Page 26 of Lorcan
Cody shot me a glance.
I shrugged. “You can put your feet up at the end of a long day taking care of other people.”
“It’s not like I’m on my feet.” His expression was dubious.
“Hard work intellectually can be as draining as manual labor, and it doesn’t end when your day is done. I do love that about my job—I get to go home at the end of day, and I don’t have to think about work until the next morning. That means everything.”
“I guess…I never really thought about it like that.”
“That painting must bring you comfort.”
He smiled a little wistfully. “It does. I find it reminds me of the ranch—even though Healing Horses doesn’t have a view like that.”
“Who’s the artist?”
“Douglas Matheson.” He held out his hand. “Come, and I’ll show you another piece of artwork worth noting.”
I took his hand—with some trepidation. This gesture felt intimate in a way I wasn’t fully prepared to explore at this junction. But I let him lead me to his bedroom.
The sun still shone brightly—although it was moving westward, and no longer poured direct light into this room. Still, the vivacity of the room spoke to my heart.
The wall behind the bed was a vibrant aquamarine. It complemented the navy blue of the comforter and the soft beige of the bedside lamps.
All this sank in within mere moments of entering the room. Then my attention was pulled toward the painting above the bed. My breath caught. “Is that a Tessa Carlysle original?”
“Yep.” He puffed out his chest. “An earlier piece.” He grinned. “My aunt taught her in high school. Nurtured the artist’s talent. Encouraged her to study art in university.”
“The world owes your aunt a debt of gratitude.”
Douglas Matheson might be a competent artist. His painting in the living room was proof of that.
But Tessa? Her work adorned galleries across the country. Her paintings could command huge sums of money.
Often, the designer who we’d worked with would try to obtain pieces by her for the homes we finished. Sometimes buyers would pay big bucks for the prestige.
“You know she sells smaller pieces at a local gift store.”
My gaze shot to Cody.
“Yeah, most people don’t know that. She donates the proceeds of those paintings to a local charity. They’re not as large as—” He gestured to the painting over his bed.
She’d painted a loon mid-flight. A stunning representation of nature. The intricacy and delicacy of the work spoke to years of perfecting a craft and hours upon hours spent applying brush to canvas. “It’s amazing.”
“Especially because it’s one of Tessa’s earlier works. My aunt gifted the painting to me upon my graduation from Simon Fraser University with my PhD. She has two smaller works thatshe intends me to have when she passes. That said, I’ve made her promise she’ll never die.”
I chuckled. “Have you ever found that to work?”
Another shadow crossed Cody’s face. “No. Much as I wish I could say otherwise, I’ll admit defeat on that. We none of us live forever.” He gazed at the painting. “But some of us go before our time.”
“Or you can see it as that being their time—even if they didn’t live to old age.”
He shot me a glance. “That’s a philosophical perspective I can’t embrace. I think we should fight for every last moment on this earth. That someone might still make contributions, even as they age.”
I’d hit a nerve. I just couldn’t figure out which one. So I pointed behind me. “Walk-in closet and a bathroom?”
“Yeah. You can do a thorough examination and let me know if you find any deficiencies.”
We’d dropped hands when we stepped into the room and I’d been so blown away by the Carlysle. This time, I offered my hand to him.
