Freeze Frame

by Freya Barker

  “Seriously?” Is all I manage to get out, as my eyes drift to my prints on the wall. Jen nods eagerly.

  “Yup. And he left a card. His name is Ryan DeGroot. Wants you to call him and set up an appointment.”

  “Can you do it? Organize it?” I immediately ask, my glance shooting back to her. I’m suddenly scared. Selling pictures from a small local coffee shop is one thing, but taking a huge step closer to my dream like this, is a whole different kettle of fish. What if he sees me for the hobbyist I am? I mean, I was a professional newspaper photographer, but that doesn’t qualify me as an artist. I do better staying behind the camera, where I’m comfortable.

  “Me?” Jen asks. “You want me to set this up?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I do. I want you to act as my agent. You’re poised, you’re professional, you know how to handle people, and you know my work well.” I lean over the counter and cover her hand with mine. “I trust you more than I trust myself with this,” I give her the truth.

  Slowly her face brightens with a smile as she sandwiches my hand in both of hers.

  “How fast can you get me an online gallery set up? Make sure you watermark everything you upload.” Jen is suddenly all business, pulling a pad and paper toward her and jotting down notes. “This new series. Call it Colorado Gold, it sounds lush, just like the shots. The prints should go on board, no more than a quarter inch, no frame. Just a hint of wrap around. I’ll find out if SouthWest can do the job. If not, I’ll find someone. Do you have twelve prints? He wants to start with twelve prints to fit one long wall in the gallery.”

  She’s writing furiously while I’m standing there, gasping for air like a fish on dry land, barely able to contain everything she’s telling me.

  “How fast, Isla?” The repeat of the question breaks through my apathy and my mind scrambles to catch up.

  “Three days to finish up the edits and set up the online gallery. SouthWest does the board mounting. I was just there and ordered one done like that. When you call them, ask for Nate. Tell him it’s for me.” I’m already mentally flipping through all the images I could use, while pulling the prints I brought with me from the tote bag.

  “I’ll call Ryan tomorrow, if not this afternoon. Find out what his commission is and work out any details. I’ll call you,” she adds quickly, as I’m already moving to the door.

  “Sounds good.” I wave and let the door slam shut behind me.

  I’m almost halfway up the mountain when I realize I didn’t stop to pick up food. I’m eager to get home, but I remind myself I’m not alone. Not anymore. A little reluctantly, I turn around and head back to town.

  -

  I realize he didn’t hear me come up over the din of the generator, when I see him whip around, his body immediately in a defensive position.

  “Sorry,” I mouth, quickly switching off the noise. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t hear me.”

  Ben bends down, his hands braced on his knees and head hanging low.

  I just got back and dumped the bottle of wine, the steaks, and the rest of the groceries in the trailer, before going in search of Ben and finding him at the gun safe.

  “Uncle Al left two hunting rifles and a hand gun in there. Just in case. He has me keep a shotgun in the trailer too, but I don’t know how much good that’ll do, I won’t be able to shoot it. I promised him I’d practice, but I haven’t yet. Not sure my stomach can take aiming at anything. Even a coke can,” I ramble, feeling guilty for scaring him.

  “Where’s the shotgun?” he asks, his head still down.

  “I stuck it in the back of the closet. The box of shells are in there, too,” I admit, watching as he shakes his head.

  “I’ll teach you,” he finally says.

  “Okay. Sorry if I scared you.”

  “Good thing I have my gun in the glove compartment in the truck,” he mutters, before straightening up. I walk straight into his arms, burying my face in the middle of his chest.

  “My pictures are going up in a real gallery,” I mumble.

  “Say what?” he asks, loosening his grip and taking a step back.

  “An art gallery in Durango wants to exhibit my work,” I say a little louder, unable to keep the smug grin off my face.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit,” I shoot back at him.

  “Fuck, that’s amazing.” I love the way small lines appear at the corners of his eyes when he smiles big. His light eyes warm and his face is unusually open. He’s normally quite grim looking, but when he looks at me I can see his whole face soften. He reaches out his hand and I entwine my fingers with his. “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you done here? Then come inside with me, I’ll tell you while I get dinner going.”

  Instead of starting dinner, we end up cuddled on the couch, each with a beer in hand, while I give him all the details.

  “I’d better get those potatoes in foil or they won’t be done in time,” I finally say, casting a longing glance at my laptop, before getting up.

  “What’s for dinner?” Ben asks, getting up right behind me.

  “Baked potato, bagged salad, and steak, which I should probably marinate for a bit. I also brought home wine to celebrate.”

  Ben slips his arms around me from behind, while I scrape the potatoes clean under the tap.

  “Leave dinner to me,” he mumbles, with his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

  “But you said...” I start protesting, when he tilts my head back and cuts me off with a hard kiss.

  “I can handle baked potatoes and salad from a bag. I told you I can do meat.” His wicked grin gets my skin tingling; for a second I’m considering forfeiting my laptop and dinner to have my way with Ben instead. “Go,” he growls, plunging his face in my neck. “Before I take you up on those dirty thoughts spinning through your head.”

  I feel his teeth graze the tender skin at the base of my neck, before he reaches around and turns off the tap, pressing a towel in my hand. I turn around as I dry my hands and smile up at him.

  “Thank you,” I tell him softly, lifting up on tiptoes to kiss his scruffy jaw.

  “Go,” he says again, giving me a tap on my butt when I walk past him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ben

  “Should we go up there?”

  Isla stares up the mountain, where as of this morning, work on the roadway to the clearing above has begun. Heavy equipment rolled in earlier, and Jim Bayfield, the local contractor, came knocking on the trailer door.

  It has been a busy week. The first few days, I left Isla alone with her camera and her laptop, while I looked after the grounds and worked on the Deville. I had to pry her away from the computer at night and force her into bed. Since her selection of pictures was finalized and sent off, she had nowhere to go with her nervous energy, and when I suggested putting together a budget for the house, she dove straight into that.

  I was pleased to see her uncle had amassed quite a decent contingency fund; one that could easily handle the groundwork for the house. It had been the start of an interesting conversation about money. Uncomfortable, as I would’ve expected, since the moment I laid out my financial condition and suggested she add my savings to the house budget, she was up in arms. What finally got her to give in was when I explained that it was simply an investment. I’d done well over the years. Had a financial advisor handle my savings, since I didn’t have time to dick around with that, and the guy had made me some nice change. Of course I’ve had virtually no living expenses.

  “I’m a couple of years away from fifty. It’s about time I spent some on me. And if it makes you feel more comfortable, we can have that lawyer in Cortez draw up some kind of agreement.”

  I know she’s worried about what might happen if things go south between us. Turning this into a business agreement just takes that stress out of the equation.

  Jim Bayfield was recommended by Nicholas Flynn, Al’s lawyer, and I guess now Isla’s as well. I wasn’t too sure about that guy at fir
st glance. Looked a little too soft and pretty, until he shook my hand. Rough calluses lined his grip and his eyes were unwavering. Smart guy, too.

  Bayfield is a general contractor, who is clearly well connected; he has a crew and equipment ready to go within a week.

  “Let them get some work done. We’ll get some coffee up there when they break,” I suggest, smiling as Isla almost has her nose pressed against the small window. “Want to help me rip up some carpet?” That gets her attention. She turns around wearing a big grin.

  “Yesss—demolition,” she says, channeling her inner Schwarzenegger, as she slips by me.

  “Renovation!” I call after her, just as she disappears out the door.

  -

  By the time lunchtime comes around, both of us are grungy, but the old carpet is piled up outside the trailer. Isla had pulled the padded backing off the banquette seats as well, deeming them unfit for reupholstering. She’s outside jotting down measurements for the replacements, while I scrape away at the old glue on the floor with a putty knife.

  “I’m going to put on some coffee,” she says, sticking her head in the door. “I think they’re taking a break.” I lift my head to listen. It’s quiet out there. All morning the sound of heavy engines could be heard, but now I can only hear the crunch of gravel under Isla’s feet as she makes her way over to the other trailer.

  Putting the putty knife down, I step out of the trailer and breathe in deep, trying to clear the dust from my nose. It’s a clear day. The campground is quiet, only twelve sites rented out and all, but one older couple, hunters. During the summer you can hear the constant buzz of engines on the water, but now the reservoir is still. Only an occasional fishing boat puttering by.

  I load up the old carpet in the wheelbarrow from the shed and roll it over to the garbage dumpster, tossing it in. By the time I get back to the site, Isla is already coming out of the trailer, a large tote in her hands and her camera around her neck.

  “You coming?” she calls out when she sees me.

  “Need a second to wash my hands,” I mumble against her ear when I reach her, giving her hip a squeeze before slipping inside. A quick splash of water on my face to clear the worst of the dust, and I’m back outside.

  “Give me that,” I order, grabbing the tote from her and slinging it over my shoulder. I take her hand as we walk over to where the trucks are parked at the base of the path.

  “Not much to see yet.” Jim’s clearly seen us coming. Five guys, plus Jim, are sitting at a picnic table they must’ve hauled up here from one of the empty sites. “Hope you don’t mind,” he says when he catches me looking.

  “Of course not,” Isla answers first. “Whatever you guys need, just let us know. We brought some coffee.” I put the bag on the table and Isla starts pulling out not just a large thermos and Styrofoam cups, but a container of brownies. Were the hell she got that from on such short notice, I have no idea.

  Under approving grunts and words of thanks, the guys attack both coffee and sweets like a bunch of locusts.

  “Did you at least save me a brownie?” I whisper in her ear, and she elbows me in the stomach in return.

  “That’s a dangerous precedent you’re setting, young lady.” Jim smiles at her. “Now these Neanderthals will expect to be fed every day.”

  “Haha, that would be a no,” she says with a smile. “First day on the job gratitude only, I’m afraid.” She sits down beside Jim, who moves over a little to give her room, and plants her elbows on the table. “So, who’s scared to have their picture taken?”

  In minutes, she has the gruff looking crew of guys eating from her hand, with her ready smiles and quick wit. I cross my arms and lean against the fender of a truck, watching her magic at work. When there’s nothing but a stray crumb or two left in the container, and the last drop of coffee is gone, she coaxes the lot to pose in front of the massive bulldozer. I stay where I am, scrolling through my phone to kill time while she takes shot after shot, until Jim calls a stop to it, citing a need to get some more work done before day’s end.

  The air fills with the sound of engines, and I sit down at the table, putting my phone facedown as Isla and Jim approach.

  “What are the chances of pouring a foundation and getting up framing before winter hits?” I ask when they sit down. Isla looks surprised, but I keep my eyes on Jim, who’s scratching his chin.

  “Middle of September now,” he says pensively. “Doesn’t leave a lot of time. It would have to be in by the end of October. Six weeks, give or take. Do you have plans drawn up?”

  “Maybe,” I answer tentatively, since it all depends on Isla. “We’ve been looking at some pre-fab homes. There’s one we both like and we have the option of doing interior finishes ourselves.”

  “But the guy we talked to said it would be anywhere from four to six months to get the modules built,” Isla pipes up.

  “I know,” I confirm, as I flip over my phone and swipe the screen before shoving it in her direction. “But things change.”

  I watch as understanding hits her and a big grin almost splits her face.

  “We can have it as fast as it’ll take the trucks to get it here,” I tell a confused Jim. “Someone walked away from their contract, and the sales guy will let us have the components, as is, at seventy percent, provided he can have it out of their warehouse before winter. He attached the plans to the email.”

  “Oh my God,” Isla gasps beside me. “I can’t believe our luck.”

  “Before we celebrate, let Jim have a look at the plans.”

  “Can you print those off?” He points at my phone.

  “Yes!” Isla jumps up, shoving everything on the table in the bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” she says as she starts walking. “Are you coming?” She throws me an impatient look over her shoulder that has Jim chuckle.

  “Looks like you’ve got a live one there,” he guffaws as I stand up.

  “You have no idea,” I tell him as I take off after her.

  But I do it wearing a grin.

  Isla

  “She’s coming?” I beam at Ben when he hangs up the phone and gets in the truck.

  “We’re going there,” he says, smiling back. “She’s up to her eyeballs in court cases, but has booked the Thanksgiving weekend off. She’s excited to meet you, though,” he quickly adds when my face falls.

  We’re on our way to pick up the Toyota and have an appointment at the bank to get our finances sorted. Feels like everything is suddenly moving forward at a breathtaking speed, when my life before coming to Dolores seemed to have been stuck in second gear. Thinking about Ben’s sister visiting would have been a welcome distraction from the near overwhelming changes.

  “That’s not until November,” I point out, pouting a little.

  “We’ll drive to Albuquerque and make a trip of it,” he promises, squeezing my knee before turning out of the gates. “We’ll be busy once Jim gives us the go ahead on those plans. Besides, I’ve got a trailer to finish first or they won’t even have a place to sleep.” Just like that my smile is back and my fingers are crossed.

  “We,” I correct him. “We have a trailer to finish.”

  “Of course.” Ben tags me around the neck and pulls me close to plant a kiss on my head. Snuggling into his side, a thought occurs to me.

  “We should go shopping in Albuquerque. We need furniture.” The responding growl is a clear indicator Ben, like most men, does not like shopping. Not that I particularly enjoy shopping for clothes, or just for the hell of it, but shopping with a purpose? That I enjoy.

  “Not going shopping.”

  “But, Ben, we’re gonna have a whole house to furnish and decorate. I can’t make all those decisions on my own.”

  “Pixie,” he says with barely subdued impatience. “I don’t shop. I also don’t care much beyond having walls to keep us dry and warm, a bed to sleep in, and a fucking shower, big enough to fit us both. Other than that, the only requirement I ha
ve is you.” Any irritation I feel fades at his sentiments. “If you don’t like shopping alone, take Stacie; she’s got a masters in bargain hunting.”

  -

  The bank manager is doing his best to sell us on a mortgage when we explain what we’re there for, but Ben is adamant he doesn’t want to lock in to anything that we can’t control ourselves. All we want is some emergency financing, something we can access on the spot if we were to run into trouble. In the end, they compromise on a small line of credit that we can access, or pay off, at any time.

  Ben is still grumpy when we leave the bank.

  “Patronizing son of a bitch,” he mumbles under his breath. I stop him with a hand on his arm.

  “He’s an idiot,” I concur. “Which by now I’m sure he realizes, since we walked out of there with exactly what we came for, and not what he wanted to sell us. So chill.” I wind my arms around his neck when he glares at me. “That may intimidate him in there—” I nudge my head in the direction of the bank, “—but your scowl doesn’t scare me at all.” I watch as the corner of his mouth twitches and his eyes soften.

  “No?”

  “Not even a bit,” I tease. Ben’s arms come around me, lifting me clear off the ground as he takes my mouth in a toe-curling kiss. When he sets me down again, I’m grateful for his hands on my hips to steady me. My legs are far from steady.

  “We’ve got a car to pick up,” he says, leading me to where the truck is parked.

  When we pull into the dealership, I tell Ben to go ahead, that I’ll be right in. I wait until I see him walk into the office before pulling out my phone.

  “Is this Phil?” I ask when a man answers.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “It’s Isla Ferris, Al’s niece. He gave me your number.” I explain why I’m calling, and after a brief conversation, I end the call and hop out of the cab of the truck to follow Ben inside.