Page 52 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

Dallas stepped closer. Concern etched the chiseled features that begged to go on a canvas again. “Did I say something wrong? You once mentioned you wished you had your mom’s dresses. But now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Because she did see a ghost. In her mind. She suppressed a shudder as if she were still in that cold night. Then she pushed the memories away with a familiar effort. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong. She... she had pretty dresses, and a lot of them she made herself. She said I could have them when I grew up.”

Skylar had even tried them on, dreaming of the time they’d fit her. Her mother was as pretty as a spring flower. Slim, with full pink lips, expressive hazel eyes, and cherry-hued hair, her skin gentle like petals—Skylar remembered soft kisses on the cheek every morning. Even the scent of her perfume was something floral and gentle.

Skylar’s burly father, with legs as thick as trunks, unshaven with skin rough like tree bark—from the times he’d had little Skylar to climb onto his lap, rather resembled an oak. Her parents were opposites in appearance and character, and there was a seven-year-age difference, as well. According to Grandma, her son had courted Skylar’s mother for a long time before she’d agreed to become his wife. Of course, Grandma had never said so in his presence.

Had Skylar’s mother seen a mighty oak to rely on in him, as well?

Skylar had never met either one of her grandfathers, but her mother had always referred to her dad with great affection. He’d arrived in their small town with two little girls in tow, girls he’d doted on, and had settled there. He’d never said what had happened to the girls’ mother. They’d remained somewhat outsiders, keeping to themselves. He’d homeschooled both girls, and they all had rarely been seen in town. Mom’s more sociable sister had still made a few friends, but Mom hadn’t.

Skylar’s father had started courting the young beautiful artist when she’d taken a job with the florist. He’d become her best customer and gifted her back all the flowers he’d bought. She’d been polite but had declined to go out with him. All that occurred almost a year before her father had been diagnosed with cancer. A year after her father died, to the surprise of the Port Sunshine locals, they’d gotten married. On the wedding photos in Auntie’s photo album, Mom appeared distant, but Dad had a huge grin. In all those photos, he gazed at Mom while she peered somewhere far away. In the gentle lace of her wedding gown, she looked like a mist about to disappear soon.

The age gap and the timing disturbed Skylar. As if her mother had been in grief rather than in love. Unlike Dallas’s father with his wife and children, Skylar’s dad had never been violent with his family members, and he’d loved his wife and daughter with a passion. He’d always said they were his entire world. But even though her mother had a sister, it felt to Skylar now as if her mother had been desperate for emotional support and a friend then. What she’d received instead was a husband. And while spouses could be and should be friends, it wasn’t the same.

“I don’t want Mom’s dresses any longer.” Especially the one that now looked like a bloodstain in Skylar’s mind. “I don’t even wear dresses anymore.” Her wardrobe mostly consisted of business suits for work and sweatshirts or T-shirts and sweatpants for home.

“You used to.”

“Yeah.” Her voice echoed in the attic and her hollow heart as she did her best to ignore nostalgia. “Exactly. I used to. Now let’s see what we have here.”

She opened the box labeled Wedding. It wasn’t her parents’ wedding. Her father had thrown out anything connected to it and had probably burned it. If it wasn’t for the treasured photos and keepsakes her aunt had supplied, Skylar wouldn’t have a single one.

Nothing.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat.

This was a legacy nonetheless as she stroked the album cover’s cracked leather surface. Her grandmother’s wedding photos, the cover and pages yellowed from age. Beneath it, she unearthed champagne flutes decorated with faded pale-blue ribbons, centerpieces with artificial flowers, and...

Gently, respectfully, she lifted the dress, the fabric taking on a champagne hue but still holding on. Something shifted inside her. “Grandma’s wedding gown.” Grandma had given her permission to wear it for her wedding to Dallas, but the wedding had never happened.

Ooooh, she’d love to have her grandmother’s dress, with lots of lace on the bodice and a tulle skirt. Skylar would look like a swan, and she wanted to.

Well, no point thinking about it because she’d never get married. There was only one man she’d wanted to marry in her entire life, and she’d messed it up too much.

She swallowed hard and folded the dress, the silky fabric refined and glossy under her fingertips. “This box is for keepers. Let’s keep moving.” The wayshehad to.

Her mother hadn’t worn this dress. Did she betray Mom by stopping painting? Doing what she’d loved, carrying on, would’ve been one way to honor her. Skylar had failed even there.

Now her mother had disappeared like seafoam. One more thing Skylar had to blame herself for, and the knife of guilt turned again.

“Sure.” He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, but then brought another box. It had Skylar’s name on it.

“Mom was very talented,” she said defensively.

“You are, too.” He studied her.

His admiration always put wind in her sails, but she didn’t deserve it now. Curiosity piqued, she opened the box. “Let’s see what we have here.”

It held her own paintings, the few she hadn’t offered for sale before leaving for college, or rather, the ones Grandma had talked her into keeping. Skylar touched the surface of the canvas with raised paint strokes where a young girl in a canary-yellow dress ran barefoot along the tide, her long golden-bronze hair flowing in the breeze. A seashell bracelet adorned her wrist. Her arm was raised high as she waved at someone beyond the painting, beyond reach.

Out of habit, she reached for the smooth fabric of her blouse that hid the necklace Dallas had given her. She’d never taken off his necklace. But he wasn’t wearing the one she’d given him. Not that she could blame him.

“I remember the first easel you built for me,” she said slowly.

He shrugged. “It was wobbly.”

“I remember the frames you made.”

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