Miller Brothers in Love

by Erin Wright

  He needed to say something.

  Their collision had knocked more than the air out of his lungs; it had knocked all of the self-righteous anger out of his brain, too, leaving him with nothing but a big blank.

  Talking to Ivy was a lot easier in theory than in practice.

  He glanced down and noticed the smallish flat package in her hands and latched onto it with both hands. Figuratively, of course.

  “Wanna share with the class?” he drawled, looking down at the brown-wrapped package and then back up at Ivy’s flushed face.

  “Can I come in?” she asked. “Or were…were you going somewhere?” Her eyes flicked down to the keys he had clutched in his hand. Another lazy snowflake drifted down, landing on her right eyelid. She fluttered her lashes, trying to get the offending frozen liquid out of her eye, and Austin gently wiped it away, his frustration and anger gone as quickly as the snowflake disappeared.

  The tension that had been roiling around in his stomach like a volcano about to erupt disappeared. He felt calmer already. Being around Ivy did that to a guy. Or at least to him.

  “I was coming to talk to you,” he admitted with a pained grin. “C’mon in.” He stepped to the side to let her in, a trail of chocolate and cinnamon coming in behind her, and he shut the door, stopping the cold and snow from swirling in, too. “How do you always smell like cinnamon and chocolate?” he asked abruptly, as he shrugged out of his jacket. He hung it back up on the antler rack and swung back to look at her. She was staring at him, her mouth agape.

  “Never mind,” he said, the tips of his ears growing warm. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. “What’s in your hands?”

  “This?” she said blankly, as if surprised to see it in her hands. “Oh yes, this! It’s your present. Christmas present.” She shoved it at him.

  He took it, staring down at it for a moment, confused. “Either you’re a little late or a whole lot early,” he said dryly. He looked up, catching her chewing on her lower lip worriedly.

  “A little bit of both,” she said with a wry smile, trying to pretend as if she wasn’t about ready to jump out of her skin, and failing quite miserably.

  “Let’s go sit down. It’s warmer over on the couch anyway.” To be honest, anywhere in the house was warmer than by the drafty old front door. He’d kept meaning to replace it before winter had hit, but somehow hadn’t gotten around to it. There were slices of Swiss cheese that let less air through than his front door did.

  He helped her out of her thin jacket, hanging it up beside his, which somehow looked a lot better than it really had any right to, and guided her towards his leather sofa snuggled up close to the fireplace. He thought about starting a fire to warm her up, but decided that a throw blanket would be faster.

  And anyway, he wanted to know what was in the package in his hands. His curiosity was growing by leaps and bounds.

  Once she was settled on the couch, a throw blanket over her lap, she was back to biting her lip again. He felt himself harden at the sight, and shifted uncomfortably on the couch next to her. He couldn’t get too far ahead of himself. For all he knew, this was a “So long, and thanks for all the kisses” kind of present.

  He flipped the package over slowly, and slid his finger under the tape, teasing the paper apart. He pulled the paper away to reveal…a cream-colored canvas?

  “Turn it over,” she said, just as he spotted a bit of wood at the edge. Oh. Duh. He was looking at the backside of an art canvas. He pulled it the rest of the way out of the wrapping and flipped it over.

  His breath caught as he stared down at it. It was the Goldfork Mountains in all their majestic glory, streaks of color emanating from behind the jagged peaks so vivid and real, he thought he could reach out to touch the sky.

  “Oh Ivy,” he murmured, and then his gaze drifted down from that magnificent sky to a cowboy on a horse, looking towards the setting sun, rays of light striking his cheeks.

  Not a cowboy. Him. She’d painted him on Bob.

  “Oh Ivy,” he repeated, stunned, his eyes taking in the tiniest details that she’d managed to capture. The way his hair curled at his nape. The light scar above his eyebrow where he’d fallen and taken a header against a bedpost as a toddler. Even the way he held his shoulders.

  It was him.

  “You painted me,” he said quietly. “I saw this when you’d first started working on it, of course, but I wasn’t in it before. Why did you…” He trailed off when the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

  “I hate crying,” she announced with a wobbly smile. “It gives me a headache, and makes my skin all blotchy and red, and I’ve never figured out how to cry in a pretty way. I always look like a disaster zone when I do it.” She sniffled through her tears, sending him a self-deprecating grin.

  He jumped up and grabbed a box of Kleenexes and brought them back for her. She took one, blowing her nose into the tissue gratefully. He didn’t think she looked like a disaster zone, although it was true that her eyes were pretty red. Somehow, she made even that look beautiful, though.

  He decided that arguing with her wasn’t going to do him any good, and kept his trap shut, waiting for her to go on.

  “I’ve hated this painting ever since I started it. I mean, I loved it because it was beautiful and fun to paint, but I felt like I was betraying my training. I went to college to learn what a real artist paints. Recreating a scene in front of you was cheating. Hell, a camera can do that.

  “But Austin?” She paused for a moment, wiping at her cheeks again. “I love this painting more than anything I’ve ever done in my life.”

  It all came tumbling out then, like the rushing of the river when the canyon walls squeezed it tight, forcing it to shoot out the other side. She wasn’t making it as an artist in San Francisco. She’d lied to him, she’d lied to everyone, because she’d wanted to pretend that she’d succeeded.

  He remembered back to the art closet and the boyfriend at the high school football game as she talked. The times she’d been shoved into a closet, or into a toilet. He understood wanting to prove to them all that she could make it as a painter, but…

  “Why did you lie to me?” he asked quietly, the hurt bleeding out in his voice. “I understand lying to your classmates – I mean, it’s not the best thing ever, but I get it. But why me? Did you think you had to pretend to be someone else to make me like you?”

  Her blue eyes looked at him, haunted. “I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t say to myself, ‘I’m going to lie to Austin about who I am.’ I had just been telling people stories of my success for so long, I didn’t think there was any way to stop. I couldn’t confess to you, but not tell my family, you know? You would let it slip to Declan, who would tell Iris, who would tell my parents, who would lecture me on disappointing them and making poor life choices. I had to tell everyone the truth, or no one at all. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been lying for a lot longer than I’ve known you.”

  He smiled a little at that. Just a little. His heart squeezed with the pain of betrayal as his eyes drifted back down to her painting, looking at every stroke of color, bursting from the canvas.

  She was so damn talented. And such a goddamn liar.

  “So tell me: Why did you run out of here the other day like your ass was on fire? Why are you telling me all of this? Why not go back to California and continue to lead your fake, perfect life where you’re the next Jackson Pollock?”

  She flinched like he’d struck her. “I deserved that. And also, kudos for knowing Pollock. I’m impressed.”

  He smiled again, just the tips of his mouth curving up and then disappearing as he stared at her intently, waiting for her to explain. He was surprised by how betrayed he felt by her. It wasn’t like he’d known her for years. He’d only met her the month before. But he’d trusted her.

  Just like he’d trusted Monica and his parents.

  Oh.

  It made sense. Of course. To have someone break his trust by hiding the
truth from him? That was the one chink in the armor around his heart. The pieces fell into place – Monica lying so she could marry rich and lord over everyone that her husband was the biggest farmer in town. His dad lying to his mom and him, about loving either of them. His parents lying to him about loving him more than they loved to hurt each other.

  Honestly, he wasn’t sure if there was anything Ivy could’ve done to hurt him more.

  “I don’t have the money to go back,” she admitted in a small voice. “When I canceled my return flight after Iris fell, I had expected to pay a small fee to reschedule the flight. I could’ve handled that. But the ‘small fee’ ended up being almost as much as a whole new ticket. I really had to save and struggle for months to pay for the first ticket. I couldn’t pay for it twice.

  “I knew that this whole time.” He flinched. She was admitting to intentionally lying to him, and also admitting that she was only fessing up because she had to. He felt a little sick. “I just kept hoping some miracle would come along and save me. I didn’t know what, but I figured hey, it was Christmas, right? So something could happen. Maybe I have a fairy godmother who has thus far been hiding herself from me, who pops out of my stocking and bops me on the head.” He chuckled a little at that, and then somehow hated her all the more for making him laugh. He didn’t want to laugh. He was pissed.

  “New Year’s Day, it all came tumbling down. The hope that this would somehow just go away, the stupidity of thinking that a bunch of money would magically appear in my bank account…I’d told myself that I’d tackle this problem after the new year. Well, it was New Year’s morning, and I had no idea what to do. So I ran.”

  The silence between them stretched out. He didn’t know what to do or say. After Monica, it’d been such a leap of faith to trust a woman again. Her sense of humor, her laugh, her talents, her intelligence, her beauty…he’d let his heart do what he’d known he shouldn’t have.

  He was such an idiot.

  Sensing she was losing him, the words began spilling out faster. “I’ve always fought doing landscapes, but especially landscapes of Idaho. I hated this place and never wanted to think about it again. I did this one because they were there, and I wanted something easy, but I hated it from the get-go. It wasn’t right. No matter what I did to the sunset or the mountain range itself or the pine trees, it wasn’t right. And then I realized – it’s because I needed you in it. Idaho without Austin isn’t an Idaho I want any part of.”

  It stung. It stung because it was exactly what he wanted to hear, and yet, now…it was tarnished. How could he trust her?

  His throat closed a little, which just made him angry. He’d only cried once as an adult, and it was the day his parent’s divorce was finalized. He hadn’t even cried over Monica Gold Digger Klaunche.

  He wasn’t about to cry over a girl he’d only met a month ago.

  Not

  Happening

  The anger at her betrayal, her lies, welled up in him. At the fact that he cared so damn much about what she chose to do with her life. None of it mattered to him. Not anymore.

  “Thanks for the painting,” he gritted out, past the lump in his throat that only seemed to be growing exponentially, dammit. “I’ll be sure to treasure it always. You can leave now.”

  Her expression broke his heart. She smiled tremulously, always trying to put a brave face on things, and said quietly, “I deserve that. Every bit of that. I’ve done nothing to earn your trust, and everything to break it. I love you, Austin Bishop. And if you ever decide to give me a second chance, I’ll be waiting for you.”

  She stood up then, hurrying to the front door, drawing on her coat, disappearing into the darkness and cold, leaving a heartbroken shell of a man behind.

  Chapter 20

  Austin

  ~ March 2018 ~

  He officially hated winter.

  He didn’t used to. He used to like sledding and walks in snowstorms and ice skating with beautiful red—

  Not going down that road.

  “C’mon, Chip,” he said, tugging at his chocolate lab’s leash. She’d started sniffing at a trashcan, no doubt hoping she’d be able to knock it over and eat whatever was inside.

  She was this ball of brown fur and pink tongue, always busy, always moving. He’d adopted a lab so she could help him when he went birding, retrieving ducks and geese out in the field.

  He’d adopted a female chocolate lab because she just had so much personality. She was more lovable than all of the other puppy dogs in the litter combined together. A female dog wouldn’t hump people’s legs, another bonus in his mind, although the jury was still out on whether Chip let one rip whenever she felt like it.

  He hadn’t decided yet if he loved having a dog in his life for the companionship, or hated her for making him laugh. He’d already lived through another female in his life who’d made him laugh despite her destroying his life around him, although he had to give it to Chip: At least she only chewed up couch legs. She didn’t chew up and spit out his heart.

  Which was an improvement.

  Probably.

  Although his leather couch was starting to look a little worse for the wear.

  He spotted Once Upon a Trinket, a stationery / gift shop at the corner of Main and Second and started tugging Chip towards it. He’d taken to loading Chip up into the truck and driving her all the way to Franklin to go for walks, because Franklin reminded him less of that…other woman. It wasn’t quite as painful to walk around in it, although he was studious about avoiding the street where the ice skating rink was located. He wasn’t sure if he would ever put on another pair of skates.

  “Stay out here, girl,” Austin said gruffly, tying her leash to the bench outside the front door. “I’ll be right back.”

  His secretary’s birthday was coming up next Monday, something she’d been sure to repeatedly “casually” mention to him about 73 times per day. He was sure if he didn’t get her a card and a box of chocolates, she’d leave for lunch and never be seen again.

  Like some other females he knew.

  Of course, he was happy about that. He wanted it, in fact. Had demanded that it happen.

  He pushed the front door open, the tinkling bell alerting the clerk at the checkout counter to his presence. “Hi!” the girl said, all chipper and friendly.

  Austin hated her already.

  “Do you have birthday cards?” he grunted.

  “Oh sure, right back this way!” she said, heading to the back of the store. He watched her hips sway slightly as she walked, trying to drum up some sort of enthusiasm for the sight, but found himself yawning instead.

  Literally yawning.

  Well, it was a good thing he hated her, right?

  “Down this side and halfway up the other,” the gal said when they stopped at the end of an aisle. She sent him a bright smile, and then froze. She stared at him in shock.

  “What?” he growled.

  “Nothing. Nothing.” She sent him another smile, this one overly bright, and scurried back up to the front of the store.

  With a grunt, he headed down the aisle, picking up and putting down cards at random. He needed a nice card, without being overly sentimental – this was his 53-year-old-going-on-54-year-old secretary, not his girlfriend or his mother – but also not crude. There were a few cards that made him blush, and he shoved those back quickly. He glanced up front, hoping the clerk hadn’t been able to spot what he’d just picked up, and caught her staring at him again. She quickly whipped her head away, picking up a piece of paper and studying it carefully.

  He was pretty sure it was blank.

  He wandered further down the aisle. He had to hurry. Chip would be getting cold, out in the blustery, winter air. He grabbed another card at random. A yellow rose, simple wording…it was perfect.

  He’d have them put together a box of handmade chocolates out of the chocolate case upfront, and be set to go. He was rather proud of himself, really. In, out, and on his way. Mission accomp
lished.

  He had the clerk put together a small box of chocolates for him, making sure to get all white chocolate ones since that was his secretary’s favorite, but the gal kept sneaking glances at him.

  “What?!” he barked. “Do I have something on my face?” He scrubbed his hands across it, trying to knock the offending dirt off.

  “No! I…I’m sorry. I just…I never expected to meet you.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. He was an extension agent for Long Valley County, not a rockstar.

  “I didn’t know you were real, actually.”

  Okay, this was only getting more strange.

  “She did such a good job of painting you, though. Wow. I knew she was talented, but seeing you in real life…it’s kinda creepy.”

  His eyes went wide. She.

  There was only one she he could think of who would be painting him.

  “Paintings?” he got out. It was all he could manage.

  “Yeah. Over there.” She pointed up at the front, at a huge display of oil paintings. How had he missed it on his way in? It was large and colorful and full of life and…

  And full of him.

  He left his purchases on the counter, forgotten. He walked over to the display, with a large placard off to the side, a smiling picture of Ivy beaming out at him. Long Valley artist…recently moved back home…local scenery…

  He looked at the paintings spread out in front of him in a daze, taking in colors and mountains and a black bear in a stream, and a cowboy.

  Him.

  On a horse.

  Kneeling by a mountain stream.

  Smiling out at the world. Looking sternly at the world. Closing his eyes and sleeping.

  He wasn’t in every painting, but he was in most.

  After he’d thrown Ivy out that day, or rather, she’d run out on him after he told her to, he’d told Declan that they weren’t an item anymore, and he’d appreciate not talking about it. Declan had given him one of those one-armed hugs that men gave each other when trying to console each other without actually losing their dignity, and told him that he understood. Ivy’s name hadn’t crossed Declan’s lips since. Or Austin’s.