Page 99 of Saving Grace

With a scoff, I trudge after him.

Gonna be a great fuckin’ day.

Each muscle screams in my wrecked body. It’s been months since I’ve had to earn my keep on a green horse. Hell’s hounds, I’m feeling every second now. My legs burn as I pad up the front steps and onto the porch. The sun is setting, blanketing the mountains in its golden hue as our day finally finishes up.

“You look exhausted,” Grace says softly somewhere to my left.

I startle, turning to find her on the seat on the porch, a wine glass in her hand. Light blue overalls cover a white t-shirt, her cardigan hanging loose around her shoulders. Her hair is a mess, the semblance of a bun with wisp aways framing her face, somesporting various paint colors. She was so quiet, so still, I didn’t even register her being there. “Jesus, Gracie. Kill a man.”

She chuckles and scoots over on the seat before patting the space beside her. I pad to the seat and fall in beside her and say, “Dammit, I’m wrecked.”

I groan as she lifts the hat from my head and pulls my head onto her shoulder. “You smell like horse and dirt.”

A hearty rumble spills from my chest, a smile stretching my face, as I let my weight sink into her. “You smell like... paint.”

“Got done a few minutes ago. Didn’t get a chance to wash up yet.”

I lift my head and lean back a little. Her face sports smudges of color over her chin. Blue is splattered in her hair. Her fingers are covered in splotches of blue and grey. “I wanna see your painting. Only, I need a moment to relocate my legs.”

She worries her bottom lip through her teeth.

I push my shoulders back and take hers in my hands. “Anything you do is bound to be amazing.”

“Ha. Says the elite sniper turned pro cowboy.”

“Nothing elite about this man, I promise you. Now, show me your work, gorgeous girl.”

With a sigh, she stands and offers a hand. I take it and push to my feet. My muscles scream at me again, but I ignore them, determined to follow her as she leads me through the house and toward her yoga-turned-art room. I toss my hat onto the kitchen counter as we pass by. We round the door and walk into the room, and the pungent tang of paint and thinner hits me.

Jesus, she spent all day in here? I double-check the window is open. It is.

She turns back, placing her glass on the small table by the door, and rests a hand on my chest. “Before you look at this, please remember I haven’t painted so much as a dot since I left Pennsylvania.” Her brows lower. “But I want to show you.”

“Grac—”

She presses a finger over my lips. “No speaking until you’ve looked at it. Fully. And please, please remember it’s just the start.”

I nod and she sucks in a breath, turning on the spot and grabbing my hands with hers behind her back. She pulls me toward the easel Huddo made. The large canvas sits on its side. I come to stand in front of it against the round stool she sits on. She drops my hands and hugs herself, stepping back.

Fuck me six ways to Sunday . . .

The mountains, as you see them from Reed’s ranch entrance, are brushed to perfection on the canvas. The colors meld from one to the next, every detail so damn accurate. It’s almost like nature’s giants are alive. White caps each peak, the golden grass that sways in the fields below flanks the base, covering the bottom of the canvas.

She nailed it.

“I know it’s not to proportion, size-wise, between the natural elements, but I thought the colors were pretty close,” Grace breathes beside me. I sink onto the stool and swivel it to face her. Legs spread, I grab her arms and pull her into my space. “You did so good, gorgeous girl. This is—” My throat thickens. She thinks this is not good enough. I can tell by the worried expression she’s nursing. The fact she hasn’t let herself uncurl from the defensive position. As if that asshole is somehow still able to see this. Like she is waiting for me to realize it’s crap and tell her as much. “Your painting is incredible, Grace. Ruby’s goin’ to be thrilled. For the record, art is most definitely your calling.”

Her face breaks.

Fuck.

To prove what I’m saying, I swivel us back to the canvas. “I like this part here,” I point to the dark blue of the valley of themountain to the left. “And, this bit, the contrast is epic.” I have minimal knowledge about art, but I can sure as hell point out the elements I admire. And I do. “The grass... I can almost feel it swayin’ against my legs just looking at it.”

“You can?” she breathes.

I brush a paint-speckled strand of hair behind her ear and meet her eyes that are now silver lined. My heart all but cracks in two at the sight. She puts a little space between us.

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” I rasp, hands held out to her, wanting her back in my arms.

---