Chapter 4
Alexis woke the next morning, grumpy, as usual.
She stretched her arms over her head. Even the cold air of the room didn’t bother her this morning.
She scrambled from under the blankets, shoved her feet into her Bearpaw slippers, and put on her fleece robe over her flannel pajamas. They weren’t sexy, but they were warm.
She needed coffee before she felt human again. Padding out to the kitchen, she looked over at Peter, still asleep on the sofa.
He looked so handsome, relaxed in sleep.
No reporters or gallery owners, herself included, hounding him for more paintings, more stories, just more.
She wanted to push the hair back from his forehead where it had flopped in his sleep.
Instead she went to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing.
She waited impatiently for it to finish.
“Good morning.” Peter sat up on the sofa wearing only the sweatpants she’d given him yesterday.
“Morning.” She kept her eyes on the coffee pot willing it to brew faster.
“Not much of a talker in the morning, huh?”
“No.”
“Okaaay.” He stood up and headed to the bathroom.
By the time he’d returned she had the coffee in her hand and was thanking God for the magic of the coffee bean.
“Sorry. I’m not fit to be around in the mornings before coffee.”
“That’s all right. We all have demons of some kind. I’m not exactly nice to be around in the mornings either. You have more of that coffee or have you already drained the pot?”
“Very funny.” She opened the cupboard above the coffee maker and pulled out a cup, then filled it with the dark, rich, brew. “I have milk and sugar if you want it.”
“Black is good.”
“Ah, a man after my own heart.” She took another sip. “Mmmm. That’s the stuff.”
He chuckled. “You are pretty grumpy or at least not talkative in the morning. I thought I was bad, you are definitely worse.”
As she sipped more of the coffee she was getting excited about the day ahead. Her stomach was full of butterflies, but she was anxious to continue the painting from last night. They had gone to bed and left it to dry overnight.
She headed over to open the front door and look out.
“It’s still snowing just as hard as it was yesterday.
I would bet we got another eight inches or more last night.
At this rate, they won’t be able to get to us until spring.
” She murmured to herself. Then she gazed up at Peter.
“How did you sleep?” After sitting at the table, she set down her cup and wrapped her hands around it to warm them.
“Surprisingly well. Your sofa is very comfortable.”
“I know.” She grinned. “I had to sleep there while I was waiting for my bed to be delivered. It’s a great couch.”
Peter nodded toward the canvas. “Are you ready to start the real painting today?”
She moved her hands to cover her stomach. “More than ready, if these dive bombers in my stomach are any indication.”
He shook his head and chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re nervous.
Seriously, just think of me as your art teacher in school and just paint.
I want you to paint a cabin in a meadow during a snowstorm.
” Raising his arms, he looked around her cabin.
“Oh, look we have a cabin in a snowstorm. But—” He raised his right index finger.
“What you’ll paint is not a blizzard, just a gentle snow.
I want to see the trees, boulders, and so forth on the canvas, not just white. ”
Alexis swallowed hard. “Okay but what about the black canvas we painted last night?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “That’s for later. Get a new canvas for this painting.”
She stood and retrieved her palette, along with a new canvas.
Then she squeezed some brown paint onto it, took a thin brush, and ran a line down one side of the canvas.
She followed that with a press of white on one side of the brown, so that it looked like snow on a tree, not just a white line next to a brown one.
“You just drew a tree trunk. Why? No one will see it when you’re done.”
Her palms began to sweat. “Well, I need it there so I have something to put snow against and so you can see the branches.”
Peter broke into a grin and squeezed her shoulders. “That’s exactly right. Good job.”
Alexis beamed, feeling like she was ten feet tall. She couldn’t believe Peter Kincaid had said she did a good job over just a tree trunk.
She continued painting, adding trees, rocks, and a small stream.
That was on top of the snow she’d put in first. She made the trees, both trunks and branches, look like they had been covered with a light dusting of snow.
Then she added a cabin with a wide porch around it and stairs up to the porch.
To this she placed a blanket of snow on the roof of both the cabin and the porch and on the steps of the stairs.
Last, she painted a full moon, which bathed everything in a silvery light.
While she painted, Peter brought her more coffee and scrambled six eggs for their breakfast. He made her quit painting long enough to eat the eggs.
Then she was back to it. She painted for the rest of the day without stopping except to relieve herself.
Finally, she placed her palette and brushes on the table, stood back and stared at her creation.
Then she turned to Peter, lifted onto the balls of her feet, and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you. Though I’m more tired than I’ve ever been after painting, this is the best painting I’ve ever done.
I know it’s a simple landscape, but it’s so much more. ”
Red crept up Peter’s neck, and he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. It is more because you put your heart into it. And you’re welcome.”
“Now, I know why you like to teach. You’re very good at it. We’ve been at this for hours and yet I still feel exhilarated.”
He nodded. “That’s the way I feel. When you’re painting something like this, something that is so beautiful it makes you weep, you feel all your emotions right under the skin as though they are there, waiting to be touched and petted.” He placed his hands on her waist.
She didn’t back away.
He pulled her flush against his body. “Stop me now, Alexis, if you don’t want this.”
In response, she lifted her arms and ran her hands through his dark brown hair before wrapping her arms around his neck.
He lowered his head, his lips crashing onto hers.
The ferocity with which he kissed her should have frightened her, but it didn’t instead, she felt a zing and tightened her hold, kissing him back just as ferociously. Ridding herself of her loneliness in one intense kiss.
Their tongues collided and played, circling while drinking from each other as though they were dying of thirst.
He was the sweetest water she’d ever tasted, and she craved more.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both out of breath.
Peter kept his arms around her waist. “I shouldn’t have done that but I can’t be sorry.”
She smiled up at him and ran her right hand through his hair again. The texture was silky to her touch. “I’m not sorry, but—”
He loosened his hold. “I know. We can’t do this. We still have days here together and as much as I’d like to spend them in bed making love to you, I can’t. We can’t. You know that.”
“I do. I want to have a professional relationship with you, and I don’t do hookups.”
“I definitely don’t want just a hookup, and I don’t want just a professional relationship, either.
I want more. We have the opportunity to get to know each other without societal expectations because we’re stuck here for the next few days.
I’m just Peter and you’re just Alexis. Nothing else. What do you say?”
She pushed away from him, and he released her. “I’d like that. No expectations. No gallery. Nothing but two people together for a while.”
“We should fix dinner since we haven’t eaten at all today. I don’t suppose you have a bottle of wine, do you?”
“I do. I also have some more of the venison stew from last night to heat up.” She walked into the kitchen, pulled a large pot from the refrigerator, and set it on a burner of her gas stove before turning the flame to high.
“That was really good last night. You must have made a pot full.”
“I did. I tend to cook a lot and eat it until I’m sick of it and freeze the leftovers. I’m glad I don’t have to do that this time. Tonight we’ll finish whatever is left.”
She brought bowls, soup spoons and wine glasses to the table.
Then she cut some of the remaining French bread into fat slices, set them in a basked lined with a cloth napkin and folded the corners over, covering the bread.
Then she set the butter on the table and set a large trivet in the middle.
Once the stew was heated through, she set the pot on the trivet.
And retrieved a ladle from one of the kitchen drawers.
“The stew will be better tonight. It’s always better the second day.”
Peter grinned. “I know, you make my kind of stew. I’m a carrots and gravy person, too.”
Alexis ladled both of the bowls full of the savory meal.
Peter poured them both a glass of the dark, burgundy-colored Malbec wine. “This wine is perfect for this meal.”
“It’s my favorite wine. I always have a bottle or two of it on hand.” She lowered her gaze and then lifted it, clashing with his blue-eyed one. “It’s nice to have someone to share it with.”
“I agree. I take most of my meals alone, if I actually eat a meal. Why don’t you tell me more about your gallery. Why is it in financial trouble?”
They took a couple of bites of the stew before she answered.
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re right. It is better than last night, and that was terrific.”