by Taylor Brent
He admired the chrysanthemums lining the stone walkway as he followed her to the door. Margery opened her blue front door and motioned him to follow her inside. The front entryway branched off into a hallway leading further into the house and a room lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to bursting with books. The only other thing in the room was a comfortable looking sofa and a few lamps. Margery flipped a switch and walked down the hallway. Niyol followed her. The hallway ended in a kitchen about half the size of the one at the Twin Peaks Inn. A small, round table sat in front of a bay window to one side of the kitchen and off to the side, stairs led upward. On the other side of the kitchen, a small open doorway led into a large living room, a stone fireplace with a raised hearth taking center stage on the far wall.
“If you’d like to wait in the living room, I’ll run upstairs and change real quick,” Margery said, making him jump.
“Sure,” he said, giving her a small smile.
“Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Something to eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Margery smiled and scampered up the stairs while Niyol settled himself on the couch in the living room. To pass the time, he surveyed the room. Above the mantel hung a flat screen television, but what drew his attention was the line of pictures across the mantel. He got up to study the pictures, smiling at the images of Margery with a little girl. The little girl’s age ranged in the photographs from newborn to seven or eight, however old she was now.
He noted, surprised, that Mitchell was absent in every picture, including ones from when Ainsley had just been born. Maybe Margery hadn’t put those pictures up, not wanting a reminder of her ex-husband, but that didn’t seem like something she would do to Ainsley. He got the sense she tried to foster a relationship between the young girl and her father regardless of her feelings toward Mitchell. Niyol shrugged. Maybe Mitchell took the pictures of himself with him when he left.
Turning from the pictures, Niyol glanced to the right where two glass doors opened into the small library he had glimpsed on his way into the cottage. Next to the doors was a breathtakingly beautiful painting of a mountain scene.
Entranced, Niyol moved closer to inspect the painting. It was as if the artist had breathed life into the scene with each stroke of the brush. A gorgeous sunset spilled over bright red mountain peaks embraced by yellow aspen trees and a roiling river. At the river’s edge, a small herd of deer gathered to drink. The longer Niyol looked at the painting, the more lost he got in its strong brush strokes and lifelike splendor. He felt like he could reach in and graze his fingers over the deer’s soft hides or the water’s cool surface.
“Do you like it?” Margery whispered from behind him.
He whirled around, startled. He hadn’t heard her come in—which was odd since nobody had ever snuck up on him before. But he had been so captivated by the painting, he hadn’t heard her footsteps.
“I do,” he answered, his voice cracking a little. “Very much. Who painted it?”
Margery smiled. “I did.”
Niyol turned to look at the painting again, admiration and surprise thrumming through him. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you painted.”
“My father was a painter. He died when I was ten, and I picked it up after that. It helped,” she added thoughtfully. “With the grief. It helped calm me.”
Niyol glanced at her. “I can understand that. After my wife died, I was overcome with grief. A friend of mine got me into photography, and it helped to take pictures and get lost in the images. It seems art can channel many emotions.” He turned back to the painting. “Some beautiful, and some much darker.”
“I painted that after Mitchell left,” Margery said, gesturing toward the painting. “I wish I could say I grieved when he left, but, more than anything, I felt relief. Things had been so hard for so long, and I had grown tired of the constant battle. After he left, I felt… at peace.”
“It shows,” Niyol murmured.
“I guess it does. I’ll admit, the stuff I painted when my father died—then my mother and grandfather—was a lot darker than this painting. Which is why those are in storage, and this is on display.”
Niyol gave her a wry smile.
She smiled back but then grew serious. “Eventually, the art turns peaceful. Life doesn’t always have to be dark and melancholy. There’s light out there, too. You just have to know how to find it.”
Niyol stared at her. How he wished he could find more light in his life. He mentally shook himself. What was he talking about? He had Jill in his life now, and Rose. He had his first grandchild coming in a few months and a home to call his own. And he had met the most intriguing lovely woman he could ever hope to meet. His life was not all darkness. It was his guilt that was making him think that way.
He wondered if he would ever get over the guilt and sadness of what happened to Haseya. Undoubtedly, it would be a long journey, but he knew one way to start, and that was to take care of their daughter now that he had found her—or, rather, she had found him. She needed him, and he would be there for her, no matter what. He couldn’t allow anyone to distract him, not even someone as beautiful and kind as the woman in front of him.
Niyol cleared his throat. “Ready to go?”
“I’ll just grab my recipe box, and then we can head out,” Margery answered, turning toward the kitchen.
She rifled through a few cabinets before striding back into the living room, a small wooden box clutched in her hands.
“Ready,” she said, leading him through the hallway and out the front door.
He helped her into the passenger seat of the SUV and then slid behind the wheel, starting the car and turning the heat on full blast. The temperature had dropped several degrees while they were inside. As the car warmed up, Margery settled back into her seat with a small sigh, stowing the recipe box on the floor near her feet.
Niyol turned the SUV around and then pulled out of the long driveway onto the deserted main road. As they drove to Rose’s inn, the first snow of the season began to fall, dusting the world like sparkling white fairy dust. Niyol glanced over at the woman sitting beside him—at the way the cold had brushed her face with a rosy glow and the way her blue eyes shone as she watched the snow fall—and realized the weather wasn’t the only thing about the situation that made him think of fairytales. He just couldn’t be certain this fairytale ended in happily ever after.
Chapter Five: A Night for Meddling
The snow picked up as Niyol drove toward the inn. Margery had been out in snowstorms before, but they still scared her. She gazed out the window and focused on the peaceful quiet of the mountainside. The sun would set in about an hour which would make the landscape even more beautiful. It was times like this she wished she had a brush.
Margery eyed the man sitting next to her, his eyes trained on the road. She wouldn’t mind painting Niyol. He was handsome, with strong features, making him a perfect model. She itched to capture his tawny skin and fiery eyes, but she didn’t think it appropriate to whip out the sketchbook she always carried with her. There was sadness in his eyes that was both haunting and beautiful, and she knew whatever pain he harbored was a private one. Capturing it on paper felt too intrusive.
His open admiration of her painting had touched her, and she had shared information about herself and her past she didn’t share with many people. Even Mitchell had never understood her urgent need to paint and sketch the world around her. Of course, Mitchell had never tried to understand. But Niyol did. He more than understood. He was a kindred spirit, an artist who found the same peaceful release from the sorrow and pain of life with a camera as she did when she picked up her paintbrush.
It had surprised her when he had shared his own artistic journey, but she was grateful he trusted her with that tidbit of truth. She had seen the sadness in his eyes when he talked about his photos, and when he had insinuated that they were dark, she hadn’t been able to keep herself fr
om comforting him by telling him that there was light in the world. The shadow that haunted his gaze had lifted for a few moments as he thought on her words, a small smile tugging his lips. Margery would have given anything to know exactly what he had been thinking about at that moment, but she had an idea of what it could be.
“How did you find Jill?” she asked suddenly.
“She found me,” Niyol answered, the same small smile flitting across his lips.
Do not think about his lips, she scolded herself.
Realigning her thoughts, she mentally gloated that she had been right about the one thing—or person, rather—that could lift the sadness from his eyes. Of course it would be Jill, the daughter he’d only recently found. Margery thought of her own daughter, Ainsley, and how Niyol must have felt finding out about Jill. It must have felt like he had gotten a small piece of his wife back.
“How did she find you?” She knew a good portion of the story thanks to Rose, but she wanted to keep that glint of happiness in his eyes and that smile on his face for as long as she could.
“Well,” he began. “It was actually Luke who found me. From what he told me, Rose had sort of tricked Jill into coming here to work for her.”
“What?!” She had not heard that part of the story. For God’s sakes, Rose! Will your meddling never end? she thought, exasperated.
“Yep,” Niyol continued, chuckling a little. “Apparently, Rose knew all along that she and Jill shared a common ancestor. Rose’s grandmother found a journal written by Kate Callahan. It mentioned that Kate had a stepson named Niyol who had married a girl from a tribe in Arizona. When Niyol died, his wife went to live with her kin in Arizona. That was where my line was from, and Jill’s line, obviously. Rose’s grandmother read the journal and traced the line of Kate’s stepson to see if there was anyone living. She found Jill who was living with her adoptive parents.”
“How in the world did she find Jill, but not you?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Niyol answered. “From what I gathered, it was a stroke of luck. The new name my wife took when she married me was a dead giveaway since it was the name of Kate’s stepson’s wife. I think she must have figured I was dead, too, since the Martins had adopted Jill. She didn’t leave her reasons or what she was thinking. She only left a flash drive with the proof of Jill’s ancestry. Rose then hired Jill on but didn’t tell her who she was or how they were related.”
Margery rolled her eyes, not the least bit surprised at her best friend’s shenanigans.
“I think Rose wanted to get a feel for Jill and who she was. I imagine the information on the flash drive wasn’t all that reliable. Just a few theories and hunches. Rose needed to be sure that Jill really was her long-lost relative before telling her anything.”
“All you have to do is look at Jill to know she’s your daughter,” Margery mused. “But I don’t know how Rose could have been sure the two of them were related.”
“Jill looks very much like my grandmother, and she looked very much like Haseya. Rose has a family photo album that dates back quite a ways. Perhaps Rose saw a resemblance there, or perhaps it was just kindred spirits connecting. Either way, it was Luke who proved it once and for all. With the journal and the flash drive, he pulled some favors and tracked down my information.”
Margery raised an eyebrow. “Those must have been some big favors.”
“Had to be,” Niyol agreed. “It isn’t easy tracking members of the Nation. Anyway, he tracked down my information and gave it to Jill, and she decided she wanted to meet me. Luke called me to let me know they were coming. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I hadn’t even known Haseya was pregnant when she left me, and no one said anything about a child when I finally found out about her death. Perhaps because the Martins had already adopted Jill.”
“You didn’t even know she’d died? But… you were her husband. Didn’t they notify you?”
“The United States government didn’t recognize our marriage. We planned to get a legal marriage, but we never got around to it. I wanted to, but Haseya kept saying it didn’t matter, that no piece of paper would validate our marriage more than our love did. So, unfortunately, when she died, no one was obligated to tell me anything, and since she didn’t name me as the baby’s father…” His voice trailed off as his eyes flashed with pain. It was obvious that recollecting the events of his wife’s passing, especially now that he knew about his daughter, still affected him.
“No one told you,” Margery finished for him.
Niyol nodded.
“But Jill found you?”
“Yes,” Niyol said, clearing his throat. “They came a few days later. I was so nervous, I couldn’t sleep or eat. When she arrived, she was so beautiful. She looked so much like my grandmother it took my breath away, although I saw a lot of her mother in her, too. We talked for a while, and I explained to her what had happened. I had been so sure she would be angry, maybe even hate me, but not Jill. She accepted what I told her and just seemed happy to have met me.
“I’m still shocked it worked out so well. When Rose called me a few weeks ago to ask if I wanted to move here to take care of her horses, I couldn’t resist being near Jill and her new family. I felt like I could finally have a home.”
Margery smiled and then his words sunk in a little. “Wait. What horses? You’re moving here?”
“Rose didn’t tell you about her plan with the horses?”
“No,” Margery sighed. “We haven’t had much chance to talk lately. Just a few words here and there in passing. But I can’t believe she hasn’t told me about buying horses.”
“Maybe she intends to tell you tonight,” Niyol offered.
Margery pursed her lips. “Maybe. Or you could just tell me now. What hairbrained scheme is Rose up to now?”
Niyol laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that vibrated through Margery, warming her blood and making her heart beat a little faster.
“She wants to offer trail rides to her guests,” Niyol explained. “She bought three horses and renovated the old barn. My father and I worked on a ranch when I was younger, so I know my way around horses. I can’t tell you how Rose knew about that, but she called and asked if I would like the job. There was nothing keeping me in Arizona, so I said yes. I want to be near Jill and her children.”
Margery nodded. “That makes sense. I’m glad you found her, and I’m glad Rose offered you a home, although I’m not surprised. Rose has always wanted a big family around her. I haven’t seen her so happy since her mother died. She and Jill are like sisters. They’re inseparable.”
Niyol frowned.
“What? Is that bad?”
“No,” Niyol answered. “It’s just… I’m worried about Jill. She’s used to an active and kind of dangerous lifestyle. I worry she isn’t taking it easy enough during the pregnancy. Rose is great, but she’s never had kids, so she can’t understand the fears Jill might have about the whole thing or help reassure her. Does that make sense?”
“I think so,” Margery answered. “Doesn’t Jill’s adoptive mother talk to her? Can’t she help in that area?”
“I get the sense they don’t have the closest relationship,” Niyol sighed. “From the way Jill tells it, her adoptive parents didn’t spend a lot of time with her during her childhood. Nannies pretty much raised her.”
“Oh. That would make things difficult.”
Niyol nodded. “Jill likes to put a brave face on for the world, but I think she’s struggling with the whole thing.”
“All first-time moms feel nervous and scared. It’s normal,” Margery said, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “She’ll be okay. But… if you want, I can talk to her and let her know I’m here if she has questions. I’m not family, but Rose is my best friend, and we all care about Jill. She’s brightened Rose’s life, and Luke’s, and everyone’s in town. She’s one of us, and I’ll do whatever I can to help her.”
“I would appreciate that,” Niyol said, smiling at her.
&
nbsp; Margery smiled back, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat when he turned that dazzling smile on her.
You don’t want a man in your life, remember? she reminded herself, but she was pretty sure her heart was ignoring her.
A few minutes later, Niyol pulled into the parking lot of the inn and led Margery in through the back door. Rose stood next to the stove where she stirred the contents of a large pot and gave them a bright smile as they entered. She dropped the wooden spoon on the counter and rushed over to hug Margery.
“I’ve missed you,” Rose said.
Margery laughed and hugged her back. “I hear you needed help with your recipes,” Margery said, handing Rose her small wooden recipe box.
Rose grinned and took the box from her. The two women dug through the recipe cards and talked about ingredients and measurements while Niyol settled down in a chair with a glass of cider, nodding to Danny in his usual seat, cutting and peeling apples for Rose.
Luke and Jill joined them soon after. Jill sat down next to Niyol while Luke helped Danny with the apples. Niyol studied his daughter.
Jill looked exhausted. He knew she had taken a group of guests into the park earlier today, and although she hadn’t gone on her usual hikes, she had done some light walking around the scenic stops.
Niyol’s mother had been a midwife on the reservation, so he had seen his fair share of pregnant women. He knew enough to know Jill shouldn’t seem this tired. She was definitely overdoing it.
“Are you okay?” he murmured to her.
“Just a little tired,” she answered, giving him a small smile.
“You probably shouldn’t take any more groups out, Jill,” he said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
“This was my last group for a while,” Jill reassured him. She didn’t look offended at his interference but happy that he’d showed his concern. “I promise I’ll take it easy.”
Margery came up to the table and handed Jill a glass of cider. Jill took the glass from her gratefully, her fingers brushing Margery’s as she grasped the cup.
