each other a little better,” she said, walking backward, the blanket swinging from her hand.
Her pale hair was loose and blew in the breeze. Dermot’s breath caught as he watched her. He’d never seen a more beautiful creature. Everything about her was designed just for his eyes. “Then tell me something I don’t know.”
“I played the saxophone in the high school band,” she said. “And I was pretty good. Except I hated marching at the football games.”
Dermot chuckled. “Really? I would have never guessed. Tell me something else.”
“I was the president of my 4-H club. And it wasn’t just all about goats. I won grand prize at the county fair for a quilt I made and for my strawberry preserves.”
Dermot chuckled. She really was a farm girl at heart. After only a day, he’d come to appreciate the simplicity of life at Clover Meadow. There was no racing from place to place, no people to see or phone calls to take. It was a quiet life, though the burden of responsibility was greater. He sold boats for lots of money. She cared for sixty-some living creatures.
“Now you have to tell me something,” Rachel said.
“I’d rather hear more about you.”
“No fair.”
“All right. I broke my arm falling out of a tree when I was thirteen.”
“What were you doing in the tree?”
“My twin brother dared me to climb to the very top. We did a lot of that when we were kids. Dares and double dares and triple dares. I was almost down and then I slipped and fell.”
“You have a twin brother?”
Dermot nodded. “Kieran. We’re almost identical twins. We do look a lot alike, except I’m much more handsome.”
She sighed softly. “I wish I were closer to my siblings. We’ve just never really known each other. I have two nieces who are older than me. And when I was young I had an imaginary friend named Rosalie. We were going to open a bakery together when we grew up.”
Rachel returned to his side, slipping her arm around his as she chatted about her childhood on the farm. Though it sounded idyllic, there was an undercurrent of loneliness in her stories. She never spoke of friends or parties or adventures. Every story was one of solitude.
“You sound like you loved the farm,” he said. “Was it difficult to leave for college?”
Rachel nodded. “I was ready to see a little bit of the world. And going to art school was my dream. I was only an hour away and I came home every other weekend. My parents were older and they needed my help.”
“And then you left after college?”
“I met a boy. His job took him to San Francisco and I had to make a choice. I thought it was right, but then it wasn’t. And then I met another man and we moved to New York and that didn’t work either.” She smiled. “I don’t have a very good history with men.”
“They were both idiots,” he said. “Tell me about these greeting cards that you make.”
“I don’t actually make them. I’m an illustrator. I provide the art and a publisher makes and sells them. It started with farm animals and silly puns. You know, like ‘Thinking of Ewe’ with an illustration of a sheep. E-W-E. You? They’re kind of whimsical and people just really liked them. They provide a nice living, although goat farming doesn’t allow much time for art.”
“Now that I’m here, that will change.”
As they walked out past the goat pastures, the landscape began to change. Rolling hills gave way to wooded areas and they followed a ridge, then walked through a wide field to a small grove of trees. To Dermot’s surprise, there was a wide creek running through the trees.
It was one of the most picturesque spots he’d ever seen, the water, the lush green trees and the blue sky above. “It’s like heaven,” he said. “When I’m out on the water, I think that it’s the most perfect place in the world. But you’re right, this is pretty perfect, too. I don’t see how you could let this go.”
“I know. I’m afraid if I do let it go, I won’t have anything left. This is really all I have for a home. Eddie and this farm. My sister and brothers don’t know me. At least when I’m here, I feel like I belong. And what would Eddie do? He’s lived here his whole life.”
“You wouldn’t have to be lonely.”
She shrugged. “You found me. I guess if I decide to stay, then I have to hope that someone else will find me, too.” Drawing a deep breath, she forced a smile. “So this is it,” she said. “I used to come here to draw when I was a kid.”
He glanced around. She was right. It was a scene out of a landscape painting—the tall trees, an old stone fence, a slow-moving creek. There were birds everywhere, singing from the boughs, and butterflies fluttered on the soft breeze. “I can see why you like it,” he said.
“Tell me about your favorite place,” she asked as she laid the blanket out on the ground.
He dropped the basket on the center of the blanket and sat down next to her. “I have way too many,” he said. “But they’re all someplace that can only be appreciated from the cockpit of my sailboat.”
“I’ve never been on a sailboat,” she said.
“Now, that’s a shame. Maybe we’ll have to do something about that.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have any oceans around here.”
“You do have an awfully big lake not too far away. Maybe I’ll take you someday.” In truth, he wasn’t sure how that was going to happen. He had no money to rent a boat and no car to drive them there. He could barely afford to take her for ice cream at this point.
She opened the picnic basket and pulled out a sketchbook and pencil. Then she stared out at the scene in front of her.
“Can I see your drawings?” Dermot asked.
She handed him the book and he flipped through the pages. There were all sorts of wild animals—squirrels, rabbits, porcupines. They looked very realistic except for their funny faces. Dermot chuckled. “These are really good,” he said.
“I’m working on some little reptiles and amphibians,” she said. “And insects.” She reached over and turned to a drawing of a bee. “I think they’ll do pretty well. I met this publisher at a convention once and she told me I should be illustrating children’s books.”
“Do you ever draw people?”
“I used to, in art school.” She frowned. “I’m not sure if I can anymore.” She grabbed the book and set it on her lap. “Take your shirt off. And lie down. I’ll try drawing you.”
“I’m not sure I want to be on your new series of nude-men greeting cards.”
Rachel grinned. “That’s a good idea. I wonder if there’d be a market for them. Maybe mail order, but you couldn’t put them in a grocery store or
