Page 27 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
Too young.Not for his success, but for her.Nearly a decade too young.
“And that,” she said firmly and out loud as she turned everything off, “is the end of that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Miles had beenwound up before.He’d been edgy many times in his life, most especially since he’d started moving in these circles.And when the wholeStonewallfiasco had started, it had been a constant state.But he’d never spent over an hour pacing the living room of the beach house, his mind skittering in what felt like a million directions at once.
Sadly, even this refuge wasn’t much of one anymore.People had discovered this hideaway now, after it had gotten out that Jackson had stayed here, and it had made even going for a walk on the beach a risky proposition.He’d had to deal with the Hollywood press enough during the crumbling of theStonewallempire that he’d become more recognizable than he’d ever wanted to be.Just out in public it wasn’t so bad, but here, where people now knew he sometimes lived, it was getting worse.His peaceful refuge was no longer either.
He thought about how different it had been in Last Stand, where people either didn’t know or care who he was, or knew he was a friend of Jackson’s and therefore let him be.They had accepted Jackson as one of them now, and Miles was beginning to realize exactly what that meant.And crazy as it was, he envied his friend what he’d found in that little Texas town.
He stopped his pacing to stand staring at that painting again.For a moment it was almost as if his vision had blurred, and he was seeing the reality of the place, standing where he’d actually been, looking out over the rolling hills to the horizon.
He should have held his ground.He should have insisted they film in Texas, and when Swiffer started throwing his weight—and not inconsiderable investment—around, he should have stood fast or walked.Except by then he had others attached to the project, including Jackson.And it was a break Jackson—then just one of the wranglers who dealt with the many horses they were using—might never get again.
And Miles knew he was perfect for the part, even if he wasn’t a known star whose name alone would draw viewers.He’d only had a few bit parts here and there and made most of his living working on the horse crew.But just watching him save that horse, pulling him out of the mud flat, calming the terrified animal as he himself got wetter and dirtier by the moment, Miles had known it.Combine that feel with the man’s amazing looks, and it was unbeatable.So he’d thrown what weight he had behind that casting choice, and he’d been proven right a hundred times over.
So great.Now you’ve probably got the pull it would have taken, but there’s nothing left to use it on.
He sucked in a deep breath and started pacing again.Then stopped himself.He sat down, picked up the stack of stuff he’d brought with him from the office.He stared at the item on top, rather blankly.He had to think for a moment before he realized it was a response to a query he’d made before he’d left for Texas.It had seemed urgent before he’d left, and now he could barely remember the question, let alone the details.
On the other hand, he could remember every detail of one Riley Garrett, from those deep blue eyes and cascading dark hair, to the lovely deep voice, and the perfect way she had cut ol’ Swiffer off at the knees with that exaggerated drawl and the insult the clown couldn’t even figure out.
Suddenly he was on his feet again, working on wearing a path into the floor tile.He paused at the big glass doors that faced the water and just stood there, watching the waves roll in.It was a calm day—outside at least—but they were saying another windstorm was headed in tonight.
Usually a few minutes looking at the Pacific calmed whatever was bothering him.It was why he came here to relax, because his apartment was too close to the office.It had seemed a great idea at the time, living just a few floors above where he worked, but he’d quickly learned he needed a bigger separation between the two to have any chance of ever really relaxing.
At last he gave up and headed back to the couch.He sat down, determined to try again to get through some of the accumulation.He’d only been gone a few days yet it seemed a month’s worth had piled up.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before he realized with a snap that he was sitting staring at the painting again.
So do that.
He practically spoke aloud the order to himself.He wasn’t used to this feeling, this mindless drifting, and he wanted it to stop.He got up and walked over to the small desk in what would have served as a dining room if he’d put a table in there.But this was his getaway.He was usually here alone, and the kitchen counter was fine for eating.
He pulled open the big lower file drawer.It took him a moment to find the manila envelope holding the papers he wanted, from the art gallery in Seattle.He pulled it out, undid the metal clasp and pulled out the contents.The bill of sale, the certificate of authenticity, a photograph of the painting, and the written description he set aside.That left him holding what he’d been looking for.A piece of heavy paper not unlike what Jeremy had been drawing on, with several lines of a strong, steady handwriting.
This piece was born of homesickness.The land you see here isn’t just in my heart, it’s in my soul, my blood, my very bones.And I fight for it now, just as my ancestors did in the fight my hometown is named for, Last Stand, Texas.
The ache of missing it is the second worst thing in my life.The first is missing the family who wait there for me, the family who love that land just as I do.And the first thing I intend to do when I take off this uniform for the final time, is get there as fast as I can and never leave it or them again.
If you get even a small bit of that ache I feel when you look at this piece, then I consider it a success.
Major Kyle Rafferty, USA
He remembered reading the note in the gallery, when the owner had realized he was serious about the purchase.In fact, when it came down to it, this note was probably what had decided him.The heart, the emotion in it as the artist had committed to paper his feeling about what he’d committed to canvas, had reached him on a deep level.
In fact, as he thought about it now, that was probably when the seed forStonewallhad been planted.A story about a place that could make people feel the way this man did about his home, a connection to the land—the kind of connection that had made the artist volunteer to serve his country to help protect that land—that was the kind of story he wanted to tell.
That that service had cost the artist his life, and the world more of his incredible work, only made the story more poignant, more wrenching…and more necessary for Miles to tell.
He read the note again and again and felt the same tightening in his throat that he had the first time he’d read it, standing in that gallery.Kyle Rafferty had never come home that last time, not the way he’d wanted.And he’d been buried in the uniform he’d wanted to one day take off forever.
Miles wondered if the man had written a note like this for every painting, or just for this one he’d done when he was so far away from that place he loved.If this was a one-off, surely his family would want to see it?
As his mind so often worked, it spun out a visual creation of being able to show this note to the indomitable Maggie Rafferty.And that image stuck with him over the next few days, when he seemed buried in what had piled up while he’d been gone.
But as he kept plowing through, that image kept circling in his mind, refusing to go away.He wasn’t sure exactly when he decided he needed to go back with that note, but once he had, he stomped on the accelerator to get everything done before he left.Again.He put in some long days, focusing on the reward—when had going to what Swiffer called the backside of nowhere become a reward?—so deep in work that he didn’t even realize how much time had gone by until he finished the last item on his long list and allowed himself to start planning his next trip, only to realize in two days it would be Thanksgiving.
