Page 50 of A Marriage Pact for the Cowboy

“Hard candies. Maybe tourists won’t like them anyway.”

“People like anything sweet.” Maxwell liked sweet Eryn, and he should stop hurting her by ignoring her while they were together. But he couldn’t talk all the time, and she wasn’t given to a lot of chatter. Where else was his brain supposed to go besides work? Eight years of flipping houses had honed his focus.

“There’s a candy place in Helena, too, I found in search. It’s called Parrot Confectionary. I wonder if they sell wholesale?”

“Helena?” That was an hour and a half in the opposite direction and not compatible with today’s outing. “We could check it out sometime. It’s the State Capitol and worth the visit from what I hear. The architecture is off the charts.”

Eryn chuckled. “I want to eat candy, and you’re thinking of buildings?”

“Helena was the wealthiest city in the world per capita in the 1880s when it became Montana’s capital. I’ve seen photos of the mansion district. Super impressive houses.”

“Fancier than your mom’s house in Gilead?”

Maxwell blinked and glanced over at Eryn. “Yes? The house in Gilead is fairly ordinary, all things considered.” Too late, he remembered the state of the Ralston farmhouse a mere few miles away. “At least, it didn’t seem special to me, growing up. It was just where we lived.”

And Eryn’s pensive face closed off.

What was she thinking, harboring romantic fantasies about Maxwell Sullivan? If the house in Gilead was nothing special, he’d forgotten how the other 99.9% of America lived. More likely, he’d never known. Never thought about it.

Inexplicably, he was fascinated by her right now, but that wouldn’t last. He’d remember her lowly circumstances and how her dad had lost the farm. It might be fun for him to be a hero right now — and she couldn’t deny that he’d made a huge difference in her life, hers and Dad’s — but the novelty would wear off. When it came time for him to settle down, it would be with a woman who didn’t gape at the opulence of his family home.

She didn’t stand a chance, nor should she. Getting out of Kansas was good, though. Dad seemed to love what he was doing on the ranch. Eryn would do her best to put the gift shop on a firm footing, then she’d be better off looking for a different job nearby where she could still see Dad often. Maybe she could serve at the Golden Grill or somewhere like that.

Anyplace where she wouldn’t run into Maxwell several times a day and wonder when he’d tire of her, because it was coming. The second shoe always landed on the floor, sooner or later.

But the next few hours flew by as they chatted with assorted artisans, ending up in a lovely lakeside pottery studio in a former carriage house.

“This is lovely,” Eryn breathed, looking around. The space was tidier than that of any other artisan she’d met today.

“I’m glad you like it.” The potter, Trinity, smiled, her gaze not quite meeting Eryn’s, though the words sounded genuine enough.

“Which pieces have sold best at our gift shop in the past?” Eryn pulled out her tablet to take notes.

“Tourists seem to love mugs,” Trinity replied. “We’ve also done well with small platters. Things that can go in a carry-on without too much chance of breakage.”

“That makes sense.” Stained glass might not be the best option, in that case, though Aurora had seemed quite interested in displaying suncatchers of assorted styles.

“Are these all the styles you’re currently producing?” The mossy greens were lovely, but Eryn had been envisioning something in blue or gray.

“Yes. I’m not into experimenting quite as much as I used to do.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” Most artisans seemed to want to stretch, not pull back.

The woman smiled. “I’m 80% blind, and my husband has his own business, so he isn’t always here to bounce ideas off of or tell me if something works.”

“Blind?” It might have seemed insensitive to blurt the word back to the potter, but it would explain the lack of solid eye contact. “You can do all this without actually seeing it?”

Mind blown.

“I have some peripheral vision, but that’s not helpful for detailing.”

Maxwell shifted beside Eryn. “This is amazing work, Trinity. I was super impressed even before you told us that.”

“Yes, I agree.” Eryn sidled closer to Maxwell, not that blindness was contagious.

“I have a form of macular dystrophy called Best Disease. It only began manifesting about five or six years ago. Thankfully, I already knew my way around my studio before then, but there are stories of potters who started after blindness occurred, and some who never had sight to begin with. At least, I remember what colors are and how they work together. Also, Dale helps a lot with that when he’s home.”

“Amazing,” Eryn breathed. The pieces were truly breathtaking on their own. Now they seemed even more special. “Your website didn’t say anything about it.”

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