style="font-size:15px;"> “Well, maybe another time,” Boyce said, slapping his thighs, his hearty voice oblivious to the undercurrents of tension that emanated from Ella.
What was her deal, anyhow?
“And speaking of supper, I should get moving,” Cord said.
“Here, I can do that for you,” Boyce said. “Suzy and Paul, you come with me. Cord, why don’t you show Ella that trail we cut through the bush last year? She could take her dog for a walk there.”
Before Cord could protest or Ella could voice the objections he clearly saw on her face, Boyce was gone, Suzy and Paul trailing behind him, clamoring for whatever he had in the bag he swung from his other hand.
Cord blew out a sigh, then turned back to Ella, taking the bottle from Ollie before he dropped it in the dirt. “Sorry about that. Dad tends to be a bit clueless.”
“It’s okay. He meant well.”
“And about that trail—”
“I can find it myself. Just point me in the right direction,” she said, twisting her dog’s leash around her hand in a nervous gesture as Pablo stood, watching the kids leave and whining.
“Puppy,” Ollie said, lunging toward the dog in a movement that caught Cord unawares. The little guy would have fallen straight down but Ella reached out in time to steady Ollie with her free hand. For a moment she held his son’s arm as Cord regained his balance.
Then, as she shifted Ollie back to him, their eyes met.
And in that brief blink of time he saw a shadow of something deep in those expressive dark eyes. Sorrow? Pain? Regret?
A dangerous emotion shimmered in his heart as their eyes held for a split second longer than necessary. He felt a surprising and unwelcome connection to her. As if, like him, she held her own doleful secrets.
“I’ll find the trail,” she said, her voice breathless as she lowered her eyes and pulled Pablo away from both of them.
Then she turned and strode away, head high, movements deliberate, her dog trotting obediently alongside her.
Cord watched her go, unable to get rid of the suspicion that there was a lot more to Miss Ella Langton than met the eye.
Then Ollie grabbed his hair with his sticky hands, as if reminding him of his obligations and the danger of letting someone like Ella get behind his defenses.
He gave his son a smile and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Yeah. I know, buddy. I’ve got you, Suzy and Paul to think of. No room at the inn.”
But as he left he couldn’t help one last glance over his shoulder at Ella.
Just in time to see her doing the same.
He couldn’t allow himself to be attracted to her or any woman, he reminded himself, turning around and almost running to catch up to his father. He would have to keep his guard up around Ella.
He couldn’t afford to let himself even think of her.
Ella glanced at the clock as she called up her mother’s number on her cell phone. It was early enough on a Sunday morning that her mother was probably still home. Ella tucked the phone under her ear as she popped a pod into the coffeemaker. She was feeling funky. She hadn’t slept well last night and needed coffee. Now.
Her mother answered right away.
“Good morning, Mother,” Ella said, setting a cup under the spout. “How are you today?”
“Good. Just getting ready for church.”
Ella heard the expectation in her mother’s voice. Though Ella had gone to church her entire life, the last five years her attendance had petered off. She hadn’t attended at all the last year she and Darren were married. It bothered her mother, and many times Ella had wanted to explain but couldn’t. Too much was at stake.
It took her over a year, after Darren’s death in a motorcycle accident, to start attending again. At first sporadically, then slowly the weekly rhythm created by years of church attendance asserted itself. The past couple of months she had started attending weekly again. This morning she felt a desire to go and had even gone so far as to search for a church nearby.
“How are things in the gallery?” Ella asked, preferring to keep the conversation light and easy.
“Good. Had a wonderful showing yesterday. A few people asked when we could expect to see more of your work.”
Again her comment carried a heavy subtext. Start producing.
“Has the move to the cabin helped you at all?” her mother continued. “Given you inspiration?”
“It’s slow,” Ella said, slipping a cup underneath the coffeemaker. “Still working through stuff.”
Her mother was quiet, acknowledging what Ella had dealt with. “Honey, it’s been two years.”
“I know exactly how long it’s been,” Ella replied, pressing the heel of her hand against her eyes, frustrated at the sharp tone her voice took on. “Sorry. It’s even more frustrating for me than it is for you.”
“I understand, dear, but sometimes you need to push through the resistance. Sometimes resistance is a signal that better things are coming.”
Ella had heard variations on that theme often in her artistic career. Her husband, who had at one time been a part owner of her mother’s gallery, had tossed the same words at her when she was stuck. And sometimes he was right. But this was different. This was a wall she couldn’t get over no matter how hard she pushed and clawed, trying to find inspiration.
“I’ll keep plugging. I’m sure it will change eventually.” Ella glanced at some of her older paintings stacked against the wall. Dark landscapes with jagged trees silhouetted against blue-black clouds that screened a silver disc of a moon. Superimposed over them in a different medium, were vague shadows of angels—transparent if you stood directly in front of them, but they changed as soon as you moved sideways.
Though she had indulged in darker paintings, the last few years of her marriage the landscapes had become bleaker. They’d come out of a deep sorrow. A plaintive cry for comfort.
And they sold for thousands.
Her mother had pleaded with Ella to part with the few she had kept, saying they would fetch a goodly sum at the gallery.
But Ella kept them as a reminder of that time in her life and of her dependence on a man she should never have married. Darren had spun daydreams for her that made her think she would be cared for. Cherished. Nurtured. They would have a dozen children. A beautiful home. Money would not be a problem.
For a girl who never had a father or siblings and a mother who, though she loved her, was occupied with her business, these were heady dreams.
The house had come but
