Jackson Hole, Wyoming, Present Day
Hayley Covington drove her Ford Explorer past the antler arches that marked off the town square, where a couple posed for pictures in front of Jackson, Wyoming’s, iconic symbols. Downtown Jackson resembled a town from the Old West, and folks liked that, but Hayley had grown up in the valley and the western-styled architecture seemed ordinary enough to her.
On occasion she and her two sisters, Kate and Sarah, would drive to Salt Lake to do major shopping, even after her sisters had married and moved away from Jackson, but the town had everything else Hayley needed, if not everything she wanted. Jackson was home to numerous art galleries, movie stars, the rich and famous, and plenty of folks whose family had been in the valley from the beginning—like hers.
Hayley slowed for a horse-drawn stagecoach carting tourists down a dirty snow-slushed street. Waiting for the coach to move on, she caught site of the Veronica James Art Gallery, and envy rose, burning her throat. Veronica had become so popular that people even commissioned her to create for them. Hayley should have grown accustomed to various artists breaking out with their very own studios by now. The closer she came to her dream, the more she wanted it, and yet, the further away it seemed.
Crazy. It was all crazy thinking. Daddy let her dabble with her pottery, but she was the last of three daughters he’d wished were sons. He had her life mapped out already. For generations, Covington heirs ran the Covington cattle ranch—pure and unadulterated—just like Hayley’s grandfather, John, and great-grandfather, Zeb, would have wanted. No dude ranching for Hart Covington, or kowtowing to cowboy wannabes. Hayley’s great-uncle Sam had started a dude ranch decades ago over in Cody, where that branch of the family also ran Covington Outfitters.
As for the ranch in Jackson Hole, Hayley’s sisters had both gotten married and escaped that life, leaving Hayley alone with Daddy. Of course, Daddy employed a full-time manager and ranch hands to do the day-to-day work, but a Covington must always hold the reins.
Daddy never treated Hayley like he wished she were a son, though she knew he did, and Hayley was all he had left. At twenty-four, she was the only one to stay behind to run the ranch, making her the last heir, as it were, which put tremendous pressure on her. She couldn’t be the weak link in the ranch’s legacy, and yet she wanted so much more. But even though she had dreams, she wouldn’t let her father down.
When the stagecoach finally maneuvered out of her way, Hayley turned between the western-styled buildings of the local cowboy bar and the Blue Mountain Art Gallery. Her palms grew moist as she got out and walked to the back of the vehicle to open the hatch.
Jim Taylor, who owned and managed the art gallery, had offered to display her work three years ago, but Hayley had been terrified. She’d actually been afraid that she’d fail. Since then she’d worked to perfect her art even more, but she was never satisfied. Then Jim stopped by the ranch a couple of months ago and surprised her, coming to her private art studio. She was in the middle of throwing, had clay all over her hands and clothes.
He’d practically dared her to let him feature her pieces. So he’d taken three, and they’d sold within the week. Hayley continued to produce new pieces using her signature sgraffito—a technique where she applied two different layers of slip then scratched designs, mostly scenery, into the clay. Jim was plenty pleased with himself for discovering what he termed a “new” local artist.
She’d yet to tell Daddy she’d found a little success, but he’d hear about it sooner rather than later. She dreaded that moment. Hayley lifted a carefully packed box containing her newly fired vase with the Tetons carved into it.
Her designs were a hit, Jim had said, with the tourists coming through who purchased fine art for a memento or an investment, depending on the artist. She tugged the box from the back of the Explorer and tried the side door of the gallery. Locked, of course. Hayley positioned the box against her hip and rapped on the door.
Finally, a guy peeked out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to deliver some more pottery,” she said. “Is Jim around?”
He opened the door and shrugged, his Nordic turtleneck sweater accenting his strong clean-shaven jaw, especially when he smiled. His hair was wavy and brown like his eyes, and grew past his ears, scratching the edge of the turtleneck.
“Oh well,” she said. “I’ll set these in the back and he can figure out where to display them.” Hayley walked through the door and peered behind her at the guy. “There’s more in the back of my Explorer, if you want to help.”
“Sure thing.” He winked, his eyes were warm and friendly.
Where had Jim been keeping this one?
Hayley carried the box to the back of the gallery, eyeing several people who browsed through the studio, someone with small children even, which could be hazardous around the more delicate pieces like sculptures, glass, and pottery. Just before she entered through the employees-only door at the back, she glimpsed a salesperson assisting a potential customer with questions about a large nature painting on the wall.
She set the box on an empty shelf and began unpacking. She didn’t want Jim to miss this one. He was sure to spot it as soon as he returned. Hayley exited in time to see her helper meandering across the studio floor, searching for her.
“I’m over here,” she called.
He grinned and strode toward her, carrying the last two boxes. Didn’t he understand what was in them? If he dropped them, all that time and effort would be lost. But Hayley kept her grin in place as she led him to the back.
“Set the boxes on the table, and I’ll unpack them. Put these pieces next to this one on the shelf.”
His eyes grew wide. “Whoa, you did that?”
Hayley cocked her head. Hadn’t Jim informed all his employees of her work? “Yes, I’m Hayley Covington.” She let her hands fall from the box she was unpacking. “Jim gave me an opportunity to display my work at his studio.”
He reached for the vase.
Hayley reached, too, placing her hand against his. “Please, be careful.” Oh, no. She sounded like a prima donna, and there wasn’t any call for that kind of attitude.
He didn’t appear offended at her overprotective reaction. “May I?”
Hayley liked that he asked her. “Yes, of course.”
He lifted the vase and ran his finger over her etchings in the clay. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Why haven’t I heard of you before?”
His praise warmed her insides. Had others who’d seen and purchased her work reacted this way? “I’m just starting out. I’ve only had a few pieces in the studio, but they’ve sold quickly.”
He gently placed the vase on the shelf.
Ty Walker wasn’t sure he could afford this, lovely as it was. He’d come into the gallery to get ideas, just browsing mostly, though he doubted he’d end up purchasing anything so pricey. But prices were all steep in Jackson.
“I can see why, this one is amazing. You might be new on the scene, but I predict you’re going to be popular in no time.” With her crystal blue eyes and shiny blond mane, she was as amazing as her pottery. Looking into her eyes, he imagined that he saw a depth there, intricately carved into her being, like she’d carved into her pottery.
“Thanks. That’s just what Jim said. He’s been telling me this for a few years. I finally agreed. I don’t know … I guess I was afraid of success.” The uncertainty behind her eyes confirmed her words and stirred compassion in him.
“Success can be brutal.” Not that Ty would know anything about that.
She laughed. “You didn’t ask to hear all this.”
“I’m good with it. And I know what you mean about being afraid of success.” Maybe that had been his problem all along, and this girl, this lovely girl who he’d only just met, had nailed it. She didn’t even know him. Ty … a ski bum with nothing to offer a pretty lady like her, an up- and-coming artist—found himself wanting to see her again. To know more about her.
“I’m looking for a special present for my grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday. I know we only just met, but I’m having a hard time finding something that’s just right. Something unique. This piece is unique but”—Ty frowned—“I’m not sure it’s her. No offense.”
“None taken. I completely understand.” Hayley stared at nothing in particular, like she was in thought.
Ty figured he’d overstayed his welcome. “Well, it was nice to meet you Hayley Covington. I need to go.”
“No, wait, please. I didn’t get your name.”
“Ty Walker.”
“Well, Ty, I have an idea. I’d really like to help you with your grandmother’s present. Maybe I could create something special just for her.”
“Oh no, that’s too much. Thanks for the offer, but—”
“It’s no trouble at all, and I insist. You helped me today, and I’d like to return the favor.”
By creating one of her special pieces for his grandmother? “I … Hayley, I’ll be up front with you. I don’t think I could afford your pottery.”
Hayley’s cell phone chirped. She frowned when she glanced at it, but smiled up at him. “Not to worry. We’ll work something out. When can you come over so we can talk about your grandmother and I can give you a few ideas?”
“I’m free for a few hours Thursday afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll see you at the Covington Ranch. It’s easy to find. My studio is in a small cabin off the back of the house. And Ty, please, if you decide you don’t want any of my pottery for her, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
“Why would you want to do this?”
She gave him a half grin. “Have trouble trusting people, do you? I’m kind of impulsive like that, just ask my father. But I started thinking it would be nice to do some commissioned pieces, and I’d like to start with you. So think of yourself as a test.”
Ty laughed. “Now that I can agree to.”
He left Miss Hayley Covington to unpack the rest of her boxes, revealing her extraordinary pottery, and return her phone call, with a bounce in his step he hadn’t felt in far too long. He strolled through the vibrantly decorated studio, eyeing the expensive oil paintings and sculptures and wood carvings, feeling for the first time like he belonged. Feeling like he wasn’t out of place in the ritzier places Jackson had to offer. And all because of Hayley’s offer. Her warm, unpretentious ways. She was a Covington, for crying out loud—part of that big spread outside Jackson. Had to be worth millions.
When he’d woken up this morning, he’d prayed for direction for his life, and God sure answered in funny ways. Of course, meeting Hayley wasn’t exactly a path for his life, but he hadn’t expected any of that to happen.
All he’d wanted was to find something special for Nanna to make up for her disappointment in him. He’d fallen in love with skiing as a teenager and moved in with her, convincing his parents in Texas that he could train and become something great.
Yeah right.
All he’d managed to accomplish was working as a part-time ski instructor at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, and he worked part-time at the National Elk Refuge to bring in extra cash, too. His grandmother thought he was a ski bum. She was right, because he didn’t have any other aspirations. He lived to ski. What more did he need? He’d prayed for God to show him.
And meeting Hayley today …
I guess I was afraid of success. Her words came back to him.
A gnawing started in his gut and worked its way up into his chest. He just might need something more in life besides cutting through the icing on the most vertical slope in the country.