Amber sat up in the hospital bed and sipped orange juice through a straw as she watched News at Noon. The third story was about the fire, her injuries, and the ongoing arson investigation. "We know the fire was deliberately set," the burly Kitsap County sheriff was saying as he looked into the camera. "The arsonist got away, leaving a woman to die in the burning barn. We'll get him, and when we do, the charges will be much more serious than arson. Assault, at the very least—possibly attempted murder."
"As yet, the authorities have no suspects, and no one has been apprehended," the female reporter went on in a low, consciously moderated voice. "On the scene we have Ted Tanner. Ted?"
A Robert Redford look-alike appeared on the screen, fiddling with his earpiece and looking properly somber. "Thank you, Heather. We're here at the Elkhorn farm with proprietor Joseph Elkhorn. Mr. Elkhorn, what can you tell us about the night this incident occurred?"
He thrust the mike in Twojoe's direction, and Amber fixed her gaze intently on Twojoe's handsome face. "It happened about two in the morning," Twojoe said. "My sister and I were both asleep. I heard a ruckus and woke up to hear the alarm call of one of my male llamas."
The reporter looked confused. "Do you mean that a llama alerted you to the danger?"
Twojoe nodded. "They're really very good guard animals. This one's name is Lloser—"
As if on cue, Lloser poked his enormous head over Twojoe's shoulder and began wrapping his huge, flexible lips around the microphone. Amber laughed out loud.
Ted Tanner, for all his training in television journalism, was clearly at a loss. He tried to pull the microphone away, but the llama wouldn't let go. After a brief tussle, Lloser gave in, but by then the microphone was slimed with llama spittle, and the reporter held it at arm's length as if it were contaminated with some deadly virus. He patted the curious beast awkwardly on the neck and turned back to Twojoe.
"We're just thankful that no one was badly hurt or killed," Twojoe was saying.
"I understand the woman who was injured was your fiancée?" Ted continued with a sly smile.
Twojoe blushed furiously, but his eyes grew soft and liquid as he considered the question. "Not yet," he said at last. "She's a friend. A very, very good friend."
"Not yet?' Tanner said flippantly. "Sounds like a marriage proposal might come out of this incident, after all. Now, if you can just get your llama to pop the question." He turned toward the camera and grinned. "For News at Noon, this is Ted Tanner. Back to you, Heather."
Amber pushed the remote control, and the screen faded to black. Poor Twojoe. He must be absolutely humiliated.
But come to think of it, he didn't look humiliated. With his hair graying at the temples, long and brushed back from his forehead, he looked proud and strong, like an ancient warrior. A chief. A man who knew his own heart. A soul at peace with himself, even in the face of prying and insolent questions.
And he hadn't said, "No." He had said, "Not yet."
She lay back against the pillow, finished her orange juice, and smiled.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, the door opened and Vernon Houston came into the room, followed by Sam, who was gripping a paper grocery bag to his chest.
"We got special permission for Sam to come visit," the Colonel said in a whisper, "but we can only stay a few minutes. How you doing?"
"I'm all right." She motioned for Sam to come sit beside her, and he clambered up onto the bed and set his bag down. "I don't seem to have any lasting effects from the concussion; it'll just take some time for the burns to heal."
"Guess you won't be able to work for a while."
"Probably not." Amber shook her head. "Besides, even if my hands were all right, I don't have a studio to go back to."
Sam gazed at her with wide, blue eyes. "But you are going to be okay, aren't you, Amber?"
"I'm going to be just fine. I'm coming home tomorrow."
"That's good," Sam said with a grin. "'Cause we've got a BIG surprise for you."
Amber shot a quizzical look at the Colonel, who raised his eyebrows. "Don't ask me; I'm not telling."
"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to wait." Amber pointed toward the paper bag. "Does my surprise have anything to do with what's in there?"
Sam nodded. "Kinda." He glanced at his grandfather. "I brought you something, Amber. It got a little messed up in the fire, but—" He pushed the paper bag in her direction.
She held up her bandaged hands. "You'll have to open it for me, Sam. I don't have the use of my fingers right now."
"Okay." He reached into the bag and came up with something blackened and charred, and laid it on the top of the blanket that covered Amber's lap. "I went in the barn and got it myself," he said proudly. "I know how much it means to you."
Tears blurred Amber's eyes as she looked at it. It was the cast of the Two Sisters, irreparably mutilated by the fire.
"You told me that long as you had this, you could make the statue again," Sam was saying excitedly. "And I knew you'd want to, 'cause—" He stopped suddenly, clapping a hand over his mouth.
For a minute or two, she couldn't speak. Then she drew the boy into an enormous hug and held him there, blinking back the tears as she gazed over his head into the Colonel's seamed and weathered countenance. "Thank you," she whispered.
"It was the best gift I could think of," Sam said, his voice muffled as he pressed his face against her. "I love you, Amber."
"I love—," she choked out. "I love you, too."
The Colonel shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. "I think we'd better be going now."
Sam gave Amber one last squeeze and climbed down from the bed.
"Meg and Twojoe have invited us for dinner tomorrow, if you think you're up to it," the Colonel said as he held out a hand for Sam.
"Of course. I'd be disappointed if you didn't come."
"We'll see you tomorrow evening, then."
When the door shut behind them, Amber just sat there staring at the plaster cast of the Two Sisters. Soot-covered and disfigured, it reminded her of grisly images she had seen in newsreels—a charred corpse, nearly unrecognizable as anything that ever held life or vitality or joy.
Poor Sam. She could just see him in the barn, his angelic little face covered with sweat and grime, searching through the rubble and letting out a whoop of joy when he found the cast. He thought he was recovering something precious for her, but his gift only served to remind Amber of how much she had lost.
Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the miracle had vanished. Gone were her studio, her plans, her kiln, the Two Sisters—even, for the time being, her hands. She had no idea how long it would be before she could mold clay or hold a sculpting knife. And what about the commission? She couldn't possibly complete it now. All their hopes and dreams had hinged upon that project. Without it, she couldn't buy a new kiln, reestablish a place to work, rebuild the barn. Without it, there wouldn't even be a barn—or a farm, for that matter. Or even a life.
It all had come crashing down in one brief moment, dissolved to nothing in a flash of gasoline and fire.
"Lord, I believe," she murmured through her tears, remembering the lines that Susan had quoted to her. "Help my unbelief."
A knock on the door brought Amber to herself. She blotted her eyes with the bandages and swiped her hair back from her face. "Come in."
The door opened a crack, and Vernon Houston's face reappeared. "Sam's waiting in the lobby. Can I have a minute alone with you?"
"Sure."
He entered the hospital room and sat down on the chair next to her bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "I reckon that's pretty much useless." He pointed to the ruined plaster cast.
Amber nodded. "I'm afraid so."
"Couldn't convince him otherwise. Nothing coulda stopped him going into that barn to retrieve it for you. It coulda still been on fire, and he woulda gone in after that thing.''
"It was very sweet."
"He said you'd want it more'n anything else in there."
"He was right." Amber smiled. "Your grandson is a wonderful boy, Colonel. I hope he keeps that sensitivity as he gets older."
"Yeah, me, too. Wouldn't want him to grow up into a nasty old buzzard like his grandpa."
"He could do worse."
The Colonel flushed red under his tan and grinned sheepishly, then sobered and straightened in his chair. "I need to talk serious for a minute." Amber nodded, and he went on. "Seems to me like you and Twojoe and Meg are gonna have to do a little regrouping."
"You mean because of my injuries?" She nodded. "I've been thinking about that. The commission for that big project was a godsend, but—"
"But you don't think it's gonna happen."
"I doubt it." Her throat felt tight, and she strove to keep her voice from breaking. "The barn has to be repaired; even if the insurance covers it, there's still the deductible to think about. And who knows how long it might take to get a settlement? I don't know, Colonel. We're back to square one, I'm afraid. Or maybe even farther back than that."
"Not quite." He reached into his pocket. "I've got something for you—"
"Colonel, we can't take that," she protested automatically.
"Hang on there, missy. You don't even know what it is yet."
"You're a very generous man, Colonel, but you know how Twojoe feels about charity."
"This ain't charity." He handed it to her.
Amber gasped. It was a check for ten thousand four hundred dollars, made out to Amber Chaney, from Andrew Jorgensen's business account drawn on a Seattle bank. "What is this?"
"I thought you said that concussion hadn't done any major damage." Houston chuckled. "It's a check. The down payment on the sculpture, plus the money for the Two Sisters, minus Mr. Jorgenson's 20 percent. It came in the mail yesterday, and since Twojoe's tied up with stuff at the farm and won't get here until later this afternoon, he gave it to me to give to you. Jorgensen called to make sure it arrived OK and said that the fella who commissioned the sculpture ain't in no big hurry. Said he'd wait long as it takes."
Amber peered at the seamed, weather-beaten face. The Colonel's eyes were bright with mirth. He was hiding something. She could sense it. A sudden thought struck her, and she shook the check in his face.
"It was you, wasn't it?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You know perfectly well what I mean." She fixed him with her most intense stare. "You're the one who commissioned the statue. A little boy and a llama—I should have guessed before."
"I'm gonna go get the doctor. He needs to take another look at your head." The Colonel got to his feet.
"You stay right where you are, Vernon Houston. You did it, didn't you? And unless I miss my guess, you're the one who bought the Two Sisters, too."
His eyes slid off to one side and he twirled his hat nervously in his hands.
"Look at me, Colonel. And tell me the truth."
He let out an explosive sigh and swung back in her direction. "Dang it all, woman! You're just like my Emmaline. Never could put anything past her, not in a whole lifetime of lovin' her."
Amber sank back against the pillows. "You can't do this, Colonel."
"Why not?"
"You know why not."
He peered at her intently. "You and Twojoe are just alike, Amber. Stubborn as a brace of old mules. This is business. I want that statue of my boy and the llama. And I want you to sculpt it, no matter how long I have to wait for it. Yeah, I also bought the Two Sisters. Sam loved it, and I figured it might just help him get through the grief of losing his own sister. Every time he looked at it, he'd be reminded of what he said to you—that you never really lose somebody you love."
"But, Colonel," she protested, "a ten-thousand-dollar advance? And another ten when the project is completed? How am I supposed to see that as anything but a handout?"
He set his hat on the floor and leaned over, taking both her bandaged hands gently in his. "It's about time you took a hard look at yourself, Amber Chaney. You're an artist. A good one. In time, maybe a great one. Twenty thousand is chicken feed for a fine sculpture. Once your name gets known, it'll double in value."
Amber shook her head. "Pardon me for asking, Colonel, but since when are you an expert?" The words came out harsh, and she instantly regretted them. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "You're only trying to help. I shouldn't have said that."
He stared at her for a minute, then let out a great booming laugh. "I own three Remingtons, Amber. And a Picasso—a small one. A Grant Wood and a couple of Andrew Wyeths. It's a mistake to underestimate me just 'cause I got a little dirt under my fingernails. I know a bit about art." He paused and grinned widely at her. "And yeah, maybe I am trying to help—trying to help a new artist get her feet under her. What the blazes is so awful about that?"
She lowered her eyes. "Nothing."
"Tell you what, Amber, I'll make a deal with you. You keep the ten thousand as an advance on the project. Get the barn fixed, replace your kiln, whatever else you need to do. When you're able to work again, you do the sculpture, and I'll pay the other ten thousand. All through Jorgensen's gallery, minus his commission, nice and businesslike. In ten years, if your sculpture isn't worth forty thousand, you can pay me back the twenty thousand at 5 percent interest."
"And what about the Two Sisters?"
"I only paid three thousand for it. I'm keeping it. But you can borrow it to make a new cast."
Amber closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You're mighty welcome," Houston answered, then gazed at her oddly. "Something tells me you weren't talking to me."
"No, I wasn't," Amber chuckled. "But thank you, too. I never knew angels came dressed in jeans and cowboy boots."
The Colonel shook his head. "I don't reckon the Good Lord needs help from an old fool like me," he muttered. "And don't go thinking this is some kind of philanthropy. It's selfishness, pure and simple. I'm gonna be known as the brilliant fella who bought his very first Chaney before her name became a household word."
He gathered up his hat, kissed her on the forehead, and headed for the door. "See you tomorrow. And take care of them hands. You're gonna need 'em."
"Colonel?" Amber called after him. "If I ever do get really famous—"
He turned. "You will, mark my words."
"Then you can expect me to charge you a whole lot more than twenty thousand for the next one."
Vernon Houston tipped his hat and winked. "I'll count on it, little lady. And it'll be my pleasure to pay every last dime."