“Which one do you want to paint?” her grandma had asked her as Mom set out the paints.
“Baby Jesus.”
“Then you paint baby Jesus.”
“You help me.”
So, she and her grandma had painted baby Jesus. She was sure it was the best thing she’d ever attempted. It was important. She’d learned enough about this part of Christmas to know that Mary was the mother of Jesus, and Jesus would save the world. At age five, she wasn’t sure what that meant, but she knew if the world she lived in with her family was in trouble, she’d want it saved.
And then her world had crashed. And nothing, or no one, had saved it.
“Riley?”
She composed her features into an expression she hoped would appear relaxed, then she turned. “Yes?”
He pressed his lips together, holding back a smile.
“What is it?” Was he mocking her? Had her inner turmoil manifested itself outwardly and he’d picked up on it? Did it amuse him?
“You have paint on your face.”
“Oh.” She rubbed at her cheek. “Where?”
“Well, now there. But here, too.” He brushed at the side of his nose.
“Here?” She tried again.
He chuckled. “Just—don’t touch your face.”
She looked at her hands. Wet paint had smeared along the inside of her index finger.
“Here.” Mark grabbed a roll of brown paper towels and tore off a couple big pieces. He got them wet at the sink and gave her one. “For your hands.” He held up the other piece. “May I?”
She nodded, swiping angrily at the smears of paint on her fingers.
He took the corner of his wet towel and dabbed it on her nose.
“I must have itched there while I was thinking.”
“It happens,” he said.
Riley watched his chin as he smoothed the towel over the spot on her cheek. “Thanks.”
“Not a problem.” He gave her his left side, inspecting his work. “I think we got it all.”
“Great.” She looked away under his scrutiny.
“Sorry if I upset you. I seem to do that a lot.” He took her wadded up towel and tossed it with his into the nearby trash can. “Do you want to talk more about my arms?”
She choked on a laugh.
He grinned. “No?”
She shook her head. “No.” She could mention his chin, and how women dig strong chins. But she wasn’t going there.
He backed away and grabbed the sheep figure and placed it on a set of chairs. He glanced at her, and she realized she was still standing, doing nothing.
“If my arms are too magnificent for you, I can move to the other side of the room.”
“I said attractive, not magnificent. I’ll try to control myself.”
He turned away to work, but she could tell he smiled.
Riley stretched as they finished up the first coat of paint on the last figures. Working over boards was different than painting at an easel, but she always got tight through her shoulders.
“We have a good hour until we can start the second coat. What do you want to do?” She hadn’t thought of passing the time between coats.
“We could go for a drive.” Mark replaced the paint lid on the can and took the brushes to the sink. “Do you have something I can wrap these brushes in to keep them from drying out?”
She went to a drawer and found a container. “This should work. Where would we drive?”
He set the container with the brushes above the sinks. “There’s a drive I’ve been wanting to take up Hay Canyon before the big snows hit. Haven’t made it yet this year.”
“But it’s already dark outside. What would we see?”
“Depends on what you’re looking for. Perspective is good.”
Ten minutes later, they were driving up a narrow dirt road. They bounced and jostled—well, she mostly bounced and jostled. Mark managed to sit firm, his hand on the steering wheel, looking like he drove roads like this every day.
After hitting a particularly jarring dip, Riley spoke up. “Are you punishing me for something?”
He shook his head, smiling. “You should see this drive in the spring. You can see the whole valley greening up. Cherry trees bloom first, and pear.”
“I remember the cherry blossoms in DC.”
“You’ll love it. Up here you get daisies and black-eyed Susans and those purple flowers. Mom painted a ton of flowers.” Mark slowed down to make a turn. “She’d bring her camera up here when the light was good and snap away. Fall’s good, too.”
Riley gripped the armrest. “You come up here a lot, then?”
“A few times.” He glanced at her. “Mostly in full daylight. I haven’t been up here at night much. It’s really just a maintenance road. Power lines. We were called up here once for a small grass fire, and it became a favorite spot. But it’s been a couple of years.”
“What made you drive up here at night?” It was barely seven o’clock, and she couldn’t see a thing past the headlights.
“Nothing you’d like to hear about,” he said, eyes on the road.
“Oh,” she said, knowingly. “Girls.”
He shrugged.
“Did your daddy know you brought girls up here, Mister Gentlemen-always-walk-ladies-to-their-cars?”
“If he did, he didn’t let on. And it was only one girl.” The smile had left his voice. “And only once. Besides, there wouldn’t be much to look at during the day. Everything’s brown except the pines right now.” His tone brightened. “After it snows, snowmobiles might be fun.” He glanced at her, then back to the road.
“I’ve never been on a snowmobile,” she said.
“Dad would say we’d have to remedy that.”
She watched him in the glow of the lights from the dash, unsure how to respond. After another minute, the road leveled out, and he turned the truck around, backing it against the slope of the mountain and shutting the engine off.
He leaned back in his seat and dropped the keys in the cup holder, staring ahead of him. The overhead light that had blinked on would fade soon.
He caught her watching and turned in his seat, his
