by Freya Barker
I glance up at the wall to where my prints are displayed and see two are missing.
“You sold some already?”
Jen glances over her shoulder up to see where I’m looking. “Oh, yeah, one of the things I wanted to tell you about. A couple of women came in earlier this week. One is the owner of an old diner, just south of Cortez, who is looking to upgrade. Someone had sent them here to see what I was doing with local artists. Had a nice chat with them and they ended up taking two of your prints. She may call to see if you’re interested in displaying in her place. Arlene’s Diner, I think it’s called.”
“Kinda cool that we’re being talked about,” I tell Jen, when she sets down a huge mug with whipping cream sliding down the sides.
“You’re being talked about,” she states pointedly. “In fact, that’s why I’ve been trying to reach you all week. Already this exhibition is creating all kinds of attention.”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t been well,” I apologize, but Jen waves it off.
“I know. Ben told me.”
“You talked to Ben?” I’m surprised; he never mentioned anything.
“I called him when I couldn’t get through to you. He explained what happened; said you might need a friend at some point, but that you needed a little time. Don’t be mad at him,” she adds quickly when she sees my lips press together. “I made him tell.”
I snort at that, and just like that, the tears that threatened dry up. No one could make Ben do anything he didn’t want to give freely.
“Not at all,” I assure Jen. “Maybe we can carve out some time to chat, but I’m just starting to wrap my head around it.” Jen pushes off the counter and raises a hand, palm out.
“I get it. I’m here when you’re ready,” she promises, before she changes topics. “Okay, so let me grab what I was going to show you.”
She disappears into the small office off the back, and I use the break to take a sip from my rich indulgence.
“Here,” Jen says, when she comes back out, tossing a napkin in my direction, and I immediately lick at the cream on my bottom lip. Wiping it would be a waste.
“Ryan sent me this. It was in the paper, the day after the exhibition opened.” She slides a newspaper to me. The Durango Herald. “Front page of the Arts & Entertainment section.”
Pride blooms in my chest when I see one of my pictures taking up half the page with the header:
Colorado In View features Ferris
A bright new light in Colorado’s art scene!
Underneath the picture of Ben overlooking McPhee Reservoir is the caption:
Only one example of the dramatic and emotive images currently on display at Colorado In View Gallery.
Gallery is open daily from noon until 8 PM—closed Sundays.
“Can you order more copies?” I know I’m grinning like a fool when I look up at Jen.
“Already done. Actually, Ryan did. He’s got a box at the gallery. This one’s yours.” She points at the newspaper in front of me. “He says it’s been a good draw. The article helped.”
“I’m stumped.”
“I’m not,” Jen counters. “Your work is beautiful: simple, unpretentious, and unmistakable. I’m not surprised it appeals to a larger audience.”
“All I wanted was a coffee table book,” I mutter, a little shell-shocked.
“I’d say you might set your goals a little loftier,” Jen chuckles. “Maybe more than one coffee table book?”
I take another sip of my macchiato as I let my mind run away with me.
“I have all these ideas,” I share. “Everywhere I look, I see possibilities. I’ve been recording the progress of the build, which I’m planning to follow till it’s done. I have another project I’m working on, trying to record seasonal changes on a few subjects. And I just had an idea for another one, earlier this week.” Jen is leaning with her elbows on the counter and her chin resting on her hands.
“Well, go on then,” she urges. “The suspense is killing me.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes at her. “Anyway, so you know Ben’s been working on these old trailers? I thought those might look good too; all gleaming chrome and pastel colors. I can do a retro edit on the images. I’m not sure, they’re just thoughts.”
“Good thoughts,” Jen says, straightening up after a pregnant pause. “Keep thinking them. In the meantime, I have some research to do on the cost of printing. Oh,” she interrupts herself as if just remembering something. “That’s right, too, I was going to tell you. Ryan’s been fielding quite a few phone calls at the gallery and is sending them through to me. Mostly, people wanting to know where else they can find your work. One lady was quite persistent about needing to speak with you directly about your photos. I gave her your email. You may want to check. I’m thinking you should consider getting a proper website designed, where people can order your prints from wherever they are.”
“My head is spinning,” I admit, barely able to absorb all this information, and frankly, more than a bit overwhelmed.
“I’ll jot stuff down. Send it to you in an email instead,” Jen says with a pat on my shoulder. “More coffee?”
-
I find Ben sitting at the picnic table, sanding what looks like drawer fronts. My head is almost exploding with new ideas, and he immediately notices I’m distracted when I barely kiss him hello on my way into the trailer.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“My head is full,” I explain, although I’m not so sure that is sufficient. For Ben it might be, since he watches me silently as I rush inside, dump my purse, and grab my camera before leaping out of the trailer, missing the steps entirely. “I’ll be back,” I promise him in passing.
“I know,” I can hear him say, but I don’t see the grin from ear to ear that accompanies his words.
Ben
I hate sanding.
I especially hate sanding by hand, but it’s the only way to do these kitchen drawers. That’s why I’m tackling them first; get it over with.
Jim called earlier to let us know delivery would be on time, which means we have a week before the modules arrive. Not really enough time for me to pull the paneling down in the Deville, sand and stain them, and then reinstall them. I don’t want to start anything I can’t finish. Once the house goes up, I’ll be tied up in there.
Luckily, I closed the gate on the last of the hunters this morning. I’ll probably spend a few days cleaning up the sites and shutting the bathrooms down for the winter. The water supply to all the buildings has to be turned off or the pipes will freeze. There’s also some brush on the sites along the water I want to clear. General maintenance, which will be so much easier with the new toys that will be delivered around five this afternoon.
A grin slides into place as I watch Isla skip off with the camera around her neck. I’ll probably catch some flack, but it’ll be worth it. Wait until she gets her first ride in, I bet she’ll be sold.
I reach for my phone when it starts buzzing.
“Damian.” His name popped up on the screen.
“Are you bored yet?” he teases, making me laugh.
“Hardly,” I correct him. “Been keeping busy.”
“Damn. I was hoping you were eager for some work.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing specific. Flemming is still trolling for new blood.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking that won’t happen any time soon. Things are busy here. Trying to get the house up before the real cold hits will take up all my time.”
“You know what they say, right?” Damian pokes at me. “All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” I inform him. “I’m planning on some serious play time as soon as my toys get here.”
“Toys?”
“Isla’s been driving around the place in this old golf cart. I hate the damn thing. I bought two gently used ATVs and a small trailer.” I smile when I hear Damian burst out laughing.
“Does she know?” he asks, snickering.
“She will soon.” That only makes him laugh harder.
“You poor sap,” he mocks. “I wish you well.”
“She’s a smart woman. She’ll get that it makes much more sense for the winter. Besides, Isla is the adventurous kind.”
“She must be,” he fires back. “To get tangled up with the likes of you. So when am I gonna meet this girl?”
“Actually...how would you like to come play with some really big blocks a week from today? They’re dropping the modules off next Saturday morning.”
“Sounds like fun. If work allows, I’ll drive down. Do I bring a tent?” he jokes.
“No need. We’ll find you a bed.”
I end the call after he promises to let me know sometime next week. I can probably get the mattress back in the Deville. It’ll be just like home for him.
-
“Get this,” Isla points at her computer screen.
She’s been almost like herself since coming back from Jen’s. Excited, high on life and bustling with ideas. She was gone for three hours this afternoon with her camera. I almost went to look for her when she came back, dragging her ass but smiling wide.
It was a mild afternoon, so I’d already pulled out a few pork chops from the freezer to throw on the grill with some vegetables. Isla disappeared inside before emerging with her laptop and camera. She’s been working at the picnic table, while I’ve been throwing together dinner.
I abandon the grill and peek over her shoulder at the screen.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, seeing only the body of an email that has a picture of me attached.
“This woman is looking for someone. The Durango Herald ran an article about my exhibit and included that shot I took of you on the outlook point. She apparently saw it, and thinks you may be someone she knows.” Isla turns sideways in her seat to look at me, as I peek at the name at the bottom of the screen. Julie Wilton. I’ve never heard of her and I tell Isla as much.
“Not a clue who that is. Who is she looking for?”
“She doesn’t give a name, she just says she lost track of him and has some important information to pass on.”
“Sounds fishy to me,” I casually share, but years of well-honed instinct have my antennae twitching. “How did she get your email, anyway? I thought you were letting Jen handle this kind of thing?”
I sit down beside her and turn the laptop a little my way. JW_1978 at gmail dot com. A pretty generic web-based email.
“I was, I am,” Isla answers. “But Jen gave this woman my email when she insisted she needed to talk to me.”
“I don’t like it,” I caution her. “Let Jen tell her you can’t help her.”
“Do you think you’re being a little paranoid?” she mutters, and I lean in so we’re face to face.
“Perhaps,” I admit. “But I’ve stayed alive and well for over two decades because I’ve listened to my gut. And my gut tells me there’s something fishy about this. Humor me.”
I watch a struggle play out over Isla’s expressive face that finally settles on surrender.
“Fine, but just so you know, I’m really curious to know what her story is,” she says, pouting.
“Then ask Jen to find out.” I smile when she sticks out her tongue. “And by the way,” I swiftly change tracks. “Congrats on making the newspaper.” Her face morphs into that wide smile I love.
“I know!” she squeals, punching my shoulder for good measure. “Isn’t it awesome? I almost fainted when Jen showed me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away, but I got so overwhelmed with...well, with everything happening, I just needed some time,” she prattles on, while I give her shoulder a squeeze and get up to flip the chops.
Just an occasional “Mmmm” or “Right” is required, and half of what she says admittedly leaks out the other ear, but I’m smiling. Man, it’s good to see her this animated and energetic.
While we eat, I tell her about Damian’s call, and she starts talking about how she needs to find a sewing machine, so she can put up some curtains in the Deville to give him privacy. I don’t have the heart to tell her that Damian would probably be comfortable sleeping on the picnic table, he’s had worse, but if it makes her happy to make curtains, I’m not going stop her.
Isla just took our plates inside, when I hear the rumble of a heavy engine, coming up the road. I take off on a run to open the gate, waving Phil McCracken Jr. through. When he dropped off the Airstream, he mentioned he sells some used vehicles at his repair shop. He managed to get a line on the ATVs and I had him get them in prime working order.
“What is this?” Isla comes up behind me as Phil pulls to a stop.
“These are our new wheels. Yours and mine,” I tell her proudly, before helping Phil unload them. I fully expect her to balk, but she stays surprisingly quiet.
“Headlights work?” she casually asks Phil, who smirks and nods in response. Then she holds out her hand. “Keys?”
Phil barks out a laugh and fishes a set from his pocket, dropping them in her hand.
She climbs on the hunter green one, starts the engine, and with her ass up out of the seat, floors it down the path, leaving me gaping after her in stunned silence. I turn to Phil, just in time to see a second set of keys flying through the air.
“Better go get the girl,” he says, still grinning ear to ear. “I’ll close the gate behind me.”
I take off in the same direction, going mostly by sound, since she disappeared between the trees. Clearly she’s driven an ATV before, judging by the expert way she handles the machine at a respectable clip. She darts in and out of the trees, leading me through and around the campground. I’m happy just to follow, feeling the cold breeze on my face, and smiling at the occasional peal of her laughter ringing out over the noise of the engines.
Finally she scoots around the gate and hightails it up the new road to the building site. That’s where I finally catch up.
“You’re a very smart man,” she says, smiling big. “Nothing promises a sure thing like the wind in a girl’s hair and the purr of a fast engine between her legs.”
Holy fuck. I almost swallow my tongue at the heavy innuendo. I’m not twenty anymore, so I managed all right, giving her time to heal these past two weeks, but I’m drooling like a damn puppy dog now.
“Pixie,” I growl in warning, not hiding the fact I’m adjusting my painfully hard cock. Before I have my hand back on the handlebars, she takes off down the mountain.
I have to stand for comfort as I tear off after her, following her down to the trailer, where she jumps off the ATV, and disappears inside.
I take a minute to make sure the fire is out and the four-wheelers are secured, before I head in after her, pulling my sweater off as I go. She’s giggling softly as she hops on one leg beside the bed, trying to pull the other free from the tangle of her pants. I stand, just inside the door, as I strip down jeans, boxers, and pull off socks, watching her do much the same before she tumbles on the mattress. So fucking beautiful, with her open smile and welcoming curves.
“Yesssss,” she hisses, when I approach the bed and set one knee down on the mattress beside her.
“You sure?”
“I’m so ready,” she pants breathlessly, opening her legs in invitation. I lower myself in between, suppressing a shiver when she runs her fingertips through the hair on my chest, flicking a nail on my nipple.
“Christ, Isla––” I choke out, when my hips drop in the cradle of hers and I feel how wet she is. I involuntarily rock my hips to slide my cock along her heat. “So wet.”
“I need you in me,” she whispers against my skin, right before she marks me with her little sharp teeth.
I make sure to check her first with my fingers, sliding first one, and then two fingers inside her. Her pussy easily yields as she tilts her hips, hungry for more.
“Watch me,” I tell her, grabbing the base of my cock and poising it at her entrance. In one str
ong thrust, I drive balls deep inside her, watching her eyelids flutter and her mouth fall open. Her nails are digging at the back of my neck, where she’s holding on for purchase.
“Keep your eyes on me, Pixie, and watch me love you.”
CHAPTER 9
Isla
It’s been a great week.
With the campground empty, we’ve been able to clear away any remaining garbage, fix a few broken picnic tables, and clear out any dead brush. Ben shut off the water valve to the showers and bathrooms, after I spent a couple of mornings scrubbing them as clean as I could get them. There was only one leaking tap that Ben fixed easily. All the bathrooms are padlocked now for the winter.
I have to say it’s been a breeze with the four-wheelers. As much as I loved puttering around in my uncle’s golf cart—and as economical, and environmentally friendly, as it was to run—I get a kick out of riding the ATV. Nothing wrong with feeling that power underneath you. Plus, Ben is right, with the wide, deep-treaded tires, they’ll be much easier to handle on the snow. Heck, if need be, we can drive these things clear down the mountain into Dolores, and that is peace of mind for when we get hit with big snow.
Funny how he expected me to be pissed that he’d bought them behind my back. Sure, I argued a bit about dividing the cost, but not hard. Growing up with Uncle Al, who’s basically cut from the same cloth, I know it’s important for him to feel he’s got me taken care of.
“Excited?” Jen asks me, as she sets two large thermoses of coffee on the picnic table. She just showed up, out of the blue, the back of her car loaded with vast amounts of coffee and a stack of boxes, with what smells like cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. It’s barely eight in the morning.
“For the guys,” she explains, looking over at the water. “It’s been years since I’ve been here. Couldn’t pass up the chance to see what you guys are up to.” She dives back in the trunk and loads the boxes in my arms before pulling out a grocery bag with creamers and sugar packets. “The promise of a whole crew of working men, who know what to do with their hands, helps.” She grins as she throws me a wink. “Not many eligible men in Dolores; I couldn’t pass up on the opportunity.”
