Читать книгу Her Unexpected Hero - Cheryl Harper - Страница 14

CHAPTER THREE

“WELL, NOW, A birdie told me you might make a visit today,” Janet Abernathy said from her spot on the ladder’s third rung. “Bright and early for a Monday, too.” Winter eased closer as the ladder rattled, concerned her interview might be interrupted by her having to call for an ambulance. Janet was holding a framed painting with both hands, but Winter couldn’t see either a hammer or a nail, so her purpose was unclear. The subject of the painting was enough to freeze Winter in her tracks.

Someone had captured the mist rising off of one of the valleys in the reserve at daybreak. The pink of sunrise tinged one side of the wispy smoke, while the other glistened. Somehow, an artist had managed to convey the beauty and the delicate details in vivid color. This special instant could never last, except in paint and brushstrokes.

Winter had no words to describe the techniques or the principles that made this painting art, but the emotions it provoked could be named: awe at nature’s fragile, powerful beauty and love for the mountains that meant home. Neither Knoxville nor Nashville made her feel the same.

One painting had exactly what made these mountains like no other place for her.

“Pretty, right?” Janet said. At some point, she’d braced the painting against the wall and joined Winter in admiring it. Enthralled, Winter had missed the whole thing.

“Amazing. What’s it called?” Winter inched closer, realizing there was no need to whisper. They were alone in the wide-open space of the gallery, but it felt right.

“Painting number seven. The girl has no poetry, even if she’s brimming with natural talent.” Janet sighed. “Or this is her poetry.”

Drawn to the painting, Winter studied the darker corners, old growth forests making a frame for the airy center. “Enchanted. The title should have something to do with enchanted.” Winter shook her head. She’d memorized her grandmother’s stories before studying Cherokee folklore and history on her own, but not everyone else had the same interests. “Sorry. The Cherokee have a story about a secret lake that has restorative properties. A wounded animal could enter the lake and come out on the other side, healed. One day a hunter discovered it and was warned to never tell another soul. Humans being as they are, the hunter broke his promise and suffered the consequences. Now, the lake is hidden, but on cool mornings, the mist rises.” Winter rubbed her forehead, aware all over again how a lot of people didn’t care to hear her stories. Kids did. Adults, not as much.

When she turned to say something to get the job interview she’d planned back on track, Winter found Leanne Hendrix frozen in the roughed-in doorway leading to Sweetwater Souvenir. After all the renovation, the large open space was a perfect white backdrop, just the three of them and this art. Janet had propped one shoulder against the wall, her head tilted to the side. It seemed she was waiting, but for what?

Winter cleared her throat. “Who’s the artist?” The urge to self-consciously fluff her hair was strong, but she fought it. Wearing one of the dark, perfectly tailored suits she’d chosen as armor while she worked in the district office of the reserve had been a boost to her confidence.

Or that had been the plan.

The silence in the room was chiseling away at it.

“I painted it. I didn’t know the story. I just wanted to keep the memory of a perfect morning forever.” Leanne shifted a step farther into the room with a nervous glance at Janet, whose face was slowly morphing into the Cheshire cat. She wore a grin so big it made Winter nervous. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Me, too. I’m also pleased as all get-out that I’m right about Leanne’s talent. Since it’s one of the larger pieces we have, I’ll hang it right there, where anyone walking down Main Street can see it and be drawn inside.” Janet held up one finger, bright red nail polish flashing. “However, we’re either going to have to put an astronomical price on it or mark it ‘not for sale.’ Otherwise, I’ll have a big ol’ hole on the wall the second day after we get these doors open.” She tapped her chin. “What to do, what to do...”

Before Winter could bring up the reason for her visit, Janet had moved back into the souvenir shop on the other side. The musical bells tinkling signaled a visitor to Sweetwater Souvenir.

“She does that. It’s like she has a sixth sense when someone with money is about to walk in.” Leanne shoved her hands in her back pockets and met Winter’s stare. They both laughed and her shoulders relaxed.

“I wanted to talk to her about the part-time job.” Winter waved a hand toward the open doorway. “But I have no money in my pocket. I might have lost my chance forever.”

Leanne shook her head. “No, I mentioned you’d be by to ask about the job. She’ll be back.” She tapped her forehead with one finger. “Never forgets anything, Miss Janet.”

They’d shared a burger, but other than stories other people told about them, neither she nor Leanne knew much about the other. They’d never been particularly close.

“I didn’t know you were an artist. Why didn’t you talk about this at The Branch?” Winter realized they’d been focused on her problems. How selfish and unacceptable. Compared to Leanne’s life story, Winter’s had been a charmed existence, but no one heard Leanne whining about shampoo. “What’s the plan here?” Winter glanced around the large open space, the white walls crying out for something.

“I’m not sure I am an artist. That’s all Miss Janet’s doing. I wouldn’t call myself anything but a...dabbler, but I have enjoyed painting. It keeps me busy, my mind occupied and out of trouble. Today, I’ve got to get moving on covering these walls. That’s the plan. Local artists of all kinds. We’ll have shelving, all painted white, for the smaller pieces, and there will be a small desk near the door.” Storefronts on Sweetwater’s main street all had history, thanks to more than a century of life, but the door’s beautiful carved wood was another kind of art. If Leanne was capturing fleeting moments in paint, whoever had crafted the door showed art was meant to last. Coneflowers were carved into the heavy lower half of the door while morning glories twirled on vines around the thick, wavy glass in the top half. “I can show you the back room. Janet has asked me to work on setting up displays, but it makes me so nervous. There’s a big difference between hanging key chains and folding T-shirts and arranging art, things people have poured their hearts into.” Leanne motioned over her shoulder. “I mean, there are people who do this for a living, you know? Planners who set art installations for galleries. Me? I’m just...” She shook her head helplessly. “She’s got faith in me, so I’ve got to give it a shot. Anyway, talking through it will help.”

Winter watched her unlock several locks on the door. “Takes security seriously, I see.”

Leanne held up her hands and made air quotes around “Art gallery,” as she said it. She shook her head. “Since most of this is my stuff, I’m not sure who she’s afraid will be breaking in to steal things. In another life that might have been me, actually, but I imagine Janet’s the only one who can turn my work into money.”

Winter glanced over her shoulder at the mist painting perched on top of the ladder. If she had a place, she’d spend money she hadn’t earned yet to own it. “If they’re all as good as that one, I get it.”

Leanne’s cheeks turned pink. “You’re kind. I’ll paint one for you. I loved your story.” Then she motioned around the room. “Some of these you’ll recognize. Kingfisher originals.” She paused in front of a collection of Winter’s father’s woven, double-walled baskets.

“Yes, I’ve seen enough of these to pick them out of the crowd.” Winter traced a finger around the mouth of a tall basket near the front. “My father’s current claim to fame and favorite conversational topic. The tradition is to pass the knowledge from mother to daughter, but my grandmother had only sons. And my father? Yeah, he only does things wholeheartedly. He’s experimenting with different materials and dyes. I’d say he needs a hobby, but this is it.” She smiled at Leanne. “I’m so glad he’s found somewhere else to store them. My mother is, too.” She’d been so wrapped up in the drama with Ash and Whit and the lodge that she’d missed her father’s exciting announcement that his work would be featured in a brand-new Sweetwater gallery, but her father had spent a lot of time since reminding everyone.

“Yeah, finding a place to put all my paintings in the tiny apartment upstairs was getting to me, too.” Leanne chuckled, the sound melodic and unexpected. Both of them had grown up in Sweetwater. They’d never been friends, but in high school, Winter heard plenty of stories about how wild Leanne was. More recently, the story of how she’d stolen Christina’s car and driven away in the middle of the night had made it all the way to Knoxville.

The rest of the story—how she’d done it to enter rehab to fight her addictions—hadn’t made it quite as fast, but the people of Sweetwater loved a good story. If it had a mostly happy ending, they’d tell it over and over.

Leanne was making her second chance work. She had a lot to be proud of.

“I’m not sure paintings like that should be stacked on the floor, but...” Winter moved over to the canvases leaning against the wall. The first one was a large piece showing The Aerie. The heavy forests of the reserve yielded to an open area that seemed almost barren compared to the shadowy forest, but the view down the valley was inspiring. It had been years since Winter had made the climb up herself.

Now that she had time on her hands, she should correct that.

“That’s one of my favorite places in the reserve. I have a few of them. It’s so easy to breathe at the top of the mountain.” Leanne cleared her throat. “We’ve got some jewelry pieces that should go in the window, and later today, the most talented stained glass artist is coming in.” Leanne nodded. “The collection will be strong—Janet has a good eye, even if she’s pushing for my stuff to be the centerpiece.”

Winter studied Leanne’s face. There would be zero chance Leanne would be comfortable as the center of attention. “Lucky for you, my father will steal any sort of spotlight in any room anywhere,” Winter said, laughing. “That has been true my whole life. I love him, but the guy is ten pounds of personality in a five-pound bag.”

“Your father is a blessing, for sure.” Leanne waved her toward the door. “Just like I know your help will be when we talk Janet into hiring you. I’ll be happy to have another set of hands here.”

As she smiled, Winter realized she’d missed this, the comfort that came from being proud of her family connections. When she’d moved to Knoxville, her plan had been to conquer the city first. She’d always intended to follow the steps all the way to Washington. With Whit Callaway, the boy she’d met in a college accounting class. Winter wasn’t the charming one; winning people over was his job. Instead, she was the strategic one. Her whole life, she’d been able to see several steps ahead.

Neither one of them had developed much love for debits or credits, but they’d instantly clicked by rolling their eyes at the professor’s snide comment about young people who refuse to choose practical careers.

She and Whit had been determined to be more than practical. They’d wanted to do something important.

Friendship was easy between them because Whit had agreed with every one of her ideals. They’d dreamed of the same thing: a career of public service. If she’d married him right out of college, that might still be the plan. Instead, she’d been determined to conquer Knoxville on her own through a job working for the reserve’s district office. She’d proven herself there and the wedding had been next. In Knoxville, everyone knew the Callaways. She was Whit Callaway’s fiancée. Here? Kingfisher was not a political name or a wealthy name, but it was respected.

“Can you help Leanne get this place set up?” Janet asked. “It might take all three of us, since we ain’t none of us done this before, but then I figure the three of us together could bring about world peace or put a person on Mars.” She shrugged. “Depending on our whims. Leanne does not have the confidence to sell her own work, but, Winter...? You could sell every one of those paintings she finishes with stories like that, no matter what price I talk her into, leaving me plenty of time to do other things.” Janet clapped her hands. “Everyone does their part. Everyone makes money. That’s my plan and I’m sticking to it.”

“I’ve got a job?” Winter asked, all the questions she’d carefully prepared about how many hours and when she might be eligible for a raise and whether or not there was a bonus for good sales tumbling around in her brain, and absolutely none of them coming out of her mouth.

“We’re focusing on local artists. Can’t imagine anyone else better prepared to tell and sell the history of Sweetwater, these mountains and the people who lived here than you, Miz Storytellin’ Kingfisher. I can’t wait to welcome the crowds we’ll draw. Minimum wage per hour. Thirty percent commission on anything you sell.” Janet’s sly smile was scary. “I expect you could be a real sales genius with the right incentives.”

Thirty percent? She’d been prepared to argue for fifteen. She’d never done this before, so Janet was taking a chance on her.

“That’s acceptable, although at the end of three months, I’d like an opportunity to sit down with you to discuss growth potential.” There. That sounded as though she knew her own value and Janet would be a fool to argue.

Janet’s amused chuckle was disconcerting, but she offered her hand for a shake. “Soon as you’re ready to move out of Mama and Daddy’s house, you let me know. I’m in between renos right now, but I’ve got my eye on a cabin in desperate need of a redesign. Rent would be cheap.” She shrugged. “If you do as well as we both expect, could be we’d need to expand our horizons, though. This month and next might be slow, but once summer rolls in, I expect we’ll all enjoy an income boost.”

Winter wanted to dance in place, but she would keep her feelings under wraps. “How soon do you want to open?” Crossing her fingers would reveal too much, but Winter couldn’t help sending positive energy out into the universe. Please let it be soon. Please let it be soon.

Janet shook her finger at Winter. “I like you Kingfishers. Your brother has always been one of them enigmas, but my boy Sam admires him, and that’s good enough for me. Your daddy? He’s charm personified, and your mama...” Janet stared out at the street for a second. “Gotta appreciate a woman who holds her ground. Plus, she’s got good instincts. That night out at the reserve’s ranger station open house, we talked about the skeeves and how that Callaway boy had always given ’em to her. She was pure joy when you pushed him in the water. In my book, the Kingfishers are quality people. Untangling yourself from the Callaways’ll take some time, but you let me know how I can help.” Janet clasped her hands in front of her. “Get to work right now if you’d like. Got a carpenter coming to put up some shelves and a party planned in two weeks. Let’s say twenty hours a week for now. I’d suggest you ladies get a move on getting us ready to open.”

“I will.” Winter smiled serenely, but inside her head a loud parade had formed because she’d be working again.

Janet tapped the Choose Duncan Again button that Winter had been faithfully wearing. “Lose this. Say what you want, but no wearing politics while you’re working here, especially not that guy. I still work at the school three mornings a week and the teachers would never let me hear the end of it.”

The celebratory parade ended with a sad trombone. The button was Winter’s single, constant, pitiful effort at impeding Whit Callaway, Jr. Twenty hours a week. She could take off the button for twenty hours a week and a paycheck. That meant Winter had to find something more effective.

Janet glanced at her watch. “If you want to make yourself scarce, I’ll understand, but I got an important client coming. Regina, my business partner and best pal, usually negotiates all the contracts, but she’s over in Cherokee doing some gallery scouting. Woman’s a pure genius for scouting, I tell you. Got a line on a computer system that’ll make tracking our inventory and sales a snap.” The musical bells rang and Janet turned. “Just one second, Mr. Callaway. I’m finishing up some business.”

At some point, the name Callaway better stop showering her with cold anxiety and then hot rage, but Winter wasn’t there yet. She had no real interest in talking to any Callaway.

Janet leaned forward. “Caleb Callaway. He’s hoping to rent a place close to the reserve. Got some business here in town for about six months. Guessing construction of that lodge is about to start.” She winked. “His money’s the same color as everyone else’s, so I figure, why not? The man did put a stop to destroying The Aerie, something this town was firmly behind.”

She waited for Winter to argue.

The town of Sweetwater had initially squared off against her brother, the only man determined to save The Aerie, a rare habitat in the reserve, from development because the town needed the business the lodge would bring in. Ash had been Sweetwater’s Most Wanted for a minute.

And that had been Winter’s fault, even though she knew Ash would agree she’d done what she needed to do if he ever found out. Slipping the governor a way to take down the Callaways in order to protect the reserve? Less noble.

The Kingfisher way was to stand up bravely to do the right thing. Her attempt to save her engagement by sneaking around? That had been a mistake. If anyone ever found out she’d been the anonymous source, instead of Caleb Callaway, Ash would forgive her. But Sweetwater would take longer to forgive and forget.

Caleb had taken the credit and the heat for pulling in the governor.

At her request.

He’d taken the heat for her.

Of all the Callaways, he was the one she was least prepared to face at that second.

When he paused in the open doorway, his jeans and rough denim coat a far cry from his brother’s polished loafers and wool sweaters, a hard knot formed in her stomach.

He hadn’t expected to find her standing there, but the serious expression on his face was fair warning that their business was not finished.

She’d begged him to confess to leaking the environmental-impact report to the governor’s office and take the heat off Ash. Telling the truth, that she’d been the one to sneak the report in during a random visit to the education coordinator at the capitol, would have done nothing to save Ash’s job.

Caleb Callaway, the family playboy who’d built a reputation for solid building practices and being at odds with his brother, had been the only answer at that time. When she’d evaluated her options to save Ash’s job and The Aerie, Caleb Callaway’s intercession had been her only choice.

She’d done what she had to do to get the Callaway playboy to show up for the board meeting and throw his support behind Ash. He’d done it. He’d confessed to leaking the report. Caleb had helped her, going beyond her request to make certain Ash kept his job, had gotten Ash’s idea for the new lodge heard and had gained a seat on the Callaway board of directors.

Caleb had given her more than she’d expected, including a promise not to tell anyone about it.

Guilt triggered a small panic attic as tingling heat spread up the back of her neck. He was here in Sweetwater as a result of helping her. She just knew it. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t pleased about it, either.

What would he ask for in return?