
His smile held amusement. “Yep. They seconded the suggestion that I take you home.”
Annie hiccupped.
Hank chortled. He gave Jake a broad wink. “I think someone might’ve had a little too much champagne.”
“I have not,” Annie insisted. “Just a couple of glasses.” Maybe more than two? She couldn’t recall.
“Did you have any dinner?” Jake asked.
“No. I couldn’t. I was way too nervous to eat. Oh, no. Do I look like I’m drunk?”
Hank patted her knee. “You’re not drunk, Annie-girl. Just a little tipsy. You let this young man take you home now.”
“You disappeared on me,” Annie said accusingly as Jake helped her to her feet. She swayed a little. He wrapped his arm around her waist.
“I’m sorry. I was right behind you, but then I bumped into a client. It took a while to get away. And you looked like you were having a good time.”
“Maybe too good,” she confessed ruefully. “I’ve never really liked champagne. It goes straight to my head.”
“I can see that.” There was laughter in his voice.
He guided her slowly down the stairs. Lawrence was standing at the entrance, Darlene still at his side. Lawrence came forward to shake her hand and kiss her cheek. “Bravo, Annie,” he said. “Enjoy this moment. You deserve it. We’ll chat next week, okay?”
“Okay.”
She watched, her brain feeling fuzzy, as Jake, his arm still planted securely around her waist, shook hands with Lawrence and kissed Darlene’s cheek.
Jake’s red truck was parked across the street. Halfway there, Annie halted in her tracks, her neck arched back as she looked up at the sky. “Look at that moon! I can almost touch it.” She rose on her tiptoes, one hand stretched upwards.
Jake’s amused face suddenly blocked her view, looming so close to hers that she felt like she could dive into the depths of his silver-blue eyes. “I think you are drunk,” he remarked softly.
“Nope. Just tipsy. Look at the moon, Jake.”
He glanced up at the sky. “I see it.”
“Hank Atkinson said that strange things happen when there’s a full moon like that one.”
His hand slid slowly up her back, tugging her hair just enough to bring her attention back to him. “Well, you’re proving him right,” he said, a mixture of laughter and something else in his gruff voice. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He opened the passenger door and lifted her up and onto the bench seat.
She giggled. “Remember the first time I was in this truck? It was such a mess.”
“I remember.” He fastened her seatbelt.
“You were so cold and nasty to me that day.”
“I know.” He brought his hand to her face, his fingers lightly tracing the smooth, classic line of her jaw for a moment before he took a step back and closed the door.
Once in the driver’s seat, he switched on the ignition and reached for the temperature control. “It’s turned a little chilly. Fog’s coming in tonight. I’ll have you warmed up in a second.”
She sighed, leaning back in her seat. It seemed to be taking a long time for her brain to connect with her mouth. She said slowly, “You’re such a good, thoughtful driver.”
“Thanks, Annie.”
A few minutes later, he was pulling up to the intercom in the drive-thru lane at the Dairy Queen. “Two cheeseburgers, fries and cokes, please,” he ordered at the prompt.
“Oh, fun,” Annie enthused. “We haven’t been here in years.” And then, “I’m hungry.”
He laughed softly. “Good. I’d make you eat every bite even if you weren’t.”
“Don’t forget to ask for extra ketchup,” she reminded him as he stopped at the window.
After their order had been filled, he parked the truck in the back lot. He handed her a paper-wrapped cheeseburger. “Don’t let anything drop on your pretty dress. Here, put down some napkins first.”
She munched on her burger and fries, still in a happy daze. She realized that some of what she was feeling came from drinking too much champagne on an empty stomach. But she was also enjoying the lingering adrenaline rush from selling her first painting. “I still can’t believe it,” she said before popping another french fry into her mouth. “I’m so glad that painting sold. I didn’t want to take it back to the farm. It holds too much negative energy. I hope it doesn’t turn customers away from that restaurant.”
“Nah. Those guys obviously saw something beautiful in it.”
She thought about that. Then she waved a french fry at him. “They saw you.”
He slanted a puzzled glance at her. “What do you mean?”
“Your eyes. That’s the shade of blue I used the most.” She relaxed into her seat, a satisfied smile on her face. ‘Good. That doesn’t make me feel so bad for the diners.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes. I painted Blue during my lowest point at the academy. Most of it is anger at my abstract art instructor. But some of it was me missing you. It took me a while to get that exact shade of blue with a thread of silver in it.” She sipped the last of her soda, finishing with a satisfied slurp of the straw at the bottom before confiding, “All of my work has a little bit of you in it, you know.”
“I didn’t know that.” He reached for the napkins and empty wrappers on her lap. “You all done?”
“Yes. I don’t feel so tipsy anymore.”
“Good. Let’s get you home.”
He stopped to dump their trash in the bin before pulling out of the restaurant lot.
She found herself distracted by his hand on the gearshift. He had long fingers with clean, blunt nails. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves at some point, the white of his shirt emphasizing his tanned skin, the dark hair on his sinewy forearm.
Once they’d reach the main road heading west out of town and put on some speed, he took his hand from the gearshift and settled his arm along the backrest. A few seconds later, she felt his fingers running through her hair.
Her heart lurched. She peeked at his profile, but he was looking straight ahead, a soft smile curving his mouth. She sighed in contentment, letting her head fall back into the palm of his hand.
The moon cast a silver lining on the landscape. It was so full and white that she saw the trees on the low, western hills in the distance. Thirty miles beyond lay the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes, on summer evenings, the fog rolled through the gaps in those hills, a natural air conditioner that was welcome after the heat of the day. She glimpsed a few trailing wisps moving down the hillsides, but, here, on this winding country road, the night was still clear.
Jake was taking her home.
Would he finally tell her that he still loved her? That everything was going to be okay? Maybe he still needed more time. But, from the way he was caressing the nape of her neck, she thought not.
He had to remove his hand as he slowed the truck down before turning onto the drive leading to her grandmother’s house. She thought of the day she’d arrived here over a month ago, how sad and bitter and miserable she’d been. And the man sitting beside her had been so hostile and cold.
She shivered.
“Almost there,” he said quietly.
She said nothing as he brought the truck to a stop at the white picket fence and turned off the engine. He unfastened his seatbelt and turned to look at her. She stared back, her heart in her eyes.
Around them, the night was silent. There was no sound of traffic on the main road, no gentle lowing of cows or the barking of a dog. It seemed to Annie that the world was waiting, watching the two people sitting in the red truck parked in front of the gabled country house.
“There are things I want to say to you,” Jake said slowly, breaking the silence. “But I think you’re still a little tipsy. So, go on inside, take a shower to warm you up, and go to bed.”
“But—”
“Shh, Annie.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight. Take the day off tomorrow. I’ll call you sometime in the morning and we’ll make plans then. Okay?”
She swallowed. “All right.”
His eyes glistened as they roamed across her wistful face. He shook his head a little as if to clear it before he opened his door and stepped out of the truck. She watched him as he strode around the front of the truck and then opened her door. He undid her seatbelt and lifted her down, his hands on her hips to steady her as she swayed a little in her high heels.
Okay, maybe she was still reeling from too much champagne. She felt her face going red. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“Don’t be,” he countered softly. “You had every right to celebrate. I’m so happy for you, Annie.” He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his, holding her gaze. Her heart pounded wildly when she saw the look of longing in his beautiful eyes. “I told myself I’d wait until tomorrow to do this too,” he murmured, a trace of frustration in his voice. “But I’m not made of stone.”
And he kissed her.
He kissed her as if he loved her, as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him.
She kissed him back.
Then he walked her to the front door, opened it, and pushed her gently inside. “Goodnight, Annie. Sweet dreams.”