Page 27 of Captivated

“You said you’ve been at Salvation for twelve years. Where were you before that?”

“Idaho, then a lot of other places.”

Nate blinked. “Idaho? Really? Where, exactly?”

“It was a small rural town in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Sorta tight-knit place where everyone knew everyone else’s business. And I have no plans to ever go back there.”

“I live in Boise,” Nate admitted. “I’m only there because Dad is. Except he hasn’t been my dad all that long.”

For the life of him, Nate had no idea why he’d shared that. Maybe it was because Dad had spoken so positively about Zeeb that Nate knew he could be trusted.

Maybe it’s just Zeeb.

Nate could understand the desire to leave the past far behind him. What surprised him was that Zeeb apparently felt the same way.

He fell silent as the trail headed into the woods, the canopy above them blotting out the sunlight for the most part, filtering through in spots, bright patches on the leaf-covered ground. Tall, slim trunks rose high into the sky, and there were fallen trees at intervals.

A musky, earthy kind of smell filled the air, and Nate breathed it in. After about twenty minutes, the trail started to slope downward, and the air grew fresher.

It wasn’t long before they emerged at the lake, its shores lined with trees.

Nate’s breath caught in his throat. “This is beautiful.” The water was crystal clear, calm, reflecting the tree line and the sky.

“Pick yourself a spot,” Zeeb instructed. “I’ve got blankets in the wagon for us to sit on. I’ll lead the horses down to the water’s edge to take a drink, then I’ll give ’em a treat before I tie ’em up.”

Nate got down from the wagon and wandered toward the lake. The view before him lent itself perfectly to watercolors: all he had to do was find the best place from which to capture it.

He strolled around the water’s edge for a while, soaking up the early afternoon sun, so warm on his shoulders. The only sounds were the trees moving gently in the breeze and the ripple of the water over the rocks around the lake.

Then Nate found his spot.

The tree line dipped from left and right, framing the lake, and beyond were the mountains, their rugged peaks captured in the water.

“Here,” he called out to Zeeb.

“I’ll bring the gear over.”

Nate sat on a large boulder, drinking in the sight, letting the peace and quiet wash over him. When Zeeb appeared, Nate smiled.

“You’re a lucky man. You have all this on your doorstep.”

“You know it.” Zeeb placed the blankets on Nate’s rock, then gazed out across the lake. “This is usually the first trail we take the guests on, ’cause it ain’t that difficult, and the views are awesome.” He glanced at the lake shore. “Where do you want the easel?”

Nate pointed to a flattish spot between the trees and the lake. “There, I think.” His head would be in shade, which was a bonus.

Then it hit him.

Nate shook his head. “My dad is a sneaky one.”

“What makes him sneaky?”

“When I paint, I work from photos. I make quick trips to take them, then I print them. I haven’t ever done a landscape from real life. And I think this was part of dad’s plan to get me out of the house and into the great outdoors.”

Then he registered Zeeb had fallen silent.

Nate turned his head to find Zeeb smiling.

“Something I said? Or is it just the view that makes you happy?”

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