other woman met her gaze in sympathy. “Which can be a rocky road if you hope to support yourself at it.”
“No immediate plans to.” Delaney forced a laugh, as if to prove to Sunshine that she hadn’t expected anything like that. But she had. Drawing comfort from the faint scent of oil paints and leather, she reluctantly glanced toward the glass cases where two women were excitedly examining the jewelry. Nothing of her own would be joining those beautifully arranged displays this summer.
“I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You have customers.” With a quick, apologetic smile, she rose to her feet. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Surprise lit Sunshine’s eyes. Did people who were turned down for the co-op argue with her? Plead their case? But too clearly there was jewelry like she was making...and then there was fine jewelry that this gallery featured.
Sunshine stood as well, watching as Delaney carefully returned her silver pieces to a velvet-lined box which she then slipped into her portfolio.
“Please don’t leave here feeling as if your work holds no value. Even at your present skill level, you could make reasonable sales.” Sunshine folded her arms, her sharp black-brown eyes assessing. “Your designs have a light, feminine touch that many beginning to work with silver are incapable of producing. Often newbie pieces have a clunky, even masculine feel to them even though they’re meant for women.”
“Thank you.” But the approving words did little to appease the sick feeling in Delaney’s stomach. “I’d hoped to test the waters this summer, to see if my work might be saleable at the co-op on consignment, but I realize now that my coming here was premature.”
Much too premature.
Sunshine walked her to the door. “Have you given any thought to working with a mentor? Another silversmith? It’s something you might want to consider. If you decide that’s a path you’d like to pursue, come see me again. I may be able to help you work something out with a local artist.”
“Unfortunately, I’m only here for the summer to work with a church youth group.”
Together Delaney and Sunshine stepped outside under the gallery’s striped awning.
“Thanks again and...” Delaney nodded to a flyer taped to the front door of the gallery. “I hope all goes well for the town council run.”
Sunshine laughed. “It’s a long shot. The old-timers are entrenched here. But the growing number of artists making this a home need a voice in local government. We need support to grow our businesses and carve out a comfortable niche in a town dominated by hunters, horsemen and hikers who tend to eye us with suspicion.”
“Why suspicion?”
Sunshine’s smile faltered. “We’re called ‘outsiders’ by many and ‘aliens’ by some, as if oil paint, pottery kilns and other artistic tools might pollute the macho, outdoorsy atmosphere. It’s been an uphill battle all the way.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you settle in Hunter Ridge? Why not someplace more welcoming?”
Something Delaney couldn’t read flickered through the other woman’s eyes, then quickly shuttered. Sunshine motioned to the shady street before them. “Cool summers are inviting to shoppers from the Phoenix area. That can be a big business draw if we had the opportunity to develop it more. The town’s floundered for quite a few years. Its focus on one aspect for their economy—outdoorsmen—has left it vulnerable.”
“There’s the overall economic hit this country has taken, too,” Delaney added. Canyon Springs had been impacted as well.
“Right. Over time the population here has dropped to under two thousand. Businesses have closed.” Sunshine surveyed the buildings along the street. “The plus side is there’s now more commercial space available. But even with prices jacked up—to keep us out, I suspect—property is less expensive than in more flourishing towns like Sedona or even Canyon Springs.”
“It sounds as if Hunter Ridge is the perfect spot for potential artistic projects.”
“It is. If you’re interested in learning more, come by tonight for our first town council campaign meeting. Seven o’clock. Here.”
“Thanks.” It sounded like a worthwhile cause. But Delaney wasn’t making any commitments. Not only had Luke Hunter warned her about getting involved in local politics but, with her artistic self-confidence shot to smithereens, she wasn’t up to hobnobbing with the established artisans of Hunter Ridge.
No, tonight would find her packing up her silversmithing supplies and stuffing them in a dark corner of the closet—and trying to come up with a way to convince Luke Hunter that the project she’d selected was the best choice for the youth group.
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