Page 59 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Her brushstrokes were bold and sweeping in luxurious yellow ochre, depicting the years of sun absorbed into his skin. She painted short, tight lines of titanium white to highlight the age and experience of those hands and to accentuate the practical nailbeds. When she paused to take in what she’d painted, she knew what was missing.
Her hands.
She tore out the page she’d just painted with a care and precision reminiscent of her old self and set it aside.
“That’s really good, Aunt Angie,” Ollie said, craning to look.
She turned her head to the right, amazed she’d been so entranced she hadn’t heard him climb over the fence. “Yes, it is, by God! Did you have fun with the sheep?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, coming over to her side. “Can I try and paint one?”
“Of course,” she said, pulling out the supplies she kept for him. “You okay to sit on the grass?”
“I’m already wet all over.” He touched his damp blue shirt. “I didn’t know it could rain when the sun was shining. It was so cool!”
The dampness from the rain still touched her skin, and she felt alive from it. “It sure was. Go, maestro! Paint your sheep.”
He giggled—a sound as beautiful as crystal singing—and then sat on the ground, pulling open his art pad. Then she was back to her next painting. Unlike the speed and boldness in her first, her brushstrokes slowed as she painted her and Carrick’s hands. Each brush of paint to her pad was a caress. She could feel the paper absorbing the color, much like she’d absorbed Carrick’s gentleness and passion.
God, how she’d missed this, the oneness of life and painting.
Their hands depicted a dance. His hands were holding hers as he gently caressed them. Learned their shape. Uncovered their secrets. Honored their experience.
“Wow!” she heard Megan exclaim. “You’re painting! And hands. Didn’t you once say they’re usually one of the most challenging subjects?”
She ground her teeth at the interruption.Go away, Megan.“Yes, usually. Not today.”
Her voice was crisp, and she was glad when Megan bent over Ollie. Her nephew scooted his butt until his back was away from her sister. Yeah, he was still angry with her.
“You’re painting the sheep,” her sister said as if that weren’t obvious. “Ollie, I brought you a surprise.”
“I’m painting,” Ollie said in a huff. “With Aunt Angie.”
“Okay, but I thought you might want to meet some new friends. The man who gives pony rides made a special trip over with his pony, Winston, just for you.”
She’d gone over to see Kade this morning instead of hiding in bed? Angie had to give her credit for that.
Ollie lifted a shoulder. “I suppose I could meet him. To be nice.”
“Good,” Megan said, standing up. “He also brought a dog, Duke, and he’s the cutest thing. I asked if Duke might be able to spend some time at our cottage, and Mr. Donovan—that’s the owner—said he could. I know you’ve always wanted a dog.”
Her nephew finally looked up at Megan. “I’m still mad at you. I want you to promise to stop treating me like a baby. Carrick let me pet his sheep and everything.”
Megan’s gaze tracked to her, and her sister worried her lip. Terrific. Were they going to fight over Carrick again? She couldn’t take it right now.
Angie turned her focus back to her painting, but her inspiration was gone. When she closed her eyes, she couldn’t see their hands in her mind anymore. She studied the painting. She had enough that she could finish it later, but she felt deflated. Her sister had brought her down, down to a place she didn’t want to be anymore.
Empty.
Maybe Angie’s problem wasn’t only with men. Maybe it was with everyone around her, everyone she’d put first. Her sister had an all-access pass to her time and attention, and it needed to stop.
“I’m going to head to the studio and paint there,” she said, gathering up her things. “Ollie, will you carry my bag back to the cottage so I can carry my paintings?” The acrylic was dry, but she didn’t want to tuck them in her bag and risk bending the edges. These paintings were damn good, easily her best work in years.
“Sure,” Ollie whispered for her ears only, closing up his art pad and tucking his supplies back into her bag. “Hopefully Mom won’t change her mind about letting me ride Winston.”
She had a moment of sadness at his mistrust. He’d been so happy with the sheep. She hoped Megan wouldn’t thwart his enthusiasm. “You’ll like Kade. That’s Mr. Donovan. I met him last night, and he’s great.”
“He is?” Ollie asked, his big eyes hopeful. “Does Liam like him?”
