Page 39 of Wrangling a Wild Texan

When they all looked at her, she blurted out the truth. “I can’t paint!”

All the sisters lowered their hands and stared at her with confusion.

“What do you mean you can’t paint?” Belle asked. “We all have paintings in our houses that you’ve painted for us, Sunny. Corbin and I have at least five.”

“Those were all done months and months ago, before I got painter’s block. I haven’t done anything worth putting into a gallery for close to a year.”

Liberty glanced at the covered painting Jimmy Buffett was still perched on. “What about that one?”

Sunny shook her head. “That’s not art. It’s just me flinging paint in frustration.”

“Aww, Sunny.” Belle took her hand and squeezed it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Sunny sighed. “Because I didn’t want to disappoint y’all. But I should have said something . . . especially before Corbin built me a gallery.”

Belle gave her a soft smile. “Corbin doesn’t care about a silly gallery. He cares about you. He’s been worried sick since learning about the pranks you pulled on the townsfolk.”

Sunny’s heart sank. “He must think I’m the biggest disappointment of his life.”

“I don’t think that’s how he feels at all.” Belle squeezed her hand. “But there’s only one way to find out. He’s downstairs waiting to talk to you.”

The last thing Sunny wanted to do was face her brother. But she knew she would have to eventually. It might as well be now.

She found him out back playing catch with Buck Owens and Mickey Gilley. She would have thought the long-legged poodle mix would beat out the fat pug for the ball every time. But Gilley seemed to enjoy the chase more than the ball. He ran loops around Buck, then barked excitedly when the pug grabbed the ball in his mouth.

Sunny stood by the back door and watched until Corbin glanced up and saw her. In his eyes, there was no disappointment. Just love. He dropped the ball and held out his arms. She didn’t hesitate to walk straight into them and bury her face against his chest, like she had done countless times in her life.

“I guess you’re here to figure out why your sister is such a mess.”

Corbin held her tight. “You’re not a mess. You were just a young teenage girl trying to survive the crazy life she was born into.”

She drew back. “You had the same life, Cory, and you didn’t pull stupid pranks.”

“No. Instead I became an angry young man with a huge chip on my shoulder. We both dealt with our pain the only way we knew how.” He hesitated. “But I wish you would have told me how you were feeling, Sunny.”

“You already had too much to deal with. I didn’t want you to have to worry about me too.”

“But that’s my job . . . taking care of you.”

This wasn’t the first time Corbin had spoken the words, but it was the first time Sunny had actually heard them. Before they had just been words repeated so many times that they’d become interwoven into her psyche. Corbin took care of her. He’d always taken care of her. That was his job.

Except it had never been his job. It had been their parents’ job. Parents took care of their children until their children were old enough to take care of themselves. But Corbin and Sunny had never had a normal childhood so they’d clung to the only thing that felt normal.

Corbin taking care of Sunny and Sunny letting him.

That didn’t make it right.

“It’s not your job to take care of me, Cory,” she said. “It’s time I took care of myself.”

“And you’re going to do that just as soon as you get your gallery up and running.”

She shook her head. “I’m not going to get the gallery up and running. I’m not an artist worthy of having her own gallery.”

He stared at her. “What are you talking about? You’re a great artist.”

“I’ve never been a great artist. I’m mediocre at best. Certainly not good enough to support myself with my art.”

“But what about all the paintings you’ve sold at your art showings?”

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