Page 96 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
“What if I told you I had somereallygood news?”
~ 53 ~
CAMRYN
My dash to the back office was quick and deliberate. I returned holding the giant canvas, taller than me.
“Get the diamonds,” I said excitedly. “That’s what Sarge told you, right?”
The boys squinted back at me in total confusion. They nodded slowly as I spun the canvas around.
“The diamonds beneath the tree.”
I leaned forward and tapped the big painting, dead center. The enormous, out of proportion tree stretched the entire length of the canvas; from the crown of leaves at the top, to the great spiderweb of roots spreading outward at the base.
“Great,” said Jaxon. “It’s a tree.”
“Yes,” I smiled.
He shrugged. “I’ve never seen a tree that looked anything like that. Not on this property.”
“That’s because it’s not on this property.”
I tapped the painting again, trailing my fingers over it. The trunk felt thick and rough beneath my fingers, that’s how much paint Sarge had used. Almost like the bark of a real tree.
Ryder set his hands on his hips. “If it’s not on this property, how would we find it?”
“You already found it,” I beamed.
They squinted even harder. “Where?”
“Right here,” I tapped again.
Jaxon and Oakley shifted uncomfortably on their bad legs. Ryder stared back at me, squinting even harder from his puffed up eye. But it was Bryce whose confusion first gave way to perception, then excitement.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “And all this time I thought he was just a terrible artist.”
“He was a terrible artist,” I beamed. “And he used way too much paint. So much paint. Almost like…”
I tapped again, this time near the roots of the tree. Four pairs of eyes shifted downward, to where irregularly-shaped balls of brown and green paint jutted out from the canvas like Milk Duds.
“Remember what Sarge said?” I asked again. “Find the diamonds; beneath the tree. And you told me you asked him which tree. And he said—”
“The tree at the cabin…” breathed Oakley.
He took an enthusiastic step forward and nearly fell. Bryce caught him, and propped him back up.
“Here,” I said. “Allow me.”
I grabbed one of the jutting brown nodules, twisted it off, and peeled back the layers of soft acrylic paint. The second I finished, my breath caught in my throat.
Sitting in the center of my outstretched palm was a gleaming white diamond. Its irregular, uncut surfaces were already picking up the glow of the firelight. I didn’t knowdiamonds, really. I’d never owned one. But there was one thing I did know:
The stone in my hand wasenormous.
“Holy mother of…”
They rushed forward, or hobbled in some cases, plucking at the canvas like chickens pecking at a cob of corn. When they were finished, the paint at the base of the tree was in tatters. But each man soon held a small fortune in the palm of their hand.
