Page 228 of The Cowbears of Curvy Bear Ranch

Even then, she’d sensed that she was committing a transgressive act. But she hadn’t cared. The soft stroke of brush against paper had soothed her in a way nothing else could. For the first time in her life, peace infused her soul and she’d been utterly content—at least until her father had shown up to tuck her into bed. The conversation played through her mind as if it had happenedyesterday.

“Daddy, look! I painted a horsey,”shesaid.

“It’s a horse,” he corrected. “Always be precise with your language. That will help you in more ways than you can imagine when you get older. Did you do yourhomework?”

“Yes.”

She still held the painting in her hand. Why hadn’t he looked at it yet? Didn’t he like the picture? Was the horse’s head too big? Did she fail to capture the fine strands of hair onitsmane?

“Go brush your teeth,” he said. “Remember to count to thirty, and keep brushing thewholetime.”

“Okay.”

Her chest deflated as she set the painting on the desk in her room. As she dutifully went about her nightly routine, she fought back tears. Why hadn’t her daddy liked the picture? She’d painted it for him, hoping that he might like it enough to put it up on the fridge. All of her other friends had paintings they’d drawn posted on theirfridges.

When she returned to the room, her heart sank. Her first art piece lay wadded up in the trashcan. As she turned to face her father, her bottom lip trembled. She fought to keep her emotions under control. Her daddy hated seeing anyone cry,especiallyher.

“Come on, pumpkin,” herdadsaid.

“You threw it away,” shemumbled.

“What?”

“The picture. You threwitaway.”

He sighed. “Art is a frivolous waste of time. You could have used that time you spent painting to improve your intellect. Don’t you want to have afulfillinglife?”

“Yes,” shereplied.

“Then forget that paint set and keep your focus on what really matters,”hesaid.

The squawk of a bird brought Abby back to the present. She sighed and set the paintbrush on a paper towel. Apparently she’d continued to paint while reliving the memory. It hurt to think how much that single conversation with her dad had changed her life. If she hadn’t shoved the paint set into a shoebox and placed it on the top shelf in her closet, how different might her lifehavebeen?

The sound of boots crunching in the snow drew her attention. As Cody strolled closer, she spotted a picnic basket in his hand. Her stomach rumbled. She glanced at the low-hanging sun, surprised that she’d been so lost in thought that she’d completely missedlunch.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cody said. “I brought you some food. When I didn’t see you earlier, I asked Madison if you’d been back and she told me you were still out here. How’s the painting comingalong?”

“I’m almost done. I just need to add a few final touches to the lake.” She leaned to the side to give him a better view of thepainting.

“Wow, you made that?” heasked.

“Yeah. I know it’s not really any good, but I had fundoingit.”

“What do you mean? This is incredible.” He set the basket down on the table and leaned across to study the picture. “Look at the way you captured the sunlight off the snow. How did youdothat?”

“I don’t know. I just look at things and see how I would paint them. I guess I’ve been doing it mywholelife.”

“You haven’t had any training?” heasked.

“Nope.”

“Then you’re a natural. You have a gift. I’m surprised you don’t paint moreoften.”

He started pulling out containers of food. As he set them down, he removed their lids. A veritable smorgasbord of meats, cheeses, olives, and fruit filled thetable.

“I would have been okay with a bologna sandwich,” she said. “Madison shouldn’t have gone to all this troubleforme.”

“Shedidn’t.”

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