Colorado 01 The Gamble (13 page)

Before I was ready for our ride to end, we
hit the bluff by the river, the land seeming to fall away from the
side, the vista it exposed heart stopping and Max halted the
snowmobile, turning it off.

He sat back but I didn’t take my arms from
around his waist mainly because Max was right. The view from here
was incredible and I was frozen in wonder. It was one of the most
beautiful things I’d ever seen but also the snow and the underlying
quiet mixed with the landscape and the sound of the river rushing
by it had to be the most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered, my chin still
at his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his rough, soft voice
bringing me out of my daze and I lifted my head and pulled away,
coming off the back of the snowmobile.

I walked close to the edge and stopped,
drinking in the view for long moments before I pulled my little
digital camera out of my pocket. I started snapping photos knowing
the endeavor was useless. No photograph could capture this. This
vista had to be experienced.

Max got close to my back and I couldn’t
avoid him without going over the edge and, furthermore, his arm
came around me at my chest. He pulled me into his front and before
I could protest he spoke.

“Dad used to bring us here all the time,” he
said quietly.

I stared at the landscape and something
about his tone made me drop my camera.

“Us?” I asked though I told myself I was no
longer being an idiot, it was worse. I shouldn’t ask, I shouldn’t
care, I shouldn’t want to know.

But I did.

His arm tightened around my chest, bringing
me closer. “Kami used to bitch constantly all the way. Said she
wanted to be with Mom, which meant she wanted to be with her
friends in town.”

Before I could bite back the word, I asked,
“Kami?”

“My sister.”

“Your Mom didn’t come here with you?” I was
looking at the landscape wondering who in their right mind wouldn’t
want to go there and mentally kicking myself for my questions, not
wanting him to share and really not wanting to be the one who urged
him to do so. He was fascinating enough just being him, I didn’t
need to hear his life stories.

“Mom and Dad were divorced.”

“Oh,” I said and forced myself to leave it
at that.

Max felt like talking, however. “Happened
when I was about six, Kami four. Dad and Mom both lived in town but
we still only saw Dad every other weekend, unless we ran into him
or somethin’ was happenin’ at school.”

“My parents were divorced too,” I told him
and then clamped my mouth shut. I didn’t need to know about him and
he certainly didn’t need to know about me.

“How old were you?” he asked.

“Young,” I evaded a direct answer.

His arm got tighter, his fingers curling
around my shoulder, not happy I avoided a direct answer.

“How old, Duchess?”

I sighed then repeated, “Young,” and before
he could prompt further, I went on, “very young. So young, I don’t
remember them ever being together.”

“Rough, baby,” he whispered but I didn’t
tell him it wasn’t. I didn’t tell him it was sheer luck my father
walked out of my life because not far down it, he came right back
in.

I decided to change the subject and
remarked, “It’s lovely, your Dad being able to give you this.” I
motioned to the panorama with my hand.

“Yeah, except it came to me because he
died.”

My body jolted and I turned in the curve of
his arm so I was facing him.

“Sorry?”

“I inherited the land when he died.”

His face was blank which gave away the depth
of emotion he was hiding.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Long time ago, honey.”

“I’m still sorry.”

His arm around my shoulders gave me a
squeeze and his other hand went to my waist.

I edged back a bit, he gave me some space
but not much so I was forced to stop when he stopped giving me
leeway.

“But, I meant,” I went on. “What’s lovely is
that, when he was alive, he could give you this, bring you and your
sister here.”

He nodded and looked over my head to the
view. “This was Dad’s favorite place. He wanted to build a house on
the land. All his life he wanted that. Couldn’t do it but he talked
about it all the time. But he’d never touch this place. Told me
never to do it either.”

There was something impressive and moving
about Max building a house on the land where his father wanted to
build, not to mention doing it with his own two hands.

“Your sister get land too?” I asked and his
eyes came down to me for a second before they went back to the
view.

“Nope.”

“He gave it all to you?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

His arm left from my shoulder but only so
his hand could slide into the hair under my cap as his other hand
moved around my waist.

“She got everything else, his house in town,
car –”

“The land is better,” I announced, even
though I had no idea what kind of house his father had or what kind
of car. It could be a mansion and a Maserati, the land still would
have been better.

Max grinned down at me and agreed, “Yeah.”
Then he continued, his eyes going over my shoulder, his expression
moving far away. “She was pissed, though she never gave a shit
about this place. She
did
know what it was worth.”

I pressed my lips together to stop myself
from asking questions.

Max didn’t need me to ask questions and he
looked back to me. “She’d sell it off, Dad knew that, even said it
in his will, explainin’ things. So he gave it to me.”

“Did he make it a condition you never sell
it?”

Max shook his head. “Just knew I’d never
sell,” his eyes went back over my shoulder, “and I never will.”

“I wouldn’t either,” I whispered and then
bit the inside of my lip to remind myself to stop talking, mainly
because Max looked back at me and his face had gotten soft, but his
eyes had gone intense and his look struck me deep but in a good,
warm, happy way.

“Been in my family since 1892,” he told
me.

My eyes grew wide and I asked, “Really?”

He grinned again and said, “Yeah,
Duchess.”

I opened my mouth to speak, put an end to
this intimate tête-à-tête which I was enjoying too much and I knew
I shouldn’t let myself, when we both heard, “Max!”

Max let me go with one arm but the hand at
my neck slid around my shoulders as he moved to my side and looked
up the trail.

“Hey Cotton,” Max said to a man who looked
like he should be called Cotton.

Cotton looked like Santa Claus, lots of
white hair and a thick, full white beard that was a bit overlong,
and one mustn’t forget the big jolly belly which Cotton definitely
had. But he wasn’t wearing a red suit, he was wearing a pair of
jeans, a huge parka and snow boots.

“Heya,” Cotton said, eyes on me, ten feet
away but I could see his nose and cheeks were red, just like
Santa’s.

“Hello.”

“Cotton, this is –” Max started but Cotton
talked over him.

“Yeah, Nina, I know.”

“What –” I began but Max gave me a
squeeze.

“Trudy’s Cotton’s granddaughter,” Max
explained.

“Oh,” I muttered.

“Small town,” Cotton noted, stopping close,
“we talk. Get used to it.”

“Oh…” I said slowly and finished, “kay,”
uncertain I’d be around long enough to get used to it but I decided
against sharing that with Cotton.

“Give me your camera, I’ll take a picture of
you both,” Cotton dipped his head to my camera.

I got stiff. A picture of me and Max on
Max’s bluff? I didn’t think so. And I didn’t think so mainly
because the very thought of having a photo of Max and me, together
on his beautiful bluff, made me want it so badly I could taste it
in my mouth and I knew that was wrong, wrong,
wrong.

“Um… that’s okay, I took some shots.”

“Duchess –” Max said but Cotton interrupted
him.

“Give me your camera, girl.”

“Really, that’s okay,” I said.

“Nina, this is Jimmy Cotton,” Max told me
under his breath, my body froze and I stared.

When I could again speak, I whispered, “No
kidding?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Max said back on a
chuckle.

I stared at Santa Man.

Jimmy Cotton, the great American
photographer. I’d seen three of his exhibitions, one at the
Smithsonian, one at the Victoria and Albert and one at The Met. He
was a national treasure and his pictures were revered, including by
me. I bought one of his calendars every year and had one of his
Smithsonian posters framed and in my hallway at home.

He was also a recluse, never came to
showings, never did interviews, famously eschewed the world that
adored him. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a picture of him, not even
when he was young. I knew he lived in the Colorado Rockies, most of
his photos were of the mountains, but I obviously had no idea he
lived
here
.

“I’m… I’m… so pleased to meet you,” I
stuttered, feeling stupid and shy, both at the same time. “I saw
your exhibitions at the Smithsonian and the one at the Victoria and
Albert and –”

“V&A?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, it was spectacular. I was… it was
amazing,” I replied.

“Got a few of those they showed at the
V&A up at my place. I’ll go through my barn, wrap one up, bring
it over to Max’s.”

My mouth fell open, I felt it but I couldn’t
do anything about it.

Max started chuckling and gave my arm a
squeeze. “Give him your camera, honey.”

Automatically, my hand holding the camera
lifted up, Jimmy Cotton came forward, took
my
stupid, little, digital camera in
his
artisan’s hand and took several
steps back. I was so stunned that Jimmy Cotton was holding my
camera, I didn’t fight against Max curling me so my front was
tucked into his side, his arm tight around my shoulders, fingers
shifting my hair around to bunch at my neck under his hand, forcing
my cheek to his shoulder, his other hand going around my
waist.

“
Smile,” Jimmy Cotton,
the
Jimmy Cotton, called from behind my camera and I
smiled with all the happiness I felt that none other than Jimmy
Cotton was taking my picture (not to mention, it felt good standing
like that in Max’s arms).

“That’ll be a good one,” Jimmy Cotton
muttered, fiddling with my camera before he stepped forward and
handed it back to me.

I took it thinking maybe I could die right
there on the spot and do it happily, considering Jimmy Cotton just
took my photo. Though that would mean I wouldn’t have the chance to
get his photo printed and hermetically sealed.

“You hear about Dodd?” Cotton asked Max and
Max kept the arm around my shoulders, hand curled around my neck
but his other hand dropped away.

“Yeah.”

“Thought the sun shone brighter when I woke
up this mornin’,” Cotton mumbled and I let out a little, surprised
giggle.

“He was an ass,” Cotton told me.

“I’m beginning to get that picture,” I said
back.

“Mick came up to the house this mornin’,
luckily Nina’s got jetlag and she could tell him she was awake and
in bed with me when the deed was done.”

Cotton’s face got hard and he asked, “What
in the sam hill is Mickey doin’, askin’
you
for an alibi?”

I was stuck on Max telling Jimmy Cotton
(of all people) I was in bed with him but Max didn’t seem to feel
my displeasure which I was pretty certain was so extreme it
should
be felt and he spoke to
Cotton.

“Not a secret we don’t get along.”

“Not a secret you ain’t the type of man to
do that kind of thing.”

“Cotton –” Max started.

“Especially you,” Cotton went on.

“Jimmy –”

“Especially with Dodd,” Cotton continued
then looked at me. “Max had far more reason ten years ago to pull a
trigger and take out that jackass, dang nab it,” he looked back at
Max, “and Mickey knows it.”

“He’s just doin’ his job,” Max said but I
was intrigued at what Cotton said. I’d heard the words “ten years
ago” recently and just now and that seemed an interesting
coincidence.

Unfortunately, Cotton was miffed and I
couldn’t get a word in to ask him to explain.

“Got a lot of nerve, showin’ at your
place.”

“I wasn’t his first visit.”

“
And won’t be his last,” Cotton looked at
me, “Dodd wasn’t much liked by
anyone
. Hell, Mickey could have come to visit
me
.”

“You don’t own a gun, Cotton, you’re a
pacifist, non-violent, remember?” Max reminded him.

“Ever a man to test the mettle of pacifism
and non-violence, it was Curtis Dodd,” Cotton shot back.

Max chuckled, I waited for more information
to be shared but both men settled into silence.

It was either ask, when I told myself I
didn’t want to know, or keep silent. It took a lot of effort, I
really wanted to know about ten years ago, Max and Curtis Dodd, but
I kept silent.

“Welp, you two young ‘uns don’t need an old
man spoilin’ the mood, I’ll just be gettin’ on.”

“You aren’t spoiling the mood,” I told him
quickly and he smiled at me.

“
Any talk spoils
that,
” he said, dipping his head to the vista behind
me. “
That
, you
experience in silence or, better yet, with someone that means
somethin’ to you.” For some reason, his eyes slid to Max when he
said his last before he looked back to me and concluded,
“Therefore, I best be gettin’ on.”