Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Chloe sat crisscross applesauce in the grass by the gently lapping waters of the lake in Hamish’s backyard. The short easel Daddy had bought for her–along with damn near every color of paint, type of brush, and canvas that hobby shop in town had to sell–was set up in front of her, close enough for her to paint in the smallest details the orange pink skies as the sun rose above the water.
The sky was pink, with shocks of bright orange rushing up from behind. The reflection on the water caught both colors brilliantly, as well as the green of the grass and all the dots of purple heather growing in clumps all down the highland mountains into the valley around her. It was beautiful, but something was missing and with every wasteful minute that her brush hovered motionless over her canvas without painting frustrated her.
She threw down her brush on her handheld pallet of paints, rubbing her forehead. What was she doing? She’d had such a clear idea in her brain when she’d started this, and now… Nothing. Her vision felt off, somehow. What was she doing wrong?
A soft clatter of dishes and the swish of footprints through the shin-high grass caught her ear just before Hamish arrived, like the silent shadow he knew how to be.
She glanced up just as he set a snack tray down in the grass beside her.
“Fresh brewed Highland tea, scones, clotted cream and strawberry, and hearty sausage,” he said as she perused the choice of food on the tray.
“Looks yummy,” she approved, setting down her pallet in favor of picking up a scone. It looked like a biscuit, only the bread was denser, cut in half with the cream and strawberry jam generously layered in the middle.
Folding up his legs before dropping to sit beside her. Brushing his hands off on his pants, he made himself comfortable. “My mum used to make these all the time. I borrowed her recipe. It’s the best you’ll ever have in your mouth.”
One bite had her instant agreement.
“Mm,” she said, licking a dollop of cream from the corner of her mouth and a smear of jam off her thumb. “This is really good.”
She’d never had clotted cream before. Soft, with a texture similar to cream cheese, she savored the slightly nutty flavor complimented perfectly by the sweetness of the jam.
“I love strawberries.”
Hamish studied the water, a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth as he no doubt made a mental note of that. Now and then he glanced at her painting. “You’re a good artist,” he finally said, admiring her work.
Yummy scone or not, her bad mood returned. “I don’t know about that. I’m ready to scrap this and start over.”
“Why?”
Her frustration bubbled over. She only wished she knew.
“Because it’s not right .” She flounced. “Something’s missing.”
Hamish studied her painting. “Like what?”
“If I knew that, I’d know how to fix it,” Chloe grumbled under her breath. It was so quiet in the valley, the silence broken by the gentle rolling waves, birdsong, and the lulling sound of the breeze fluttering through the tall, waving grass, and she said it nowhere near quietly enough for him not to hear.
She stole a peek, hoping she hadn’t just got herself into trouble again. She was midway through her vacation now, but she wasn’t even through her first week with Hamish before learning her temporary Daddy had a thing about tone. If hers wasn’t respectful in any way when she spoke to him, then she was definitely in trouble.
He didn’t look offended. Grunting noncommittally, he asked, “How can I help?”
Without someone else stepping in to finish the painting for her? She had no idea. She rubbed her eyes again. “I don’t know. Maybe I just need a break to think about it.”
He looked at her while she frowned at her waterscape until he nudged her shoulder with his own. Glancing at him, she waited, finally asking, “What?” when he didn’t say anything.
Bracing his hands on his thighs, he heaved himself up off the ground. “Come on,” he beckoned with a nod of his head toward the water.
“Uh… that water looks incredibly cold, and I don't really feel like swimming.”
“You’ve done nothing but paint for the last five days,” he replied, and beckoned with his hand this time for her to follow him. “Come on. It’s time you did something fun. Something to get the creative juices flowing again.”
Curious, she followed him part way around the lake where a weathered pier stretched out across the water. As blue as the reflection of the sky was on the loch’s surface, she was surprised when she glanced over the side to see how dark the water really was. It smelled peaty, which went a long way toward explaining why the ground around the lake felt so soft.
A black box made of thick plastic sat at the very end of the pier to the right. It had seemed so small from where she’d been painting on shore, but the closer she grew to it now, the bigger it became.
“What is that?” she asked, pointing.
The corner of Hamish’s mouth quirked into a smile, but all he said was, “You’ll see.”
Waiting for Hamish to lead the way, she followed him out to the end of the pier. She watched curiously as he opened the box, leaning down to remove a smaller version of what looked a lot like a skateboard with boot locks and round engine exhausts on the bottoms.
“Seriously,” she asked, “what is that?”
“A flyboard. Want to see how it works?”
She perked, grinning. “Yes, please.”
Chloe watched in growing excitement while he set it up, sitting down on the end of the pier while he strapped his boots to the flyboard. He had the board right against the surface of the water, his arm hugging a pier post as he reached into the box and turned it on.
The box roared to life, the sound very much like a full-blown watercraft starting up right next to her. She jumped, but that minor startlement vanished when she saw him lift. Within seconds, it seemed, he had his balance. He hovered above the surface of the water until he was stable. A leap of excitement erupted from her gut into her chest, making her heart thunder as he maneuvered the flyboard as close to her as the pier would allow.
Never In her life had Chloe done anything like this. But when Daddy held out his hand, she took it.
“Careful now,” he directed. “Turn around and step back onto the board. Put your feet between mine.”
His were strapped in as far apart as the board would allow. Turning her back, she did as he said, her body thrilling as he wrapped one strong arm around her and with his other tapped at buttons on his vest.
The box roared louder and suddenly they shot up a good six feet into the air. She grabbed at him, hugging the arms holding her securely to his chest..
“Relax,” he murmured, his hot breath caressing her ear. “I've got you.”
He did too, and above the water they soared, flying in air so weightlessly, the morning breeze sweeping through her hair and the skirt of her dress. She laughed out loud, delighted as he swirled her around and around, up and down, and when he took her in those tight circles, centrifugal force swept her feet off into the empty air, but Daddy's grip never weakened.
He danced her all over the hundred-some-odd feet of distance the hose connected to the flyboard allowed. He laughed when she squealed, delighting her all over again. At one terrifying, exhilarating moment he scooped her all the way up into his arms while she clung to his neck, shrieking laughter.
She squealed as he took her up so high a drop from this distance would break bones. She wasn't afraid. Daddy had her, just like he’d said, and god if she didn't love him for that.
Jesus Christ. She loved him. She loved his grumpiness and treasured every one of the smiles she sometimes coaxed from him. He was smiling more and more these days. Theirs was definitely not the standard landlord-and-temporary-tenant relationship.