It was him, immortalized in oils, sitting in front of a campfire, his hat pulled low over his eyes. He was looking toward the fire, holding his big beautifully masculine hands toward it. Beside him lay a scrolled-barrel skeet gun and a knife in a fringed leather sheath, of a soft tan color. In the background were tall lodgepole pines, and in the distance, a teepee, barely visible on the horizon.
Ren was almost too stunned to speak. The painting showed the man, not the persona he showed to the world. Everything he felt was there, in his eyes: the despair, the grief, the buried hatred, but also the strength and solidness and authority that radiated from him.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said finally. “It’s... I can’t even find the words.” He turned to her. “You can name your own price for that.”
She shook her head. “I give them away. I don’t sell them.”
“You should sell them,” he persisted. “Nobody in the world can turn down money in these hard times.”
“I have all I need.” It was true. She wasn’t telling him, but she had two hundred million in a Swiss bank account.
She was a conundrum. Ren wanted her and hated himself for it. She was Randall’s. She had to be experienced. But when he got close to her, she backed away, as if he frightened her. Was it an act? He was going to find out, very soon.
“It’s a gift,” Merrie said. She handed the canvas to him. She hated to part with it, because she’d done it for herself. She couldn’t admit that.
“Thank you,” he said formally. “You’re sure you won’t accept a check?”
“I’m sure.”
“All right. The one you’re doing of Delsey...”
“I’m going to give it to her,” she interrupted with a grin. “She’s so nice. I don’t know how I’d have managed without her.”
“Yes. The small cooler in your room that you keep stocked with sandwiches and bottled water...?” he teased.
She flushed. “Oh, gosh, I didn’t think you’d know!”
“I know everything that goes on around here. I’m the boss.” He drew in a breath. “Oh, hell, be as late as you like for meals. I’ll tell Delsey. There’s no way to rein in artists. It would be like herding cats!”
She laughed helplessly. “I’ll try harder,” she said.
He shrugged. “No problem. Good night.” He looked back at her with something in his black eyes that kept her awake for a long time afterward.
*
THE NEXT MORNING at breakfast, Ren asked her to ride out with him, to see the ranch.
“Gosh, you mean it?” Merrie exclaimed.
“I mean it,” he said, trying not to show how her enthusiasm touched him.
She grinned and dug into her breakfast. Delsey, watching, hid a smile.
Ren frowned when she came out in her usual lightweight coat. She had on one of her little knitted hats, in shades of yellow and blue and pink, to keep her head warm. Her long blond hair flowed from it like silk. “It’s snowing, and the temperature is well below freezing,” he pointed out. “You’re going to freeze in that.”
“Oh, no, I’ll be fine!” she protested, frightened that he might change his mind if he thought she might get sick from the cold. “Really!”
He was debating, and she saw it in his face.
She moved a little closer to him, her pale blue eyes intent on his tanned face. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”
Her voice sent echoes of pleasure through his body. Since Angie, he hadn’t even looked at a woman. But Meredith made him feel younger, optimistic; things he hadn’t felt in many years.
“Really,” she repeated.
He drew in an exasperated breath and pulled his hat low over his eyes. “All right. But if you get sick, I’ll never let you forget it. Got that?”
She just grinned.
*
HE PUT HER on one of the older saddle horses, a palomino he called Sand. He rode a black gelding, a beautiful shiny horse that looked much like Hurricane. She mentioned that.
He chuckled. “He should look like him, he’s Hurricane’s brother. He’s just four years old.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“Catch up,” he called as his horse moved ahead down the long path that led past the barn and stables, with their adjoining corrals.
She coaxed her mount to go faster. She loved to ride. It was a shame that she’d never had the opportunity to do much of it. Her father hadn’t liked either of his daughters to go out on the ranch, where there were men working.
“How big is the ranch?” she asked, idly lifting her face to the soft snowflakes that were raining down.
“Thousands of acres,” he said.
“Our little place is only a couple of hundred acres,” she commented. She didn’t add that their little place ran some of the most famous Thoroughbreds in the world.
“You couldn’t run many head of cattle there, could you?” he asked idly.
“Daddy had horses. He never liked cattle.”
He glanced back at her with a wry grin. “I like horses because they’re necessary to work cattle. Drives Tubbs nuts when I say that. He’s in love with every horse on the place.” He grimaced. “He’s still kicking himself for hiring the man who beat Hurricane.”
“Anybody can slip once in a while,” she said. “It’s hard to see what’s inside a person by just looking.”
He pulled up his horse and studied her. “You can.”
She flushed. “I always thought it went with painting. You can’t paint what you don’t see.”