Chapter 5 #2
“Give them to me buddy. We’ll see what this is about.”
Seth handed it to him. “Read the note out loud to me.”
He read,
Dearest Joe,
I’ve done something that you might initially be upset about.
All I ask of you is that you think about this carefully.
I’ve bought one of the foals Stanley sired.
For Seth. It breaks my heart that he can’t come here and pet Stanley anymore.
And won’t it be fun for him to have his own pony?
Please don’t react to the money I spent.
Instead, think of the difference Cinnamon will make in your sweet little boy’s life.
With all my love,
Scarlet
Seth’s eyebrows skyrocketed. “Please, don’t say no, Daddy.” He rarely used the childhood nomenclature.
Joe swallowed hard. Since his mother left them a year ago, Seth expected so little out of life, it made his heart hurt.
“I’m not going to say no, honey. It’s very generous of Scarlet to do this since you can’t see Stanley. We’ll keep the papers and wait for Cinnamon to come.”
Seth started to cry. “Honest, Dad?”
“Honest son.” He dropped down onto the floor and hugged the boy. “Let me see the picture.” He stared at the absolutely beautiful foal. “We’ll talk over dinner about what we need to do to get ready for her.”
Seth kept hold of him and mumbled, “Thanks,” against Joe’s chest.
After a bit, he drew back and picked up the papers. They were ownership documents. “We should call her before we eat and thank her. Let’s go to the kitchen and get my phone.”
When they were settled at the table, he clicked into her number and handed the cell to Seth. “Oh, my gosh, Scarlet, thank you for the pony. Dad said we can have her.”
He couldn’t hear her answer.
Seth said, “She wants to talk to you.”
“I’d like some privacy.”
Seth frowned. “You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”
“No, I promise I won’t. Now skedaddle.”
When he was alone, he said, “Scarlet. Thank you for doing this for him. I am going to accept your gift because, like you said, Seth can’t see Stanley.”
“Which is my fault.”
“No, it’s the culprit’s fault. You have no idea how much this means to us.”
“I do know, Joe. I do. And I’m so happy you’ll take her. Now when do you want her delivered?”
“As soon as possible. We can get the stall ready fast. I don’t want to wait until we build the paddock.”
“I could help with that, financially.”
“No way. You’re doing enough, darlin’”
* * *
Juliet finished early today at the collective and decided she needed to have some fun. The boys’ grandparents were picking them up from school and taking them out to dinner, so she had free time—which was a rarity.
After closing and locking the studio, she changed into jeans and her smock, then ducked her head into Oliver’s waiting room. “I’m going to leave early. There are three of you still here to walk out together.”
“Sure.” He nodded to her clothes. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m heading to the art gallery to paint one of the pictures there. It’s going to be a gift to Scarlet.”
“That’s sweet.” He stood. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
“Then you have to walk back alone. Besides, there are two guards out there in broad daylight.”
“All right, I’ll call one of them over.” He shook his head. “I hate this.”
“Me, too.”
The guard arrived and walked her to her car. The early afternoon sunlight felt wonderful on her face and arms.
Pushing negative thoughts aside, Juliet drove away from her place of work smiling.
The art gallery was off a busy street in downtown Rockford, but they had a decent-sized parking lot.
Grabbing her rolling, suitcase-like paint box she kept in the trunk, she wheeled it into the gallery.
She loved the cozy reception area that held some beautiful Henry Moore sculptures and the hushed atmosphere even out here.
“Hi, Patrice,” she said to the woman at the front desk.
“Hey, Juliet. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to paint today. I’m working on a gift for a friend.”
“How sweet. You know where the chairs and easels are. Do you need some help? I can call a workman.”
“No, thanks. I got it.”
“Have fun.”
Juliet deposited her paint box in front of the Rice Prescott Horse and Woman, then got an easel and chair from the little storage area in this part of the gallery. Designed as the room to copy the masters, the artists of the paintings in here had given their approval.
She took out the small collapsible table and the canvas she carried in the suitcase and set out the paints. When she opened them, the sweet fruity scent of the acrylics, with undertones of citrus and geranium, calmed her immediately.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in slowly, then out again, repeated the practice a couple of times, then lifted her lids and studied the Prescott painting. It was so beautiful.
She picked up a light pencil designed to draw on a canvas and sketched out the elements of the painting to define composition, proportions and placement.
The background, a cloudy sky above wide swaths of sunlight, sat behind a snowy field with a barn at the top. From there, a path started at the house and curled down to three barren trees, then past a miniature horse and woman.
She mixed a dollop of dark red with a small amount of brown and dipped her paintbrush in it. She was concentrating hard when a man came up beside her. She’d noticed him earlier as the only other patron in the room. “Hello.” His voice was a warm, rich baritone.
“Hi, there.”
“Mind if I watch you paint?”
“Not at all. Just step back a little.” He stood off to the side of her as she applied the first coat on the barn.
“That’s lovely,” he said when she finished. “You mixed the colors exactly right.”
“Thanks.”
“I was studying this picture earlier. I’m thinking the artist should have filled in those trees more. They’re kind of blah.”
“No, you’re wrong about that. Prescott did that, I think, to fit in the overall stark mood of the work.”
“What do you think the mood is?”
“Solitude.”
“I read somewhere that Prescott thought it portrayed loneliness.”
“I don’t agree at all. The woman has the horse. That’s a joy.” She shrugged. “But what do I know?”
“If the barn is any indication, it seems you know a lot about art.”
“Thanks.” She pivoted to study him. His hair, the same color as hers, was cut short on the sides and longer on the top. He wore a dark brown summer hoodie with a yellow t-shirt beneath it.
“I’m Juliet Sullivan, by the way.” She was usually more shy with people she didn’t know, but being here as an artist gave her confidence.
“I’m Ryder Pace.”
“Ryder. Nice name.”
“Hmm. I’ll let you get back to it, Juliet Sullivan. Nice meeting you.”
“You, too, Ryder Pace.”
After he left, Juliet felt a fission of fear. Oh dear, could that man be the culprit who was after the collective? She got up immediately and walked out to the reception area.
“Hey Patrice. Do know anything about that man in there?”
“Ryder Pace? He comes here a lot.”
Thank God.
“You don’t recognize the name, do you?”
“No, I don’t. Is he someone famous?”
“Infamous, I’d say. People Magazine called him a playboy billionaire. Pretty popular with the ladies.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow pop culture.”
She went back in and resumed painting. Soon, she was immersed in her craft. An hour later, she packed up her things, took hold of her roller and left the gallery.
“Thanks for letting me do this.”
“We encourage budding artists to come and paint the ones that have artist approval.”
“I know. That’s what makes this place special. I’ll see you again.” Briefly, she wondered if she’d ever see Ryder Pace again. Probably not. Which was okay, even if she did think he was pretty damn gorgeous.