“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Peyton nodded then went through the narrow trailer toward her bedroom, while Train took a seat on one of the benches at the kitchen table. From there, he could stare out the kitchen window. He almost expected to see flashing blue lights, or Hammer and Jonas’s vehicle pull up. He had offered to leave, but Peyton could have become frightened and used the opportunity to call the police or someone else she could trust.
When she returned, she was wearing slacks and a blue cowl neck sweater. It was early spring and the mornings outside were cool.
“The grass is damp in the morning,” she explained as Train watched her slip on a pair of rain boots before going to the door. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Once they were outside, she stared wide-eyed at his motorcycle as if she had never seen one before. “You’re not driving the truck?”
“No. Where are we going?” He got on his bike, holding his hand out for her to take.
“To my studio. The road there is even worse … We can walk.”
“Get on. I’ll go slow,” Train promised.
Peyton took his hand, faltering as she got on behind him. Then she hesitantly placed her hands on his sides.
“Hold on,” Train warned as he started the bike, turning it around in the yard before he went in the direction she pointed down the rutted road.
She was right; it would have been quicker to walk since it took them ten minutes to get to the trailer that was set off from the road. He had expected it to be the same as Peyton’s, but it wasn’t. It was much larger and newer, and definitely in better shape; that’s for damn sure.
“You use this place as your studio?”
“I know. Killyama wants me to live here and use mine as the studio,” she said as she got off the bike.
He followed her to the door of the trailer. It didn’t have a front porch; stone steps led to the doorway. Peyton went up the steps first, unlocking the door, then Train followed her inside.
The outside wasn’t the only difference between the two trailers. The trailer he entered was much more open and modern than Peyton’s. Peyton’s had a small booth for guest to eat at, whereas this one had a table with six chairs, the living room had a sectional couch that could easily seat many, and it even had a fireplace which Peyton easily flipped a switch to start. Train tried to hide his expression from her knowing eyes.
“I’m more comfortable in my home. I feel guilty this one’s going to waste.”
“It’s not wasteful if you’re using it.”
“I made the master bedroom my studio. It’s this way.”
They walked down a hallway that was big enough for two people to walk side-by-side, leading to a door at the end.
Peyton reached for the doorknob but hesitated before opening it. “Killyama is the only one who has been inside. I’m trusting you, Train. I don’t know why … but I do.”
“Anything I see or hear will be just between us. I give you my word as a man of honor.”
A wry smile curled her lips upward. “Honor? That means different things to different people. I hope it means something to you.”
He nodded. “It does.”
She gave him a searching look. She must have been satisfied with what she saw reflected in his gaze because she opened the door, stepped inside, and allowed him to enter.
Train leaned against the doorway, taking it in. The pieces he had asked to buy were there. The pictures hadn’t given justice to the magnitude of seeing them in person.
“Rae never liked taking pictures, even as a baby. She would cry or make faces every time I tried. It was easier to get her to pose for me. Sometimes, it took several sittings to get the look I wanted to capture.”
Rows after rows of sculptures replicating Killyama showed her growth from a child to the independent woman she was today.
“They’re beautiful.” Even the word spoken out loud didn’t describe the beauty of the sculptures she had created. It was as if each piece had caught that part of Killyama that she didn’t want anyone else to see. All the bravery she had shown when she had saved Lily and Winter’s life was there, her sense of humor that always brought a smile to his lips, her stubbornness that drove everyone crazy. Train stared at them all, not touching as he took his time walking past the shelves until he came to the end.
“I just finished that last week.”
“May I touch it?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes, just be careful.”
He nodded as he picked it up gently.
“It took me several days to figure out which material I wanted to sculpt it out of. I usually do bronze, but I had a piece of emerald green soapstone that called to me.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I know it sounds silly.”
Train couldn’t get any words out. Cradling it carefully, he stared down in awe at the expression she had managed to capture.