Page 5 of To Hold and Protect

He’d included a lot of windows and skylights in the studio’s design, and because he did much of his painting at night, he’d gone with the best lighting available. There was a mini kitchen, so he wouldn’t have to make trips to the house for something to drink or eat, a bathroom with a shower, a daybed for catnaps, a large screen TV—which he rarely turned on unless he wanted to catch the news—and the best sound system money could buy, since he needed music when he painted.

After locking the door behind him so there would be no surprise visitors, he walked to the easel. The painting hadn’t miraculously morphed overnight into a scene through a window. It was still Willow Landry standing in a field of brilliant yellow sunflowers with a mysterious smile on her face.

What was up with that smile, anyway? She hadn’t smiled at him like that. He should paint over the canvas, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Nor could he bring himself to putWillow in Sunflowersaside and get to work on an art showpiece.

Eff him. He’d gone and named the piece. Now he had to finish it. Since he couldn’t move on until the painting was done, and he really needed to get on the art show pieces, he turned on his music full blast and got busy.

He finished as the black night was turning to dawn gray. Coming out of his fog, he studied the painting. “Pretty damn good,” he murmured. Too bad no one would ever see it.

When he’d built the studio, he’d included a fireproof room for storing his art, and he carried the painting there and left it to dry. That done, he returned to the house. It was too close to having to get Everly up for kindergarten to try to sleep, so he made a pot of coffee. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d painted through the night and then changed his painter’s hat for his fire chief’s hat without sleep in between. If it was quiet at the station, he’d catch a few winks.

After feeding his chatty morning-person daughter—she sure didn’t get that from him—breakfast, he got her dressed, then loaded her and Ember in the Hellcat. As he passed the subject of his renegade painting, he jerked the wheel to the left when Everly yelled, “Daddy!”

Double eff him. He’d almost taken out a neighbor’s mailbox because his attention was distracted. “Sorry, baby girl.” Willow Landry—her hair in a ponytail and wearing a tank top, denim shorts that barely covered her ass cheeks, and cowboy boots—was in her front yard trying to push a lawn mower through grass that Parker couldn’t remember the last time had been cut. Bob had never been the best at yard maintenance, or much of anything actually.

After dropping Everly at kindergarten, he glanced at Ember, sitting in her place on the passenger seat. “You sleep good last night? Because I didn’t. Gotta tell you, that woman needs to get out of my head.”

He should turn the car toward the firehouse, but he drove back to his street instead. The lawn mower was parked in the middle of the yard and only about two strips of grass had been mowed. The offensive yellow car was gone. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and not seeing the Beetle driving down the street, he pulled into her driveway. With a quick check, he discovered the lawn mower’s gas tank was empty.

He got back in his car and called his captain. “Morning, Greg. Everything quiet?”

“Quieter than Mrs. Jefferson’s library.”

Parker chuckled. She was retired now, but when Mrs. Jefferson was the school librarian, you did not talk if you valued your ears. She could sneak up behind you and twist your earlobe before you knew she was there.

“Great. I’ll be there in about an hour. I have something I need to take care of this morning. Call if you need me.”

“Will do, Chief.”

He drove to his house, put Ember inside, then got out the riding lawn mower and attached the bagger. Considering that it would take Miss Landry all day or more to push that little mower through knee-high grass, cutting it for her was the neighborly thing to do. Added advantage, he wouldn’t have to see her doing it in those tiny shorts.

And listen up, Park C. You will not paint her wearing those shorts.

Chapter Four

Foothills General Store wasn’t like any she’d ever been in. She was here to buy a gas can to fill the lawn mower, but paint samples sidetracked her. The place fascinated her with its scarred wooden floors that creaked as she walked on them, the baskets of hardware, oversize jars of hard candies, a selection of fudge—she bought several flavors—beef jerky, salves, homemade soaps, and more. She ended up spending an hour in the store and planned to go back and explore it more.

Before returning home, she walked around the town a little, looking in the windows and familiarizing herself with the stores and what was available. A clothing store, Fanny’s Place, had some really cute clothes in the window. She’d have to check that out next time she was in town.

She was delighted to discover the bakery, and it was going to be one of her regular stops while she lived here. Cookies were her writing fuel. When her energy flagged after a few hours on her laptop, a cookie and coffee break perked her right back up. She usually baked her favorite, oatmeal chocolate cherry, but without a working oven she’d have to rely on the bakery.

The town itself was adorable and unique, with its multicolored awnings and pots of spring flowers. Each store had a different color awning, and many of the doors were painted to match the store’s awning. She took out her phone and snapped pictures to send her sister.

Her successful CEO sister didn’t understand why Willow was in a small town in the South called Marsville. As far as Cynthia was concerned, a big city was where the opportunities were. She also didn’t understand why Willow wanted to write children’s books. Bottom line, her older sister didn’t understand her at all.

They were too different to be close, but Cynthia was her sister, so Willow made an effort to maintain a relationship. When she’d told Cynthia the wedding was off, she had lied and said that ending things was a mutual agreement between her and Brady. If Cynthia knew the real reason, that Brady had cheated, Cynthia would have said, “I told you so,” even though Cynthia had not told her any such thing. Her sister was judgmental.

Cynthia was ten years older, so that was another divide between them. Too much of an age difference to have much in common. Even so, Cynthia had told her to move to Chicago—and that had been said in the form of an order—that she could stay in the spare bedroom in Cynthia’s downtown condo. Willow would set up housing in a tent before she moved in with her sister and be bossed around and criticized for everything from her career choice to her taste in clothes, especially the cowboy boots she favored.

No, thanks. Marsville was the perfect place to crash for a bit while she licked her wounds, wrote her books, and looked for condos for sale on a beach. She gave herself six months to finish the two books and get Uncle Bob’s—well, now her—house remodeled and sold. It was a good plan.

Returning home, she pulled into her driveway. Huh? Who mowed her grass? Willow sat in Sunshine and stared at the yard. Whoever had mowed it had even bagged the clippings.

She picked up her bag of goodies from the general store, along with the cup of iced mocha coffee, the bags of assorted muffins and cookies from Sweet Tooth Bakery, and exited the car.

Unless Uncle Bob had a lawn maintenance provider, which she doubted, considering the grass had been two feet tall, someone had mowed it for her. She glanced at the house next door. It had to be one of the Church brothers who’d done her a kindness, but which one? She couldn’t imagine the grouchy one doing her a favor, so it had to be one of his brothers.

She took the new gas can she’d filled to the garage, then carried her purchases inside. That done, she returned to the bakery. Another bag of assorted cookies and a yummy-looking chocolate cake in her possession, she drove past her house, instead turning into her neighbor’s driveway. She fished the notepad and pen she always carried in her purse for when a book or plot idea struck, wrote a thank-you note without specifying a name since she didn’t know who to thank, and then she walked to the door with the cake and cookies.

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