Page 24 of Tribulation Pass

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“It means you’re safe here.”

She didn’t say anything—couldn’t say anything.

“You’ve moved a long way,” he said. “You’re on your own, but whether you like it or not, you’ve been adopted into the nosiest family you’ll ever meet.” He grinned. “You can trust us. Any of us.”

Hattie nodded, even though she had no intention of trusting anyone but Atticus. The more people who knew the truth the more dangerous it would be for her. It was a secret she’d have to keep.

“While you’ve been sleeping the last couple of days,” he said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“I thought you’ve been painting,” she said, arching a brow.

“No one told me you were a smart aleck,” he said.

“You’ve only known me three days. There’s still time.”

He laughed and she appreciated the dimple at the corner of his mouth and the sun lines around his eyes. She’d never have guessed he was a painter by looking at him. She’d always thought of artists as somewhat frail and pale. But Duncan was everything but. If she’d had to guess, she would have pegged him as some kind of outdoorsman or construction worker. He was in excellent shape—broad shouldered and slim waisted—and he obviously spent a great deal of time in the sun because he was anything but pale.

“Anyway,” he said. “I’ve been painting and thinking and doing quite a bit of wrestling where you’re concerned.”

“Me?” she asked. “What have I got to do with anything?”

“I’m getting to that,” he said. “You see, my parents always said I’d been given gifts when I was a kid. Sometimes I get a sense of things before they’re going to happen. And sometimes I have this discernment to know things about certain people. I think it’s what helps me tell great stories as an artist.”

“Okay,” Hattie said, not as shocked by this conversation as she normally would be. She was a very practical and straightforward person. Her upbringing had demanded it and her experience in business had perfected it.

“And what I finally came to the conclusion of this morning after I’d finished working, is that I’m going to have to be completely honest with you and tell you some things that most people would never say after knowing someone for three days.”

“You’re not a stalker are you?” she asked. “Or crazy? Have you ever killed anyone?”

He grinned again, but didn’t reply. “I’m going to tell you these things, but I want you to promise me something in return.”

“Look, Duncan,” she said, pushing her plate back. “I like you well enough despite first impressions, and I’m oddly attracted to you in a weird sort of way. But I have terrible taste in men, so that shouldn’t mean anything. But—”

His laughter interrupted her and he held up his hands. “That confession somehow makes this easier. Besides, I’ve already asked you once.”

She felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Asked me what?”

“I want you to sit for me for a painting,” he said. “And before you say no, I want you to hear me out.”

She was already shaking her head. She’d known he would bring it up again. And her answer was still the same.

“Duncan, I can’t,” she said.

“Because he’ll find you?” he asked softly.

The blood drained from her face, and if she hadn’t been sitting she would’ve ended up on her knees.

He reached out and took her hand. “Hey,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes. “Take a deep breath. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me. You’re safe in Laurel Valley.”

Her breathing started to slow and her hand was unsteady as she removed it from his grasp and reached for her drink.

“That was the last thing you told me before you fell asleep,” he said. “You were so tired, I knew it had to be true.”

“Then you understand why I can’t let you paint me,” she said. “You’re too well known. Your paintings are all over the world.”

“I’ll make you a promise,” he said, leaning forward so their faces were closer together. It was as if they were the only two people in the restaurant. “Anything I create with your likeness will never go to the public. It’ll never be sold. And no one will ever see it but you and me.”

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