“I guess. But it’d be nice to have a house like this to come back to.”
“Did someone paint your windows?” Aubrey asked.
Emma laughed. “Sort of. They’re called stained glass, and it takes a real artist to do them right. My cousin Jordan makes them, and he did them for me as a housewarming gift when I bought the house from my parents a few years ago.”
“Was your house cold?” the adorable cherub asked, forehead puckering in obvious confusion.
At first Emma didn’t understand the question. Then she replayed their exchange in her head and smiled. “A housewarming is when you invite people to see your new home and they bring you presents of things you might need. Like towels or a welcome mat, things like that.”
“And your cousin brought you windows that he made special for you?” When Emma nodded, Aubrey’s eyes widened in appreciation. “That was really nice of him.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Is he your favorite cousin?” Emma nodded again, and the girl said, “My favorite cousin is Gigi. She lives in Vi-ginia. We used to live in Charleston by Grammy and Grampa, but then Daddy got a new job and we moved here.”
Emma glanced over at Rick, who was leaning against the tree, listening to their conversation. When she caught his eye, he gave her a what-can-you-do sort of look, but he didn’t step in to cut off his suddenly chatty daughter. So many people did that to young children, and Emma was pleased to discover that he wasn’t one of them. Kids were openly curious about everything around them, and she’d always hated it when adults tried to maneuver them into behaving more properly.
Quite honestly, she believed that if grown-ups could find a way to be as open-minded as kids were, life would be a lot more fun for everyone.
“And I’m very glad he did,” she told them as she went up the front porch steps of the vintage Craftsman house. “We can always use someone like your dad around here. In Liberty Creek,” she added quickly, to avoid any potential misunderstanding. The Marshall girls were sweet and engaging, but she was well aware that children often repeated things they’d heard without realizing how they might be received when heard out of context. She didn’t want Rick—or anyone else—getting the idea that she personally liked having him around. Considering the Liberty Creek gossip mill, that was the last thing either of them needed.
Pushing open the beautiful original door that Sam had recently refinished for her, she stepped into the living room and motioned them inside. “Come on in.”
The girls pushed past their father and stopped so abruptly, he nearly ran them over. When he’d regained his balance, he looked around with the same awed expression they were wearing.
“Wow,” he murmured, clearly trying to take everything in at once. “This is not at all what I was expecting.”
“I don’t have much use for a living room,” she explained. “What I needed was a studio.”
“And I’d say you have one. This is incredible. Don’t touch anything, girls.”
“Oh, they’re fine,” Emma assured him. “Everything’s dry, and there’s nothing breakable in here. You caught me on a good day—I just cleaned.”
Eyes sparkling in appreciation, Caitlin slowly made her way between easels, pausing to stare at the panoramic landscape that was almost finished. It was so large, it spanned two easels all by itself. Looking up at Emma, she asked, “Is this the town?”
“You have a good eye,” Emma praised her student with a smile. Taking down an aging tintype that was tacked to the upper edge of the canvas, she handed it to Caitlin. “It’s Liberty Creek, but this is how it looked a long time ago. Back when people drove horses and wagons instead of cars, and my grandmother’s bakery was a general store that sold things like fabric, candy, hammers and saddles.”
Rick sauntered over and looked above their heads at the scene. “This is what Liberty Creek Forge looked like back in its heyday?”
“More or less. This piece is a surprise for Brian and Lindsay, so please don’t mention it to either of them. I thought it might look nice hanging in the lobby at the forge.”
“Nice?” he echoed with a chuckle. “I’d say it’ll be the centerpiece. The detail is incredible, right down to the dog sitting on the front landing. It looks just like their Riley, Aussie markings and all. It doesn’t seem like I’m looking at a portrait of something two-dimensional. You have a knack for making it feel like I actually went back in time and am standing right there.”
Emma had been sketching, painting and sculpting her entire life. It was something she’d always done, because she couldn’t not do it. People often admired her work, but to most she was the school’s art teacher. Or Sam and Brian’s little sister, or Ellie’s youngest grandchild. It was one of the drawbacks of never having left home, she supposed. People saw her as the starry-eyed pixie she’d always been, not the capable woman she’d become.
She wasn’t one to cater to her ego, but Rick’s assessment of her talent made her stand up a little straighter, proud to share her work with him.
There were several large frames standing on edge against one wall, and he slowly flipped through them, asking questions about her inspiration for each. One in particular appeared to interest him, and he pulled it free to set it out on its own. To her utter astonishment, he looked over at her and asked, “Is this for sale?”
“For sale?” she squeaked, totally flabbergasted by the idea of it. “You mean, you want to buy it from me?”
“If you’re willing to part with it, then yes. My office at the bank is about the blandest place you’ve ever seen, and I’ve been hunting for artwork to bring in some color. This autumn forest scene would be perfect.”
“It would?” Realizing she sounded like a complete moron, Emma scraped up some dignity and tried to sound more professional. “I’m pleased that you like it so much.”
“How much is it?”
She’d never sold anything this large before. Mostly, the oversize canvases were gifts for family and friends. Or they wound up hanging on her own walls until she ran out of space and carefully wrapped them in brown paper before consigning them to the attic. Completely out of her depth, she fell back on a tactic that she’d learned from her late grandfather when he used to sell his handmade metal items at the area’s many summertime crafts shows. “That depends. How much do you think it’s worth?”
Rick tilted his head in a chiding gesture. “You’re not exactly a hardheaded businesswoman, are you?”
“Not many dreamers are,” she informed him, smarting a bit from the dig.
Judging by the sudden shift in his features, he’d picked up on her annoyance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. As far as I’m concerned, your approach is a refreshing change from the money-first people I deal with every day.”
“Oh. Well, then, apology accepted.”
When she named a price that seemed reasonable to her, he shook his head. “You’re selling yourself way too short. A one-of-a-kind piece this size, of this quality, is worth twice that much at any art gallery
