| |
“Thank you so much!” Harper called to the woman who had just purchased a small set of canvases. They were part of the food theme she was testing out after painting some for Aspen’s shop.
The customer smiled and rubbed her swollen stomach. She planned to put the pictures up in the nursery they were creating for their baby girl who was due in only six weeks.
Harper sighed. She couldn’t think of a better situation for her artwork. That nursery was going to be bright and cheery and full of feminine colors. It would be lovely.
Her eyes drifted to the crowd that surrounded Mason’s stall. She could hear his chainsaw roaring, and sawdust was flying. People came and went, most stopping for several minutes to watch his progress. The carvings that were displayed in the front showed off his already finished artwork.
Harper sighed. She still hadn’t quite recovered from telling him no this morning. But it wouldn’t work. Harper had seen firsthand what happened when a woman got married before going after her career and she was hoping to avoid the stress.
Harper wanted a family. She wanted a husband and children, but she also wanted a chance to let her wings soar. Not in her mother’s courtroom, but in the studio. Once she had made it, then she could take the time to pursue love and, eventually, marriage and children.
And let’s hope someone like Mason is available whenever that day finally gets here, she thought sourly.
Her mother was right about one thing. Harper wasn’t getting any younger, though Sharon meant it as more of a timeline for becoming a lawyer. Law school as a middle-aged woman would be much harder than law school now. Which made sense, and Harper got it, but she herself felt the timeline choking her for different reasons.
She had thought she’d be making a full-time living by now. She wasn’t aiming to be the best artist in the world. Or even famous throughout the United States. All she wanted was to make enough money to support herself. She needed to prove her capabilities to her mother and herself.
Having the trust to help her along had been a wonderful blessing, but Harper wanted to make it on her own. She didn’t want to need her grandmother’s money. Surely she was capable of doing this under her own merits.
Her phone buzzed and Harper grabbed it out of her back pocket, groaning when she realized who it was. “Hi, Mom,” she said, forcing a smile so her tone didn’t give away her feelings.
“I thought you had one of those...bizarre thingies today,” Sharon snipped.
Harper closed her eyes and counted to three. She might be grateful to her mother, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be like her. “I do,” Harper said carefully. “I’m at it right now, but I was in between customers, so I went ahead and answered.” She nodded and smiled at people as they walked by her booth. And because I knew you’d just keep calling back until I gave in.
Sharon sniffed. “You’ll never make a living selling at farmers’ markets, Harper.”
“I realize that,” Harper said, still carefully controlling her words. “But it’s a good way to start. Lots of people are here to purchase decorations and other homemade goods for their homes and my artwork is perfect for that.”
Her mother sighed long and loud. “How long are we going to play this game, Harper?”
“What game?”
“You know full well what,” Sharon snapped. “This...thing with your art just isn’t enough. You don’t make money at it and at this point, the odds are you never will.”
“You haven’t given me enough time,” Harper said through clenched teeth. “Being an artist can be slow, but this is what I want to do. Why can’t you understand that?” She forced herself to close her mouth. How many times had they had this argument?
Sadness pooled in Harper’s chest. It was her life. Why was her mother so dead set on making it a certain way? Harper didn’t need a mansion or a marble bathtub. All she wanted was to pay her bills and keep hearing the ocean from the backyard of her home. And yes, she wanted to do it all on her own, but her trust was there for a reason and would last for a long time yet.
Harper tried not to let her internal clock put too much pressure on her and most days, she succeeded. It had been harder lately with Mason, since Harper knew someone as special as him wouldn’t last long enough for her to get her career off the ground, but there were other fish in the sea. Right? Her heart would heal and she would find someone else when the time was right.
“I’m sorry,” Harper said softly. “I don’t want to fight, Mother, but I’ve told you before...this is what I want to do. Grandma’s trust is enough to help me out until my art takes off, not to mention I would make the world’s worst lawyer.”
“You’re certainly adept at arguing with me,” Sharon shot back.
“I’m sorry,” Harper said again. “I shouldn’t have argued, but I’m not changing my mind.”
Her mother sniffed again, a sure sign she was irritated. “Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice.”
Harper’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you’ve been using your trust as an excuse to pursue a hobby that’ll never turn into a career and I, as your mother, can’t let you continue to waste your life.”
Harper’s grip on the phone tightened. “I don’t understand.”
“As trustee for your money, I have the ability to stop all payments, if I deem them unworthy. The rules your grandmother laid down gave me executive power to stop all payments if you chose to be frivolous with the money.”
Harper’s jaw dropped. Inside her head, she was screaming, but no sound came out.
“I’ve been generous, allowing you to go to art school and spend the last five years chasing this dream, but enough is enough.”
“Mom,” Harper croaked. “You can’t do this.”
“I can...and I will.”
“You have to give me more time!” Harper cried. She rushed around the back of her booth, trying to keep her drama from any passersby, but she was sure some of them could hear her anyway. “I...” Her brain scrambled for something...anything...that would help her argument. “There’s a competition in California for amateur painters. It’s very prestigious,” Harper hurried to say. “I’m working on a piece for it right now and, and...and if I win, it’ll be the last real push I need to make it full time.” She bit her lips between her teeth, stopping her rambling.
She wasn’t lying, there really was a competition, but Harper hadn’t planned to enter. There were always thousands of entries and the winner was almost always someone who favored an abstract style, which was nothing like Harper’s realistic ocean sunsets. But if it kept her mother off her back and the trust money coming in for a little bit longer, then Harper would do anything.
Sharon let out another long sigh. She was very well practiced in those. “When is the winner announced?” she asked, sounding tired.
“The deadline is next month,” Harper said. “I don’t know the exact dates of the announcement.”
There was a pause on the line and Harper squirmed when it drew on for too long. How her mother had the ability to reduce her to being ten years old again, Harper didn’t understand, but she hated it.
“If you don’t win, you go back to school,” her mother said clearly. “The money will only continue if you move to a new career. One that means you’ll never need another handout again.”
Harper squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. This was it. She had one month to make enough money as an artist to live on. She knew the competition probably wouldn’t be the way, but if she could somehow get the money flowing through other means, then she’d survive. She could live without the trust. “The money will only continue if I take on a new career,” Harper repeated. She wasn’t going to agree to the school aspect. That was asking too much.
“Fine. I’ll plan on hearing from you soon.”
The line went dead and Harper collapsed in a chair. She leaned her elbows onto her knees and let the silent sobs wrack her body. This was exactly why she couldn’t be with Mason. If there had ever been a stark reminder of why it wouldn’t work, this was it. She had been right to turn him down. It hurt, but there was nothing for it. She had one month to build a career. One month to save her dreams. She couldn’t let anything distract her or she’d end up losing it all.
*****
MASON SIGHED AS HE sank into his couch later that night. He was exhausted. Traveling on days of the festivals always meant long hours and after doing two live demonstrations, his mind was mush and his arms were still shaking from holding onto the chainsaw. If he wanted to dig a little deeper, his pride and heart were also a little shaky today, after being rejected by Harper and still having to watch her smile and interact with customers all day long. She had been right to put some distance between them, but Mason’s emotions didn’t seem to be getting the memo.
A banging on his door had Mason scowling. Who in the world would be coming by at this time of night?
Grumbling, he climbed to his feet and shuffled over. “Ethan! What the heck are you doing here?”
Ethan grinned and sauntered inside when Mason stepped back to make room. “Just thought I’d come hang out with my buddy. Is there something wrong with that?”
Mason rubbed his forehead. “I’ve known you too long to fall for that.”
Ethan laughed and plopped into a recliner, pressing the button to push it back all the way. “I was bored, okay? I was bored.”
“I thought you were going surfing today.” Mason came back to the couch and slouched into the cushions.
Ethan nodded. “I did. This morning.” He glanced at his watch. “That was a long time ago.”
“Have you opened the shop yet?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. Not enough tourists. Probably another two to three weeks.”
Mason nodded and rubbed his beard, grimacing when he caught sawdust. “I need a shower.”
Ethan smirked. “You always do. I can’t figure out why you have that dead rodent on your face anyway. All it does is catch food and dust.”
Mason gave his friend a look. “You just summed up the whole reason in a few words.”
Ethan made a face. “Are you growing mold in there?”
“Some of us spend time outside in the winter,” Mason shot back.
“Yeah...like those of us working construction. Not the ones spending time at a cushy desk job.” Ethan was grinning widely, softening his dig.
Mason rolled his eyes. “If you don’t like it, you can always change careers.” Ethan had been raised on the coast and spent his summers surfing and running a rental and lessons shop. During the winter he worked on custom board jobs, when available, but otherwise worked construction to make ends meet during the downtimes. “I hear Aspen might be looking for a dishwasher.”
“Would Maeve be there?” Ethan’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
Mason paused. “Uh...I have no idea.”
Ethan rubbed his chin. “It would probably be worth my time if she was hanging around. I think there’s an office in the back of the bakery. She probably presses all those calculator buttons back there.”
Mason stood up. “Want something?” He headed to the kitchen.
“Got a soda?”
“Sprite or root beer?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
Mason shook his head and smiled as he grabbed two bottles of root beer and brought one back to Ethan. He twisted off the lid and sat down again. “Why are you wondering about Maeve? I didn’t think you two got along.”
Ethan chuckled. “She doesn’t get along with me. Not the other way around.”
“Why?” Mason took a sip of the cold, bubbly liquid. It felt nice after such a long day working and he leaned back, trying to keep his eyes open.
“Long day?”
Mason totally caught the change of subject, but he ran with it. “I guess. The festival was two hours south.”
“Ah...” Ethan took another long pull from his bottle. “What did you make this time?”
“A totem pole with a tree on the side and the usual bear. Those always sell best.”
“And the tree? Is it gone?”
Mason nodded. “Yeah. It was sold before I finished.”
Ethan snorted. “I think that’s the norm at this point.”
Mason shrugged. “I guess. It’s nice that people are interested in it. I mean, what would I do with dozens of bears and wolves sitting around?”
“And trees,” Ethan pointed out.
“And trees,” Mason agreed. He grinned. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t answer my question. I’ve never had any trouble with Maeve, though she’s almost as quiet as I am, which makes for hard conversations.”
Ethan’s snort was less amused and more derisive this time. “She’s not quiet. Believe me.”
Mason paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “You really are fighting.”
Ethan stared at the label, picking at its edge. “Fighting isn’t the right word.” He looked up, his usual mischief dimmed. “She won’t forgive me for something that happened when we were kids.”
Mason’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. “That’s...a long grudge.”
Ethan shrugged and emptied his drink. “Yep.” The men sat in silence for a moment. “Speaking of noticing things...” He narrowed his eyes at Mason. “To use your own words, don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re wearing your nicest flannel shirt. Normally, you’d never wear that to carve. What gives?”
Mason looked down. How the heck did Ethan know this was one he usually saved for special occasions? “What are you? The wardrobe police?” Ethan and Mason had easily become friends when Mason had moved into town. The surfer reminded Mason a little too much of Crew and it had been a natural transition to begin hanging out together. They had enough in common to enjoy similar activities, but their introvert and extrovert personalities also kept them on their toes.
Ethan simply raised an eyebrow, not backing down.
Mason sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, knocking sawdust all over the couch. “I need to vacuum that,” he muttered.
“You need to answer the question,” Ethan retorted.
Mason groaned. “There might have been someone at the festival that I...wanted to see.”
Ethan jerked forward. “You’re joking. Right? The great lumberjack who takes two years to clear a chess board is after a woman?”
Mason growled lightly. If only Ethan really understood the situation, but there was no reason to hash it out. He couldn’t have her. End of story. “Watch it. Just because I don’t jump in feet first doesn’t mean I can’t knock your block off.”
Ethan laughed and held up his hands. “Color me intrigued, but I’ll let you keep your secrets.” He smirked. “For now.” He pressed his hands onto the arms of the chair and pushed upright. “You need sleep and I need to watch Miami Vice reruns. I’ll catch ya later.” He headed to the door. “Thanks for the drink!”
As quick as he came, Ethan was gone. Mason shook his head. He never knew what he was going to get with the guy, but the variety brought some laughter to his otherwise dreary life.
Standing with a groan, Mason stretched. Ethan was right. He needed sleep. “But first...a shower.”
His phone buzzed before he could reach the bathroom and Mason hesitated. He didn’t really want to get into a conversation right now, but if someone was calling this late...
He made a face, but lunged across the room to catch the call before it ended. “Hello?” he asked breathlessly, not having seen the ID before answering.
“Mr. Turley? This is Jason Clark.”
Mason had to catch himself on the edge of the coffee table. “Yes?” he croaked.
“I think I might have found your sister.”