Stella squatted down to pet the animal. It quieted and took a tentative step towards her, tempted by her offered hand and the promise of a few ear scritches. She stooped lower and saw it was a boy. “Good boy. Good dog.”
The sound of her voice startled the animal, and he launched into his yapping again.
Over the barking, another voice joined the fray. “I’m so sorry! Bad boy, Bandit. No, no.”
“He’s fine!” Stella yelled back over the cacophony.
The woman scooped the dog up and propped him on her hip like a baby. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a smooth, low ponytail, and her face was makeup-free from what Stella could see. She looked young, but held herself with a poise that made Stella feel inferior, especially in her sweaty, paint-covered clothes.
“I keep him on a leash out back, but the littler stinker tore through the leash and decided accosting guests would be much more fun.” She was chastising the dog in a high-pitched baby voice while scratching under his neck. Something told Stella this interaction wasn’t going to force the dog to change his ways.
“Are you another one of the Baldwins?” Stella asked, noticing the way the woman referred to the guests.
“Melanie,” the woman said shyly. “And this is Bandit.”
Stella reached out and patted the now-docile dog’s head. “We’ve met. Very welcoming fellow.”
“He’s a total sweetheart, but a bit too territorial. I’m working on it,” Melanie said, exasperated. Her expression changed as she studied Stella for a moment. “You wouldn’t be Stella Pierce, would you?”
Stella held her arms out to her side. “The one and only, in all my glory.”
“My mom told me Tasha roped you into painting sets for her. I’m not at all surprised. Tasha has an eye for spotting talent, and I saw your painting on the deck. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you, that’s really sweet. I’m way out of practice.”
“No, really,” Melanie said, suddenly serious. “I love the painting so much. I’m partial to landscapes, especially ones I’m familiar with, and you had such a beautiful take on the natural splendor around the inn. With those pastel colors, it would be beautiful in a nursery. Actually, come to think of it, I’d love to buy it off you.”
Stella was stunned by the offer. She had never sold a piece of art before—the kitschy signs she painted for her mom’s flea market sale were going to be the first—and now she had sold a piece without even trying.
“Are you decorating a nursery right now?” she asked. “Consider it a baby shower gift.”
Melanie’s eyes widened, and a pale flush rose into her cheeks. “No, nothing like that. I’m not even married. I just—the pastels made me think of a nursery, that’s all. It’s a beautiful painting regardless, and I’d like to buy it from you.”
Stella shook her hand. “Your mom pushed the supplies into my hands, so the painting is yours. Free of charge.”
“I couldn’t. Your work is so beautiful. You deserve to be compensated for it.”
“You can and you will. I had enough fun painting it that I don’t need payment to make the experience worth it. Your family has been kind to me, and it’s the least I can do in return.”
Before Melanie could argue further, the door to the Willow Beach Inn opened. Georgia walked out onto the porch as Bandit squirmed wildly in Melanie’s arms. Melanie fought him for a moment before it became pointless, and she had no choice but to put him on the ground. The moment his feet hit the path, he darted to Georgia, tail wagging low between his legs, and his ears pushed back. He rolled onto his back when Georgia began petting him, crooning what a good boy he was.
“That good boy nearly mauled a paying guest!” Melanie scolded.
Georgia looked shocked, but she was still smiling. “He was just protecting his granny. But I am sorry, Stella. Will some daytime wine help you forget the trauma?” Georgia lifted an arm into the air, a bottle of wine in her hand. The door behind her opened again, and Alma from the Duke Saloon walked out, grabbing the bottle out of Georgia’s hand as she passed.
“Day wine cures almost every ill I can think of,” Alma announced. When she said it like that, it was hard to disagree. “Come on, you two, join us.”
A third woman came through the door, her curly gray hair a halo around her round face. “They can only come if there is more wine inside. I need two glasses minimum.”
“Only two glasses, Gwen?” Alma scoffed. “I’ve lived here for years, and I still forget what lightweights you non-Texans are.”
“Non-Texans? Is that how you view the world, Alma—Texans and non-Texans?” Georgia patted Bandit’s side as he hopped up and scurried down the porch to Melanie. “It seems rather reductive.”
“I used to think of everyone as Texans and ‘people who wish they were Texans,’ so you should applaud my progress.”
The women had an easy, joking rapport as they took up seats in the white wooden chairs scattered around the porch. Georgia and Alma kicked their feet up on the glass coffee table in the middle of the circle of chairs, but Gwen slipped off her sandals and curled her feet up underneath her. Stella could tell this was a regular ritual for the friends, and even though Georgia kept waving her onto the porch, she was afraid to intrude.
“I’d love to chat with you ladies, but I’m afraid Colin is waiting for me,” Melanie said.
“You’re not afraid of nothing!” Alma yelled, letting out a long wolf whistle. “Go tell that delicious boyfriend of yours hello from me!”
“Tell your husband I say hello,” Melanie said with a scandalized smile, putting a meaningful amount of emphasis on the word.
Melanie quickly arranged to pick
