up on the ledge. It’s too narrow for even a medium-sized one.” Arnaud wrapped the tail of his rope around his leg five times.
Bijou made a face as she cautiously settled her feet onto the muddy surface. Very carefully she wrapped the tail of her rope around her leg as well, creating a friction backup.
Now that his hands were free, Arnaud selected a small brush from his tool belt and showed it to her. “I use this to brush aside some of the dirt to check the color of the stone before I remove any. Do you want to try? You have to be very careful not to disturb too much of the embankment.”
He was offering her the brush, but he sounded reluctant. She realized this was something of great importance to him, not just a lark. She smiled at him, shaking her head. “I’d rather watch you, if you don’ mind. I love watchin’ you create art and this seems similar.”
She said the right thing, because Arnaud flashed her a genuine smile and crouched down beside her.
Bijou studied the embankment above them. Small rocks and the root structures of trees seemed to be the only thing holding the crumbling dirt together. Some roots jutted out like gangly, boney arms, moss hanging from them. A few larger rocks were scattered along the wall, but for the most part, the bank seemed nothing but loose dirt.
She found it impossible not to be a little nervous. Behind were the gator-infested waters and in front of her a tall wall of soil, some of which was already falling like dust on top of her head and shoulders.
She cleared her throat. “Arnaud, I have to hand it to you. You’re very dedicated to your art. Couldn’t you have someone else do this for you?”
He examined the wall approximately three feet from the bottom. Intrigued, she squatted low and peered at the dirt, trying to see what he was looking for.
“No one else can find exactly what I need for each project. I actually scheduled a visit to the gallery here because I need some of the colors I can get from this little cache. I can get the banded agate, but here . . .” He broke off, using the brush like an archeology tool, exposing the rock beneath. “Here I can find various hues you don’t find very many other places.”
“I had no idea,” Bijou admitted, finding the entire idea of elegant, sophisticated Arnaud Lefevre, in his thousand-dollar suit, mining for stone in a dangerous, mosquito-infested swamp fascinating. He was totally focused on the task of gently brushing away the dirt to find his hidden treasure. She’d seen him in the studio and he clearly hadn’t even noticed anyone around him, time passing or anything else. He was the same way now, taking the same care with his hunt for the perfect color agate for his sculpture.
His patient brushing revealed a small vein of pale blue, almost purple and blue-green rocks. He continued brushing away the loose dirt so more colors were exposed.
Bijou gasped. “Those colors are beautiful.”
“Even more so when I work with them,” he said almost absently. He took the fork and meticulously began prying the pastel purple rock free. He was careful not to scrape it, digging around the edges to free the small stone.
“Do you already know what you’re goin’ to use it for?” Bijou asked. “Do you actually have a sculpture in mind?”
He nodded. “I draw what’s in my head and then figure out which mediums I’m going to use and how best to get what’s in my head to come to life.”
“Arnaud.” She waited until he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “You know you’re a genius, don’ you? No one in the world can do what you do.”
He studied her face for a long time. “No one ever says the things to me that you do, Bijou, not and really mean them. I can see honesty in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You always have inspired me with your generosity of spirit. Sometimes when I read the tabloids, I find myself getting angry at the way they portray you, and it surprises me. I don’t get angry, or feel much emotion unless I’m creating.”
Bijou couldn’t help but hear the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t making a declaration of love—he never did. She could tell he felt great affection for her, as she did him, but something just didn’t