Page 73 of Outside the Veil
The truck was there, as always. The dog was nowhere in sight. She was about to turn around and drive off when she spotted a gorgeous bit of beefcake at the side of the house. He sat at an easel, brush in one hand, artist’s palette in the other, his incredible, long black hair falling loose down his bare back.
She chuckled at herself, palms sweating, as she grabbed her ranger’s hat from the front seat and got out to say hello.
“Morning,” she said with a wave as he turned toward her. “Sheila LeBan, Fundy Park Service. Thought I’d stop by, see if everything’s all right. Knew someone’s staying here. Hadn’t seen hide nor hair of you, though.”
The man watched her approach with one brow raised before he flashed a beautiful, disarming smile. “I’m Finn. I have been here, though I do go for long walks and such.”
“Guess so. Artist needs his inspiration, eh? Watcha painting there?” The blue and white swirls bore no resemblance to anything she could see.
He turned back to his canvas, head cocked to one side. “Wind.”
“Oh, sure, you betcha. I see that.” She saw nothing like it, but wanted to keep the chiseled hunk talking. “That what you’re up here for? Get some painting done?”
Finn let out a little sigh. “Truthfully, I’m waiting.”
She thought he was going to say more, but then he straightened and turned toward the road in an attitude of listening. A red Expedition turned onto the gravel drive and climbed the little hill toward the house. Finn rose, radiating anticipation. He placed his things down on his chair, watching the truck with such intensity, she thought he might burn holes in the tires with his eyes.
A woman rolled out of the driver’s seat, older, overweight. That couldn’t possibly be what he was waiting for, could it? But no, Finn stayed rooted to the spot. Then the passenger door opened and a man climbed out. The way he moved, he appeared old and decrepit. He eased out of the cab, retrieved a cane from inside and clung to the door while he got his balance. When he raised his head, though, she saw a young, handsome face and a smile that put the sun to shame.
“Diego!” Finn bellowed as he barreled down the hill to sweep him up in his arms. He planted a fierce, demanding kiss on his passenger’s lips, going at it like it was the last kiss he’d ever get.
No question about it, not even a hint of doubt. She grinned as she watched Finn sweep Diego round and round in dizzy, happy circles. Love shone there, as clear as the day was long, and despite her moment of disappointment, she couldn’t help feeling a warm glow knowing his wait was over.
The woman waddled up the drive to greet her and introduced herself as Miriam Thorpe. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yep. Just a couple weeks ago.”
They watched as Diego smoothed the hair back from Finn’s forehead, talking to him in soft, urgent tones.
“Well, damn,” Sheila said with a little laugh. “All the good ones are taken or gay and these two are both. They do make a handsome couple though, eh?”
Miriam snorted. “So long as he keeps Diego happy and writing, I don’t care if the boy looks like a damn troll.”
Chapter twenty-one
Finn’s Christmas
Seasons rushed past, as seasons delight in doing, glorious months in which Diego grew stronger and Finn slowly adapted to parsing strange human things. The Pointe Wolf muttered and danced as it always had, the trees whispered their secrets, and the most dangerous thing Diego encountered in the woods was a skunk that was less than pleased to have company.
For the first time in his life, Diego felt at peace, free from worry and anxious nights, his heart’s desire always nearby.
Finn thrived, full of creative energy and curiosity. That was, until the Canadian winter arrived and the days began to wane…
“Mi vida? Don’t you want a little something? You haven’t eaten in days.” Diego perched on the edge of the bed, concern knotting his stomach.
The blanket nest stirred and muttered an incoherent phrase, most likely nothing polite.
He tried again. “I brought you chicken enchiladas, the ones with Tia Carmen’smolesauce. And some hot chocolate if you don’t think you can stand anything else.”
“I’ve no appetite. Let me sleep.” Finn’s mumbled response drifted out from under the pillows.
“You’ve been sleeping since Thursday. Today’s Saturday, if you happen to care, and Miriam’s on her way up to visit.”
“Miriam?” The grumble took on a plaintive tone.
“Yes,corazón, Miriam. Don’t you want to see her?” Diego stroked what he assumed was Finn’s back.
The arrival of serious snow in late November had brought on this odd, increased lethargy. Finn had begun to eat less and less while his usual manic energy dwindled to a trickle. The decline had continued until a week before the solstice. He’d crawled into bed and refused to come out of his circular nest of pillows and blankets.
