remained at heart quite practical in dealing with most things. Practicality said she was enjoying a marvelous interlude that had to end. She could enjoy it, but she didn’t dare lose sight of the very real limits on these days.
She carried her pad back to the table, pulled the one burning oil lamp closer and picked up her charcoal. As soon as she began to fill in more detail, she drifted away from her surroundings into a creative surge. She might as well have gone deaf, and was blind to everything except the sketch in front of her. She loved these times when art just took over, making her feel more like a conduit than a creator.
“That’s really amazing.” Craig’s voice startled her out of her preoccupation. She blinked, amazed to find he was once again inside with her.
“I didn’t even hear you come in!”
“So I gathered.” He’d already dumped his slicker and moved until he stood over her shoulder. “Hope you don’t mind.”
But she did. She didn’t like people to look at her work before it was done, and she truly hated to work with someone peering over her shoulder. Still, she didn’t want to tell him to get lost. The mood was broken anyway.
“That’s really phenomenal,” he said. “So few lines and you captured so much.”
Pleasure touched her. “Thank you. But it’s not done.” She began to put her charcoal back in the box, and Craig moved away.
“I’m sorry I interrupted you,” he said.
Something in his tone dispelled the last of her fog. “What were you supposed to do? Stand out in the rain? It’s okay.”
He reached for the coffeepot and began to refill it.
She stared at his back, wondering if he’d caught her momentary irritation at the interruption or the way she’d felt when he’d looked over her shoulder.
Seeing him respond this way after what they had shared such a short time ago hurt. An almost physical pain speared her. “Craig? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I bothered you, and I’m sorry.”
It sounded like nothing, but it didn’t feel like nothing. She continued to stare at his back and wondered how to deal with this. A sense of near desperation filled her, but she didn’t know if she was overreacting. Maybe she was assuming he was troubled when he wasn’t. Hector, she was discovering, was a bad guide.
Finally she said the only thing she could think of to try to get a conversation rolling. “Craig, I’m sorry.”
He turned immediately. “For what?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“For...I don’t know. Making you feel unwelcome?”
“Aw, hell,” he said quietly. He rounded the small table in two strides and sat beside her on the bench, wrapping his arms around her. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But I felt...like you were offended by something I did.”
He shook his head, catching her chin so that she had to look into his face. “I wasn’t offended. I felt bad because I interrupted what you were doing. I felt bad when I realized that looking over your shoulder made you tense. I mean, idiot that I am, I know that looking over someone’s shoulder isn’t always a good thing to do. But I wasn’t thinking. I was so struck by what you were drawing....”
He leaned in and kissed her hard. “I won’t look over your shoulder again.”
She seemed to have lost her breath. After a beat or two she rediscovered her voice. “It does bother me when I’m working,” she admitted. “I’m used to being alone most of the time when I paint or draw. But you have nothing to apologize for.”
“Then let’s forget it. I’m not offended and I won’t look over your shoulder again without an invitation.”
She answered his smile with one of her own. “How’s Dusty?”
“Like I thought, he’d picked up a lot of mud. We took care of that. Tomorrow I’m going to bring some hay out here. A thick layer of it will allow the vegetation to grow back and keep his hooves dry if he has to be out there again. But right now? He’s okay for right now.”
“Good. I like Dusty.”
“I think he likes you, too. I don’t, however, think he likes this weather much. He may be tame, but I don’t think he’s truly domesticated, if you get my drift.”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, he’s a great horse and a great companion. But he’s also used to spending hours every day roaming this forest. He’s not your corral sort of horse.”