Page 31 of Tribulation Pass

And if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t just that she didn’t want Duncan to dig beneath those layers of who she was, but it was also that she wasn’t ready to face the woman she’d been. Those were wounds that were still raw. And maybe there was a small part of her that wondered if he’d still love her if he knew the truth.

And there was part of her that wondered if the past mattered at all—if she could keep it all buried for the rest of her life and have no regrets. Those moments were the angel and devil sitting on each of her shoulders. And the irony didn’t go past her notice that every time she drove along Tribulation Pass to get to her tiny cabin, the angel and the devil showed up, whispering in her ears.

She needed to talk to Atticus, to see what could be done to untangle the mess of her past life. She’d gotten to know all the O’Haras during the months she’d spent in Laurel Valley, and it was impossible not to love them. Duncan’s mom had even found her a reliable used SUV for the winter and showed her how to put chains on the tires. They treated her like she was one of their own, and they were the big extended family she’d always longed for as a child.

Being in Laurel Valley was a dream come true. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect picture of her life—if it had been her real life. Even her first Idaho winter hadn’t deterred her, much to Duncan’s surprise. It wasn’t a New York winter, that was for sure. She loved the snow. Loved watching it fall from her second-story office at the sporting goods store, and she loved sitting on her or Duncan’s back porch with the fire pit lit while wrapped in a blanket as snow fell onto the lake.

This was her home. And she never wanted to be anywhere else.

But she really needed to talk to Atticus. Duncan wasn’t being as subtle about their future together as he’d once been. He was a traditional man from a traditional family. She knew it was only a matter of time before he asked her to marry him. And she wanted that more than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life. But she wasn’t prepared how to answer him if he asked.

Atticus normally traveled frequently, making stops at the Dynamis Security offices in Dallas, Washington, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, London, and Rome. But since his wife’s murder, he’d stuck close to home to be with his daughter while she recovered from the same attempt that had been made on her life. They’d even missed Christmas with the family, opting to stay in Dallas instead.

But the word through the O’Hara network was that Atticus was due to arrive at any moment, and there was going to be a big family dinner that night at “the barn” since that was the only place big enough to hold the entire family. Since the O’Haras seemed to have family reunions at fairly regular intervals since everyone was close, Hattie had been to “the barn” on more than one occasion, and it wasn’t like any barn she’d ever seen, though her mother still would’ve looked her nose down at it despite the thoroughbreds that were being raised and bred in the functional barn right next door to it.

But “the barn” had been built with family in mind, more like a private restaurant or a club, with lots of seating, a bar, a stage and dance floor, and a gourmet kitchen. Not to mention the loft upstairs with a full-fledged movie theater and seats, plus pool tables, ping-pong tables, and every class arcade game. The O’Hara grandkids loved to have their birthday parties at “the barn.”

“We’re going to be late,” Hattie said to Winston, looking at the clock on the wall.

Winston shook his head in disgust, being a timely fellow himself, and padded off to lie on the rug in front of the fireplace.

“A lot of help you are,” Hattie said. “You could go upstairs and get him, but you’re too chicken to interrupt him when he’s working.”

Winston sniffed delicately and turned his head away.

She could hear the quiet bass of the music playing overhead in Duncan’s studio, and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. They were supposed to be there at six, and it was already twenty till. It was hard to break him away when he was in that zone, and she’d learned quickly to give him his space when he was working. But he’d promised they’d be there, so she thought it best to give him a reminder.

O’Hara dinners were a casual affair, so she wore leggings and a thick sweater the color of plums. Her waterproof boots were laced up to the middle of her shins and lined with soft fur.

She crept up the stairs, peeking around the landing to observe before she entered his domain. He stood in front of his canvas, the muscles in his back rigid, but he moved the brush with such delicate strokes.

She didn’t call out. His concentration was so fierce he wouldn’t have heard her anyway. Instead, she crept the rest of the way up and waited for the chance to break in. But there was a long table pushed in the corner that caught her eye. Several of his drawings had been laid out, but they were all of her.

It amazed her how he saw her. She didn’t look like that, not really, but he made her so much more when he put her on paper. There were hundreds of drawings with a myriad of expressions on her face.

Stacked around the table were canvases of every shape and size. Again, her face and body were the subject. But where the drawings were literal interpretations, he’d used the paintings to create his own visions. There were several of her wearing armor and holding a sword, covered in battle scars and someone else’s blood. And there were others painted in watercolor that were so delicate and ethereal it looked like she might come out of the canvas as an apparition.

It was exceptional work. She had enough of an eye to recognize it. And no one would ever see it but the two of them.

Her eye kept going back to the painting of her in armor on the battlefield. It was beautiful.Shewas beautiful. The woman who stood in that portrait never would have married Derek. She never would have put up with the anger and abuse. She was a woman who’d face her enemies head-on and without remorse.

“It’s my favorite,” he said, startling her from her thoughts. “I’m going to do an entire series in oils. I think it will be the finest work I’ve ever done.”

“Duncan,” she said, turning around to meet his gaze.

“The image of you in that scene came to mind the second you fell into my arms. The sight of you literally took my breath away. I went and got my sketch pad and spent the next two days drawing you from memory. I dreamed about you. I know it sounds crazy, but you were as real to me in those dreams as you were in the following weeks when I was actually with you.

“I don’t know if you believe that something like this is even possible, but I believe you were sent here for a reason. I knew I was going to love you from the moment we met. I wasn’t happy about it,” he said, his mouth quirking slightly. “But I knew it was true. And once I got to know you I realized I’d do whatever it took to keep you. Even if it meant leaving Laurel Valley.”

“But I love it here,” she said, her voice catching. “This is my home.”

“That’s just an added bonus,” he said, smiling.

He looked like he’d just fought a battle, as he often did when he was working, and she said, “You should paint yourself like you are right now. Next to me on the battlefield. You’re a striking figure.”

“I’ve been known to do a self-portrait from time to time,” he said. “But I’m guessing you came up here for a reason other than paying me compliments? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Oh, crud,” she said, eyes going wide. “We’re supposed to be at dinner. We’re late.”

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