Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Yes,” I said, the excitement I felt clear in my voice. “These are by the same artist.” I set them down on the mahogany counter. “Are you able to tell us where you got them?”
She frowned as she tapped a finger to her chin. “I’m sorry, but I can’t recall. Most of those pieces in the back, I’ve had for many years. My daughter used to help me collect items for my store before she got married and moved to New Hampshire, so there’s a chance she picked those up. I add to the collection now and again, but I rarely look through them.”
My shoulders dropped. Damn. “Are you able to tell me anything at all about these paintings?” The irony that I was posing as an art appraiser and yet was asking for a professional opinion about two pieces of art didn’t escape me.
“Hmm,” she hummed as she leaned forward and perused the two paintings, moving her head as she looked from one to the other. “I’d say they’re charming, but not masterful. The artist does seem to possess a talent for evoking emotion.”
“Yes,” I agreed, delighted by the fact that my instinctive assessment matched up to this woman’s more knowledgeable opinion.
Gage stepped up next to me as he removed a business card from his wallet. “If you happen to remember where you got these, or see any others like them with these initials, will you give me a call?”
The woman took the card and glanced down at it. “Certainly, Mr. Buchanan.”
I moved to take my credit card from the small wallet I was carrying around my wrist, but the woman waved me away. “No charge. Consider it my contribution toward identifying your artist.”
I let out a breath as I lowered my arm. “That’s very kind of you.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said as we were walking to Gage’s car.
He smiled over at me. “Our treasure hunt started on a high note,” he said. “But you know what I’m wondering, right?”
I looked over my shoulder at him as he opened my door. “If there’s another diary entry behind these?”
“Exactly. Get in and let’s find out.”
He walked around the car and got behind the wheel and started to take one of the paintings off my lap, but I put a hand on his. “Let’s open the backs of these once we get back to Faith’s.” I saw Gage nod in my peripheral vision as I ran my hand over the glass, my heart giving a thump. My father painted these. His hand drew these lines. I stretched my own fingers out, wondering which parts of me that obviously didn’t come from my mother, came from him. Or perhaps his mother, or her mother before that. I suddenly felt part of a larger whole whereas all my life, I’d only considered myself a Mud Gulch Casteel. My father and his family felt close all of a sudden, closer than they’d ever felt, and I realized that since I’d arrived in the Pelion Lake area, I hadn’t felt that pull that I’d experienced all my life.
Had I simply been too involved in my treasure hunt to notice it? Or had it gone away because I’d arrived just where I’d been meant to be?
I felt energized, not only because I’d just found two pieces of art, but because the last diary entry we’d read had mentioned the founding member flirting with my mother, reinforcing that I was on the right track. He was the important man she’d told me about. I was so incredibly glad I’d taken the risk and followed what I believed to be my mother’s nudge.
I lay my head back on the plush leather of Gage’s rental car, turning my head just enough to look at him without him being able to tell that he was being observed. My eyes wandered over his strong profile, lingering on the crease between his brows. What was he thinking so hard about? Did he realize how much he frowned when he thought no one was watching? What are you so troubled by, Mr. Perfect?
The more time we spent together, a better picture of Gage Buchanan emerged. I considered what we’d talked about in the car before arriving at Haven’s Gate, about his continued assertion that he was honored by the pressure he felt to carry on his father’s legacy. Did he even realize how tense he got when he talked about his incredible luck? His immense privilege? His duty to make his parents happy? There was no joy in the subject for Gage. Did he realize that he spoke on the subject as if it was rehearsed, like he’d been repeating it in his head all his life? I didn’t think he did. Which made me suspect something about it was less than natural, like maybe he was attempting to convince himself of something that wasn’t true.