Cowboy Who Came For Christmas. Lenora Worth
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at the various forms of artwork. “So you’re an artist?”
“Yes. Mixed media.”
“Mixed what?”
She went back to the kitchen and opened the oven. “It’s just using several different ways of creating an art piece. Layering different textures and materials onto one canvas.”
“Right.”
She laughed and pointed to a big structure hanging over the fireplace. “I made that piece out of old fence boards, buttons and jewelry.”
Adan studied the piece of art and decided it did look like part of a fence. Then he saw it. “It’s the mountain. A vista.” He moved closer, amazed at the striking piece of art. “I don’t know art from Adam,” he said, “but this is real pretty.”
She smiled, obviously pleased that he’d guessed right and probably glad she’d managed to distract him. “There’s one spot down near the stream running behind the cabins where the view is incredible. I go there a lot for inspiration.”
“And so you recreated that view of the mountain with old wood and other things?”
“Yep. I go into town once or twice a month and leave a couple of pieces in the art gallery. Sometimes I go with Bettye to the arts-and-crafts shows held in several of the towns around the Ozarks and we set up a booth. She makes quilts and does embroidery on pillows and hand towels.”
That explained all the dainty stuff exploding in this room.
“Is that how you make your living?”
She stilled at that. “Yes. And I saved up before I came here.”
Okay, there it was again. A subtle evasiveness that he immediately recognized. She wasn’t telling him everything, but he only needed to know the part where Joe Pritchard came into the picture. Adan knew patience wasn’t his virtue but decided to take it easy since she was slowly opening up to him. He needed to get Pritchard and get back to Texas. First, he wanted to check on his truck and maybe move it back here near the cabins, and then he’d figure out what to do next.
He waited to see what Sophia was doing. When she started toward him with two biscuits on a plate, he stood. “I can eat that at the table.”
She shook her head. “No, here by the fire.”
“Okay.” He took the plate and stared at it for a full minute.
“Is something wrong?” she asked as she curled up in a big, broken-in leather chair, her legs tucked up under her.
“Just checking for glass or maybe poison mushrooms.”
She looked confused. “Oh, you think I’m still out to do you in?”
He sniffed at the wonderful smells coming from the plate. “Aren’t you?”
She shook her head. “If that were the case, I had all night to do it. And yet, like you said, you’re still alive.”
He leaned back and took a sip of the coffee. The taste was rich and dark and fresh, like that head of hair cascading around her face. Then he bit into the biscuit.
“Hmm, pretty good.”
“Bettye taught me how to cook,” she explained, her blue eyes going soft. “She knows how to cure ham in a smokehouse. She grew up on a farm in Alabama.”
“How’d she wind up here?”
“I’m not sure. She doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think after her husband died, she went into a deep depression. She told me once that she got in her car and drove until she found this mountain.”
“This sure must be a special place,” Adan said, his gaze taking in everything and seeing nothing out of the ordinary other than him sitting here among exotic paintings and twisted doodads eating a biscuit.
She nibbled at her own breakfast. “It’s a quiet, unassuming place. It’s peaceful and secure and...comfortable. I like a certain schedule and I like order. I’ve had enough chaos in my life.”
He zoomed right in on that last comment. “Care to talk about it?”
She looked so shocked, he figured she just now realized she’d mentioned her past. “No.”
“What brought you here?”
She glanced around as if searching for a good response. “Art. I like how everyone here is involved in folk art.”
“How did you find out that everyone here is an artist?”
She gave him a blank stare and shrugged. “Artists tend to find each other.”
“Why is everyone around here so tight-lipped?”
“You haven’t met everyone around here.”
“You have a way of answering a question with a counterstatement. Were you ever a lawyer?”
Shock again. “No. I just don’t like to talk about myself.”
“And why is that?”
She got up and threw another log on the fire. “You might be able to get out and walk around today. The snow and ice will be here awhile, so I doubt you’ll be able to get down the mountain today, but you can at least search for...that man.”
“You mean Joe Pritchard?”
Her hand stilled on a log before she tossed it into the fire. “Whoever he is.”
Hmm. A bit of defensiveness and deflection. She sure didn’t like to talk about herself and apparently, any wanted criminals, either. Adan’s burning gut told him Sophia knew more about Joe Pritchard than she was letting on. If he had any service on his phone he could run a check on her, too.
“I intend to get out and search for him,” he replied with a cool assurance that didn’t calm his stomach. Then he polished off the last of his second biscuit. “Thank you for breakfast.”
She turned and took his plate before he could set it down. “Want more coffee?”
“Sure.”
He got up and followed her into the tiny kitchen and, too late, realized this space wasn’t made for two people. They bumped together when she whirled to take his cup.
“Excuse me,” she said, a becoming blush moving down her cheeks. She lowered her gaze and held her head down.
“I can get my own coffee,” he said to fill the space.
“Let me get it.”
She took the cup right out of his hand, her fingers brushing his in a soft sizzle that surged through him all the way to the tips of his boots.
Adan backed up, regrouped and reminded himself he didn’t like entanglements of any kind. Even while he envisioned his hands entangled in all that rich auburn hair.
* * *
SOPHIA GRIPPED THE sink with one hand and scrubbed with all her might with the other hand. She hated stains.
And she also hated having Adan Harrison in her home. And she hated lying and hiding things.
But she had no other choice. Did she?
When she’d come into the kitchen earlier and seen his too-big body curled up on her too-small couch, she’d had to swallow back a shard of longing. She’d always imagined having someone special in her life, and she’d tried so hard to make that happen. Once. But once was enough for Sophia.
Having Adan asleep on her couch was one thing. Getting all fuzzy hearted and sentimental was quite another. So she’d reminded herself to stay away from the sleeping giant and to keep her hands and her daydreams to herself. After a sleepless night of trying to figure out what her next move could be, she’d decided she had to be nice to the big Texas Ranger. For now.
This man wasn’t