Her Unexpected Hero. Cheryl Harper
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the large open space, the white walls crying out for something.
“I’m not sure I am an artist. That’s all Miss Janet’s doing. I wouldn’t call myself anything but a...dabbler, but I have enjoyed painting. It keeps me busy, my mind occupied and out of trouble. Today, I’ve got to get moving on covering these walls. That’s the plan. Local artists of all kinds. We’ll have shelving, all painted white, for the smaller pieces, and there will be a small desk near the door.” Storefronts on Sweetwater’s main street all had history, thanks to more than a century of life, but the door’s beautiful carved wood was another kind of art. If Leanne was capturing fleeting moments in paint, whoever had crafted the door showed art was meant to last. Coneflowers were carved into the heavy lower half of the door while morning glories twirled on vines around the thick, wavy glass in the top half. “I can show you the back room. Janet has asked me to work on setting up displays, but it makes me so nervous. There’s a big difference between hanging key chains and folding T-shirts and arranging art, things people have poured their hearts into.” Leanne motioned over her shoulder. “I mean, there are people who do this for a living, you know? Planners who set art installations for galleries. Me? I’m just...” She shook her head helplessly. “She’s got faith in me, so I’ve got to give it a shot. Anyway, talking through it will help.”
Winter watched her unlock several locks on the door. “Takes security seriously, I see.”
Leanne held up her hands and made air quotes around “Art gallery,” as she said it. She shook her head. “Since most of this is my stuff, I’m not sure who she’s afraid will be breaking in to steal things. In another life that might have been me, actually, but I imagine Janet’s the only one who can turn my work into money.”
Winter glanced over her shoulder at the mist painting perched on top of the ladder. If she had a place, she’d spend money she hadn’t earned yet to own it. “If they’re all as good as that one, I get it.”
Leanne’s cheeks turned pink. “You’re kind. I’ll paint one for you. I loved your story.” Then she motioned around the room. “Some of these you’ll recognize. Kingfisher originals.” She paused in front of a collection of Winter’s father’s woven, double-walled baskets.
“Yes, I’ve seen enough of these to pick them out of the crowd.” Winter traced a finger around the mouth of a tall basket near the front. “My father’s current claim to fame and favorite conversational topic. The tradition is to pass the knowledge from mother to daughter, but my grandmother had only sons. And my father? Yeah, he only does things wholeheartedly. He’s experimenting with different materials and dyes. I’d say he needs a hobby, but this is it.” She smiled at Leanne. “I’m so glad he’s found somewhere else to store them. My mother is, too.” She’d been so wrapped up in the drama with Ash and Whit and the lodge that she’d missed her father’s exciting announcement that his work would be featured in a brand-new Sweetwater gallery, but her father had spent a lot of time since reminding everyone.
“Yeah, finding a place to put all my paintings in the tiny apartment upstairs was getting to me, too.” Leanne chuckled, the sound melodic and unexpected. Both of them had grown up in Sweetwater. They’d never been friends, but in high school, Winter heard plenty of stories about how wild Leanne was. More recently, the story of how she’d stolen Christina’s car and driven away in the middle of the night had made it all the way to Knoxville.
The rest of the story—how she’d done it to enter rehab to fight her addictions—hadn’t made it quite as fast, but the people of Sweetwater loved a good story. If it had a mostly happy ending, they’d tell it over and over.
Leanne was making her second chance work. She had a lot to be proud of.
“I’m not sure paintings like that should be stacked on the floor, but...” Winter moved over to the canvases leaning against the wall. The first one was a large piece showing The Aerie. The heavy forests of the reserve yielded to an open area that seemed almost barren compared to the shadowy forest, but the view down the valley was inspiring. It had been years since Winter had made the climb up herself.
Now that she had time on her hands, she should correct that.
“That’s one of my favorite places in the reserve. I have a few of them. It’s so easy to breathe at the top of the mountain.” Leanne cleared her throat. “We’ve got some jewelry pieces that should go in the window, and later today, the most talented stained glass artist is coming in.” Leanne nodded. “The collection will be strong—Janet has a good eye, even if she’s pushing for my stuff to be the centerpiece.”
Winter studied Leanne’s face. There would be zero chance Leanne would be comfortable as the center of attention. “Lucky for you, my father will steal any sort of spotlight in any room anywhere,” Winter said, laughing. “That has been true my whole life. I love him, but the guy is ten pounds of personality in a five-pound bag.”
“Your father is a blessing, for sure.” Leanne waved her toward the door. “Just like I know your help will be when we talk Janet into hiring you. I’ll be happy to have another set of hands here.”
As she smiled, Winter realized she’d missed this, the comfort that came from being proud of her family connections. When she’d moved to Knoxville, her plan had been to conquer the city first. She’d always intended to follow the steps all the way to Washington. With Whit Callaway, the boy she’d met in a college accounting class. Winter wasn’t the charming one; winning people over was his job. Instead, she was the strategic one. Her whole life, she’d been able to see several steps ahead.
Neither one of them had developed much love for debits or credits, but they’d instantly clicked by rolling their eyes at the professor’s snide comment about young people who refuse to choose practical careers.
She and Whit had been determined to be more than practical. They’d wanted to do something important.
Friendship was easy between them because Whit had agreed with every one of her ideals. They’d dreamed of the same thing: a career of public service. If she’d married him right out of college, that might still be the plan. Instead, she’d been determined to conquer Knoxville on her own through a job working for the reserve’s district office. She’d proven herself there and the wedding had been next. In Knoxville, everyone knew the Callaways. She was Whit Callaway’s fiancée. Here? Kingfisher was not a political name or a wealthy name, but it was respected.
“Can you help Leanne get this place set up?” Janet asked. “It might take all three of us, since we ain’t none of us done this before, but then I figure the three of us together could bring about world peace or put a person on Mars.” She shrugged. “Depending on our whims. Leanne does not have the confidence to sell her own work, but, Winter...? You could sell every one of those paintings she finishes with stories like that, no matter what price I talk her into, leaving me plenty of time to do other things.” Janet clapped her hands. “Everyone does their part. Everyone makes money. That’s my plan and I’m sticking to it.”
“I’ve got a job?” Winter asked, all the questions she’d carefully prepared about how many hours and when she might be eligible for a raise and whether or not there was a bonus for good sales tumbling around in her brain, and absolutely none of them coming out of her mouth.
“We’re focusing on local artists. Can’t imagine anyone else better prepared to tell and sell the history of Sweetwater, these mountains and the people who lived here than you, Miz Storytellin’ Kingfisher. I can’t wait to welcome the crowds we’ll draw. Minimum wage per hour. Thirty percent commission on anything you sell.” Janet’s sly smile was scary. “I expect you could be a real sales genius with the right incentives.”
Thirty percent? She’d been prepared to argue for fifteen. She’d never done this before, so Janet was taking a chance on her.
“That’s acceptable, although at the end of three months, I’d like an opportunity to sit down with you to discuss growth potential.” There. That sounded as though she knew her own value and Janet would be a fool to argue.
Janet’s