The Mountain Between Us. Cindy Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ His declaration at the cabin just now had been unexpectedly tender.

      They reached the new gate at the entrance to the mine, which Maggie had ordered to replace the old barrier after Lucas Theriot squeezed through the bars and fell down a mine shaft. “Looks good,” Jameso said, giving the heavy iron a tug. The gate had narrower mesh at the bottom and wider spaces at the top to let the bats who lived in the mine fly in and out.

      “That should be good, then.” Jameso started to turn away and Maggie grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back.

      “What?” His gaze searched hers, questioning.

      “There’s something I have to tell you.” She opened her purse and he took a step back, as if prepared to run.

      “What are you doing?” she asked.

      “I had a woman pull a gun on me once after she said those words.”

      The image surprised a laugh from her. “No guns, I promise.” She took out the little cardboard box that held one of the pregnancy tests and shoved it toward him.

      He stared at the box but didn’t take it. “What is it?”

      “It’s a pregnancy test. It came back positive.”

      “A pregnancy test?” He’d gone very white beneath the dark beard stubble.

      “A positive pregnancy test. I’m going to have a baby. Your baby. Well, our baby.”

      He didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look at her, just continued to stare at the box in her hand, his mouth slightly open.

      “Dammit, say something,” she said.

      At last, he raised his gaze to hers. “I . . . I . . .”

      Then Jameso Clark, modern mountain man, ski instructor, rock climber, and all-around tough guy, sank to his knees and keeled over in a dead faint.

      Olivia had the noon-to-happy hour shift by herself on Thursday. This late in the season it should have been slow, but three couples from Texas came in and all the women ordered dirty martinis, forcing Olivia to use the last of the olives. When lawyer Reggie Paxton came down from his law office next door in search of a Diet Coke, Olivia recruited him to man the bar while she went to the Last Dollar Café next door to borrow more olives.

      “Do you want garlic stuffed, pimento stuffed, Kalamata, black, or green?” one of the café owners, Danielle, asked, surveying the metal shelves in the pantry behind the kitchen. Petite and curvy, her dark hair in two ponytails worn high on either side of her head, she reminded Olivia of the heroine of one of the anime novels she’d been fond of a few years back.

      “Pimento stuffed,” she answered. “One jar should be plenty. We don’t get that much call for martinis. I’ll pay you back when we get our next grocery order.”

      “No problem.” Danielle handed over the jar of olives.

      “Hey, Olivia. You’re just the woman we wanted to see.” Janelle, Danielle’s partner in business and in life, leaned around the door. Tall and willowy, her white-blond locks cut short and wound with a pink bandana, she resembled a Bond girl, complete with an alluring German accent.

      “Me?” Olivia clutched the jar of olives to her chest. Her high-school principal and more than one former boss used to say the same thing when they were about to chew her out, but Danielle and Janelle were both smiling.

      “We’ve decided we want to paint a mural on the back wall of the dining room,” Danielle said. “Something depicting the history of Eureka.”

      “We don’t want to paint it,” Janelle corrected. “We want to hire someone to paint it for us.”

      “That’s a good idea,” Olivia said. Not that she’d ever given the décor of the restaurant much thought. And she didn’t care much about the history of the town, though Lucas was into that kind of thing. He’d spent much of the summer researching local Indian tribes and mining and stuff.

      “So you’ll do it?” Danielle asked.

      “Do what?”

      “Paint the mural. We’ll pay you, of course.” The dimples on either side of Danielle’s mouth deepened along with her smile.

      “You want me to paint a mural in the restaurant?” Olivia almost dropped the olives, she was so surprised.

      “Sure,” Janelle said. “D. J. said he thought you’d be interested.”

      “D. J.?” Her head swam. Why had D. J. been talking to the café owners about her?

      “We told him we were looking for an artist and he recommended you,” Danielle said. “He said you were really talented.”

      “I’ve always admired the jewelry you make and the T-shirts you paint and stuff,” Janelle added.

      Olivia fingered the dangling earrings she’d beaded, then smoothed the front of her T-shirt, a plain white T she’d decorated with a painting of a columbine. Just last week a tourist had asked where she could get one like it. But instead of thanking Janelle for the compliment, what came out was, “D. J. said I was talented?”

      “He did,” Danielle said. “So, will you take the job?”

      The thought of having a whole wall to cover with paint—and in such a public place—both intimidated and excited her. She’d always had a secret dream of making a living as an artist, but she’d never told a soul. How had D. J. known?

      Both women stared at her, expressions expectant. “Okay. Do you know what you want?”

      “We thought you could work up some drawings for us to look at and we’ll pick one,” Danielle said.

      “And tell us your price,” Janelle added.

      “I guess I could do that.” Could she? She hadn’t a clue how to begin, but she wasn’t about to pass up a chance like this.

      “No hurry,” Danielle said. “Maybe some time in the next week or two.”

      “Okay.” Numb, the jar of olives still clutched tightly to her chest, she turned to leave. “Thanks.”

      D. J. was just climbing out of his truck in front of the Dirty Sally when Olivia came down the walk from the café. Still basking in the warm glow of the girls’ flattery, she forgot to be angry at him.

      “Hey, Olivia,” he said.

      “Hey, D. J.”

      “You’re looking happy about something,” he said, following her into the bar. The three couples from Texas were still at their table near the front window, laughing about something. Bob had showed up and sat at the bar, talking to Reggie. Everything was the same as any other afternoon in the Dirty Sally, but for Olivia everything was different.

      She turned to face D. J. “Thanks for suggesting me to Danielle and Janelle to paint their mural,” she said.

      “They gave you the job, then?”

      “Yeah, СКАЧАТЬ