I hated that look.
“It’s more than that, and you know it. No matter how much you try to deny it,” she insisted.
My blood boiled, but only because I knew she was right. There was so much more than anger swirling through my veins for Nash. There was rage, bitterness, heartache, pain, and in the furthest corner… hope.
It was the sensation of hope I hated most.
It made me feel dumb and weak. I didn’t want to feel anything remotely related to hope while thinking of Nash. The fact that I did, on multiple levels, pissed me off. I’d thought that because so much time had passed since I’d been face-to-face with him I wouldn’t feel anything for him anymore. That I’d be numb to him.
But I wasn’t.
I felt everything as though it happened yesterday.
“Maybe you should try talking to him again. Work through some of the past that still bothers you,” Gran suggested. “The two of you have grown since you left, and that boy has always been infatuated with you. You’ve consumed his mind since the first hello. You know that.”
I blinked, the ground blurring as tears built in my eyes. My mind was tossed back to the memory of the night when Nash had said something similar. I’d been so happy when he’d said it too. Then the phone had rang. Then the silence came. And then his pain.
Everything we were unraveled next.
“You should give him another chance. Hear him out. Talk things through. He was hurting, Sam,” Gran insisted, her tone firm.
Was she picking sides? His side?
Pain pierced my heart like a million needles. She knew everything that happened between us. How could she choose his side over mine? I was her granddaughter. She’d raised me.
“I was hurting too.” I locked eyes with her, fighting back tears.
Gran stood and walked to where I sat. She placed a hand on my back, and I leaned into her. She moved her hand in slow, comforting circles. “I’m not making excuses for him, Sam, but he had lost his parents on top of everything else. He was going through a lot. That’s not to say that you weren’t too, though. I understand that, I do, but people handle grief differently. They hurt differently. Which isn’t something you should fault them for. You can’t be angry at someone for handling their grief in a different way than you do.”
I had a million angry things I wanted to say to her, but when she fell into a coughing fit they evaporated. I stood, worry festering through me as I stared at her.
“Are you okay?” I asked, placing a hand on her back. My eyes grew wide as I struggled to figure out a way to help her.
Maybe she needed some water? To get out of the sun? To rest?
“I’m fine. It’s just my sickness reminding me it’s still here,” she said in between coughs. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not dead yet. I just need some water. I’ll be right back. You keep weeding. I’ll bring my basket out to you so we can gather up those ripe tomatoes. The blackberries look like they’re ready to be picked too,” she muttered as she made her way inside.
I exhaled a shaky breath, watching her walk to the porch. My cell rang, pulling me from my thoughts. It wasn’t a number I recognized, but it was a Denton area code. I answered it, thinking maybe it was a buyer for a painting or someone wondering if they could showcase my work.
“Samantha Mathers,” I answered on the second ring.
“Hello, Miss Mathers.”
A shiver slid up my spine.
“Mr. Kincaid. How are you?” I asked. While he couldn’t see my facial expression, I knew he would be able to hear the irritation in my voice.
I didn’t want to deal with him and his constant desire to commission a piece from me right now. There were more important things on my mind.
“I’m well, but I would be even better if you accepted my offer.” His tone was cocky. “I need you to paint a piece for me using your talents, Miss Mathers. I’m reaching out to you again to give you a second opportunity to take me up on my offer. Whatever your price is, just name it.”
I rolled my eyes. There was no amount of money that would make me tell him yes right now. I needed to focus on Gran, not on painting something for him. “I’m sorry, but it’s still a firm no. I don’t do commissions like that.”
Heck, I wasn’t even sure I’d be able to produce a painting like he wanted on command using my gift. Especially not one for something specific, which sounded like what he wanted. The images just came to me. I’d never pushed for them.
That wasn’t how my gift worked.
“That isn’t the answer I hoped for.” His tone was harsh. So harsh that my stomach twisted and my bear immediately went on high alert.
I’d always thought the rumors about him being dangerous were true. Now I was positive.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Oh, you haven’t disappointed me, Miss Mathers, you’ve only prolonged the inevitable,” he insisted, causing my blood to run cold. “You will paint the image I ask for using your talent.” His tone was sharp and precise. It held confidence that scared me.
“I don’t—”
“Have a nice day, Miss Mathers,” he said. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
He hung up before I could utter another word. Dread spiraled through me. Damon Kincaid wasn’t a docile person. As a prominent attorney in the Denton area for well-known criminals, he wasn’t someone you wanted to tick off, and I was ninety-nine percent sure that I just had.
The back door to Gran’s opened, and I flinched. Talking with Damon had put my bear and me on edge. I looked to the porch, expecting to see Gran and saw Nash instead. He walked through the door, carrying a picnic basket
