Page 39 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
“Yes.”
“It’s incredibly detailed.”
“It has everything I love about my home,” she said simply.“I told him what I cared most about, and he delivered.”
“Then I assume the horse racing around that barrel is King?”
“Yes.”He really had noticed.To distract herself from the idea of him studying her that closely, both mentally and physically since he’d only seen the belt when she was wearing it, she went on quickly, “He’s done a lot of saddles, too, for the governor, and—” it struck her belatedly “—a couple of your cohorts out in Hollywood.Big star types.”
“I’ll have to pry into that,” he said.“But he’s doing paintings now?Like his father?”
“Yes.Once Kaitlyn convinced him he could.Oh, and fair warning,” she added, “only since all her boys got settled has Maggie gotten back into Christmas.She’ll probably have the whole place done up by now.”
“Well, it is…what, December third?”he said, with a barely concealed grin.“I mean, back in L.A.the decorations have been up for a month already.The Thanksgiving turkeys barely had any room.”
She stuck her nose up in the air and said in a purposefully stilted tone, “In Last Stand we think both holidays deserve their rightful attention.”
He laughed and flashed another glance and grin at her.“How…traditional of you.”
There was no joking in her voice now.“We respect tradition.And the past.”
“How could a town named after a literal last stand not?”he said simply.
And Riley had the thought as they neared the Rafferty ranch that for an outsider, he really did get it.
Chapter Twenty
Miles had thoughtthe Baylors went all out on the Christmas decorations—he’d spent a lot of this morning helping do just that, hanging lights, wreaths, and other seasonal décor—but the Raffertys had them beat.Even the barn had colorful lights strung along the eaves and the doors.At least, that’s what it had looked like, but when Kaitlyn the photographer came out, with a lean, quick-moving man with longish dark hair and a bit of stubble, beside her—he’d look great on camera Miles thought—he realized it was a living quarters.And artist studio?Because this had to be Rylan Rafferty.
But it was the petite older woman before him now that he needed to focus on.He’d carefully put the note, along with a printed photo of his painting, in a plastic protector before he’d slipped it into his backpack, not wanting to trust it to his checked bag that could possibly get lost.Now he gave it to Maggie Rafferty first, because it just seemed right.
He watched as she read it.Saw the sheen come into her eyes, then felt a trembling hand grip his arm just as a tear traced its way down the older woman’s cheek.He realized the touch was Riley, who had come back to his side after a quiet chat with Keller’s wife, the business whiz.He glanced at Riley in time to see her blinking rapidly as well.Clearly this family was important to her.But then from what he’d seen and been told, Maggie Rafferty was important to everyone in Last Stand.However tough life was these days for independent family ranchers—and from what he’d heard, it was tough—this woman was a bulwark for any one of them who needed it.
The Rafferty matriarch looked up at him then, and her voice was tight with an emotion that matched the tears.“I cannot thank you enough for showing us this.Kyle usually only sold paintings to locals, who already knew his story.To see this, to know that he felt whoever bought this painting needed to understand…”
She handed the note to the tall, powerful man she had introduced as her son Keller, the one who had stepped up to help hold the family together after their father was KIA.Even his eyes took on that sheen.All the brothers in turn, the man with the dogs, the tech whiz, and in particular the one who had clearly inherited this particular talent of his father’s, took a look.And they all reacted so strongly Miles knew this had been very much the right thing to do.
When the note worked its way back to Maggie, she cradled it gently in her fingers for a long moment, reading it again.And then, after drawing a deep, steadying breath, she looked at Miles.
“There are no words to thank you for showing us this.”
Miles had expected the Raffertys to be interested, and probably moved.
He hadn’t expected them to be so darn thankful to him.
She held the note out to him.He immediately shook his head.“No.No, it’s yours.I kept a copy, but the one he wrote…the one he touched…it should be here, with you.”
The whole room seemed to go still.And then, after a moment, with even more emotion echoing in her voice, Maggie said, “I’m going to have to re-evaluate my entire opinion of your world, Mr.Flint, if you’re a typical example.”
Before he could speak, Riley did.“He’s not typical, Maggie.He’s very special, in that world or any other.”
For an instant Miles forgot how to breathe.He didn’t dare look at her, for fear that what he was thinking—and feeling—would be blatantly obvious.In fact, he didn’t dare look at any of them, and instead stared at the very large painting on the wall, recognizing the by now familiar hand and style.
When he thought he could, he looked back at the widow of the genius behind that vast vista, and the one that had so influenced him and had engendered that note.
“I’m lucky to have a small piece of his talent to savor every day.It’s both peace and inspiration to me.Since I can’t thank him, this is the best I can do.”
“That will do quite well, young man,” Maggie said, briskly now.“Just remember that should you ever need anything the Raffertys can provide, you’ll have it.”
