Unconventional Series Collection (29 page)

Ryder exited his carriage, straightened his vest
and pocket-watch chain, and cursed. After three years away from the States,
with an extended stay in India and travels to Europe, he was still plagued by
images of Jenny popping into his mind. The least little thing would trigger his
memories—cobalt eyes; a woman wearing a bonnet; a young woman's laughter; a
glorious day.

Forcing himself back to the present, he told his
driver to wait and then proceeded to the grand doorway of the residence of
Charles VanHardwig. His arrival was expected and he was immediately ushered
into the house of the prominent businessman and entrepreneur. Ryder had been in
the company of Mr. VanHardwig several times in the past; at dinner parties or
the opera or their club. He had been at the club when Charles invited him to
lunch. The affluent man had said he had a business opportunity to discuss that
had to do with railway expansion, a venture that could make his investors rich.
Because Ryder knew Charles to be an astute, forward thinking gentleman, he had
agreed to join him for lunch at his home the following day.

Charles met him in the library and then escorted
him to the dining room. "Come, my friend. My chef has prepared a glorious
meal of venison and red potatoes. I killed the deer only two days ago with my
new Winchester repeater."

Ryder had a momentary vision of his Blackfoot
wife and the tribe he had lived with all those years ago. This man hunted for
sport, his people had hunted to survive. Ryder was glad when Charles turned his
attention to speaking with his butler because he knew his eyes reflected an
intense homesickness for his dead family and the life he had once known with
them.

For the next two hours, Ryder listened to
Charles esteem the virtues of railway expansion for the purpose of transporting
goods, and espouse his belief that anyone investing in transportation would
experience an incredible return of their investment.

Finally, Ryder lifted his hand, "Say no
more. I'm convinced. Count me in. Let me know when the papers are drawn up and
I'll have the money delivered to your attorney within two days."

"Wise decision, my man."

Ryder had grown weary of their conversation an
hour earlier and wanted nothing more than to return to his home and lose
himself in drink. For the sake of his health, he had stopped drinking heavily
two years earlier; however, an occasional binge helped him keep his sanity.

Charles said, "Before you leave, I want to
show you two paintings I purchased in Ft. Worth while I was courting investors
in that city. I'd appreciate your critique."

Ryder stifled a groan. The last thing he wanted
was to view paintings that were probably horrid, and then try to critique them
in such a way as to not make Charles feel stupid for buying them.

Charles continued, "I've hung them in my
private office. They are so stark, as to be haunting. I am simply mesmerized by
them.

Pretending interest, Ryder followed Charles from
the dining room and down a long hallway. When his host opened the door to his
office, he moved aside to allow Ryder to enter first.

Ryder stepped into the room and came
face-to-face with two paintings, side-by-side. Immediately, he was stunned into
speechlessness; the effect complete. In the first painting, the beauty of the
countryside in the midst of a storm, painted only in muted blacks and grays,
with trees bent into the wind, and a lone figure standing atop a rise, simply
took his breath away. The figure was that of a woman in profile and wearing a
pristine white bonnet, the only pure white in the picture. In a charcoal gray
dress, she was heavy with child.

Ryder's heart hammered at the familiarity of the
brushstrokes. He glanced at the second painting. It was of the same
countryside, with the same colors; however, it portrayed the deep of night with
a full moon being the only white in the picture. The moon hung big and appeared
to stand guard over a sorrowful scene of a man standing atop the same rise and
gazing upward at it, perhaps seeking the answers to life. The man was missing
an arm. Around him black trees bent forward as if to consume him.

Charles stepped beside him and said, "If it
weren't so ludicrous, I'd almost say that man was you."

Ryder looked for the name of the painter,
already knowing what he would find. In the right corner printed neatly was the
name, J. Samson.

As soon as Ryder's coach returned home, he was
out the door, not waiting for his driver to open it. His chest felt compressed,
like bricks were squeezing out his ability to breathe. Rushing to the path
alongside the porch, he followed it to his studio frantically searching his
keychain for the odd shaped key. After several fumbles he finally inserted the
key in the lock. Inside, he slammed the door and leaned against it, his
breathing still labored. This was his first return to the studio since he had
closed it the day after making love to Jenny. At that time, he had instructed
his staff to never enter the room for any reason. Squeezing his eyes tight, he
willed his pulse and breathing to slow. Finally, with the ability to breathe restored,
he opened his eyes and waited for the inevitable emptiness to consume him. It
did.

For a long time he avoided looking at the settee
and thick carpet where he had made love to Jenny. The image of the pregnant
woman in the heartrending painting assailed his compassion. He forced himself
to look at the settee and allowed the memory of Jenny's sweet mouth into his
consciousness. "Oh, Jenny. I'm so sorry. What have I done to the girl so
zestful for life; so full of vitality?"

Pushing himself away from the door, an act
requiring a superb amount of mental strength, he walked to the painting of the
girl that still haunted him. Reaching for the drape he had replaced over the
portrait, the last thing he had done before closing up the room, he tugged it
off. Still, he averted his eyes, his fear palpable of seeing her again.
Regardless of the quality of the painting, seeing her would forever seal the
loneliness of his existence. Little by little, he turned his head to look at
Jenny. Staring head on, he gasped, shook his head, closed his eyes, and looked
again.

Walking back and forth in front of the portrait,
he perused it from every angle. Although the artistry was much different from
his other works, it was superior in some ways. It was as Jenny had tried to tell
him. He
had
created the ethereal woman, a vision of mystery. He
had
created a masterpiece.

Suddenly, he walked to the tubes of paint on his
table. Without conscious thought, he searched for the right colors, squeezing
and blending them together. Quickly preparing his brushes and swiping dust
aside with old rags, he finished what he had begun. He finished painting the
wonder of Jenny. After that, he fell exhausted on the settee, sleeping until
dawn. When he rose, caring not that he needed to shave and bathe, he began
another painting. In this one, Jenny stood on the carpet wrapped in the meager
coverlet with one breast almost completely exposed and her leg riding over the
top of the blanket. Her hair floated around her and one arm was extended toward
an unseen person. Her expression was that of a woman consumed by passion.
Observers of the painting would mistake her ardor as being a woman for her
lover. Ryder knew the passion he painted was that of Jenny trying to make him
understand what she could see in his artistry and he could not.

He painted for three days.

After that, he returned to his house, bathed,
slept, and then sent a courier to deliver a request that Jonas join him
regarding an urgent matter.

* * *

Ryder waited in the library for Jonas to join him.
His friend entered the room looking concerned and worried.

"Ryder, I came as quickly as I could. Are
you unwell?"

Ryder sat in a chair with a book in his lap. He
set the book on the table beside him and motioned for Jonas to sit across from
him. He said, "I want to show you something. And then I want your honest
opinion."

"So you are not unwell? You made me rush
over here to look at something?"

"Yes."

Jonas ran a hand through his black hair.
"Ryder, from your cryptic note, you had me imagining the worst. What am I
to do with you, my friend?"

Ryder barely smiled. "I haven't the
faintest idea how to answer that, since I don't know what to do with myself,
either."

Jonas sighed. "What is it you want to show
me?"

Ryder stood, "Come with me to the
studio."

Ryder led the way to the back of the house and
then outside into a beautiful day with colorful autumn leaves floating against
the backdrop of a pure blue sky. His awareness of the colors and his desire to
capture them on canvas still astonished him. Of course, Jonas could dash his
newly awakened awareness by proclaiming his paintings to be the sad attempt of
a miserable man to restore even a modicum of what had been lost.

Ryder opened the studio door and motioned to the
canvases that were facing away from them. "Please give me your honest
opinion."

After a curious glance at Ryder, Jonas rounded
the easels to look at the portraits. Unable to bear seeing the first expression
to cross his friend's features, Ryder stared at the settee, allowing the rush
of Jenny's memory to enfold his senses. He closed his eyes.

Jonas exclaimed, "My God, Ryder, what have
you done!"

Fearing the worst, but resigned to it, Ryder
looked at Jonas, waiting for his next words.

"These are magnificent! I don't even have
words to express how beautiful they are. Ryder, you painted these?"

Ryder blinked, unable to comprehend his friend's
words at first, and then he nodded.

"Ryder, what's going on? You told me you
couldn't paint with your left hand, but these portraits are exquisite. Of
course, they're different from how you used to paint, but I find them more
unique and…remarkable." Jonas paused for breath and then gasped,
"That's Jenny Samson!" He lifted incredible eyes to Ryder's.

"Yes."

"She posed for you?"

"Yes."

"For the love of God, Ryder, will you stop
speaking in single syllables? What the hell is going on? Are you the reason she
left so abruptly? You told me that you made things right with her."

"Please sit down, Jonas, while I confide my
utter stupidity."

Jenny put the finishing touches on her latest
painting, stepped back, viewed the half-finished landscape, and sighed. As
usual, it was dark, stark, dramatic, and sad.
Like my life.
Try as she
might, the cheery paintings she had once created would not materialize.
Sighing, she cleaned her brushes and determined that she would try again for a
lighter note with her next piece.

The gallery in Ft. Worth that sold her artwork
had requests from patrons wanting to know when new ones arrived, but she was
slow in producing them—only four or five a year. She still loved painting, but
it was no longer her driving passion. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.
Her passion now was her two year old daughter, Joy. The child was as smart as a
whip and captured everyone's hearts.

Thinking about Joy reminded Jenny that Angel
would soon be bringing her to the cottage from the main house. Jenny had moved
into the caretaker's quarters at her brother's ranch after Boone and Marylou
Keith had bought their own place the previous year. Although Jenny's pa and ma
had been sad for her and Joy to leave their home, they had encouraged it so she
could set up a real workshop. She had not painted after returning from New York
and they had been ecstatic when she again expressed interest in her artwork. As
usual, they had been right about what was best for her. Although she still
suffered from melancholia, her outlook had improved over the past year.

After closing the door to her studio, instead of
waiting for Angel to bring Joy home, she decided to walk to the main house.
Anyway, Angel needed a break. Between caring for Joy, so Jenny could paint, and
Eva, her own three year old, as well as being four months pregnant, she had a
tendency to overdo things; much to the displeasure of her husband. Of course,
she was probably in the kitchen creating her latest piece of heaven. Although
Angel was famous in Two Rivers for her apple pies and chocolate cakes, she was
always experimenting with new recipes to the delight of everyone living and
working at the ranch, aptly named by Luke,
Slice of Heaven.

Jenny smoothed her hands down the sides of her
simple dress and laughed into the empty room, "You now have curves, Jenny.
Eat too many of Angel's pastries and they'll become dangerous."

Slipping on her bonnet, her gaze roamed her cozy
living room and the latest clay sculpture Nate had carved for Joy—a prancing
horse. At the age of fifteen, he was rapidly making a name for himself at the
same gallery displaying Jenny's paintings. Just envisioning how awesome his sculptures
would become when he reached his full potential gave her goose bumps. If Jake
Ryder had done one thing right, it was to make lessons with Michael Santos, the
premier sculptor in America, possible for Nate. Jenny amended her thought,
No,
the other thing he did right was sire Joy. Too bad he'll never know his
daughter.

On that sad note, the smile left her face and
she stepped into the late afternoon of a day begging that the trees on
surrounding hills be captured on canvas in their autumn glory. She was almost
tempted to grab her paintbrush, but resentment toward Ryder still pricked her
heart and robbed her of the desire as soon as it was born. His words still rang
in her ears.
Your paintings are artlessly poetic.

Stepping off her small porch, she reached to
shade her eyes and registered the approach of a single rider on horseback, but
didn't pay much attention. Her brother's ranch was always a beehive of
activity, with people coming and going. She retied her bonnet ribbons and
repositioned the brim to shield her eyes from the sun. Something about the
newcomer made her return her gaze to him. He remained motionless atop his
horse, staring in her direction. His horse pranced and he expertly shifted the
reins with one hand.

Jenny gasped. Evident by the way the man's
sleeve was attached to his side, he was missing an arm. He stilled the horse,
returning his gaze to her.

Ryder! Ryder is here!

The shock of seeing him so immobilized Jenny
that she could do nothing but gape. She wanted to flee back into her house and
lock the door, but her feet would not move. He nudged his horse forward. Still,
she could not move. When he came closer she saw that additional creases had
etched the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. But other than that,
he looked the same, and her heart thundered in her breast. She wanted to run to
him and beg him to love her as she had once loved him.
No!
Her mind
rebelled against her traitorous heart.

Ryder halted his horse five feet from her.
"Hello, Jenny."

"What are you doing here?" she
demanded.

"I've come to see you. We need to
talk."

"You've come a long way for nothing because
I have no intention of talking to you. You had your say three years ago."

A flicker of pain crossed his countenance. It
surprised Jenny, but years of alternately hating and loving this man had
hardened her heart. She said coldly, "I want you to leave now!" He
studied her face and it took all of her will power not to flinch.

"Do you really mean that? Aren't you
curious as to why I've traveled halfway across the United States to see
you?"

Without hesitation, she rasped, "No."
But her heart silently cried,
yes!

Ryder removed his cowboy hat, dusted it against
his chaps, gazed at the sky, and then back at Jenny's defiant posture. His next
words sent her heart and mind reeling. "Jenny, do we have a child?"

Jenny gasped and covered her mouth. Her reaction
to his question and quick side-glance must have been his answer, because he
said, "I thought as much. Do I have a son or a daughter?"

Jenny could not speak, and after a long moment,
Ryder promised, "We'll talk later," before flicking the reins and
turning his horse toward the barn.

Horrified, Jenny watched him talk to one of the
hands who pointed to her brother walking out of the barn. Ryder dismounted and
led his horse toward Luke. A couple of minutes later, Luke called to the ranch
hand. Jenny's dismay increased when the cowboy accepted the reins of Ryder's
mare and pulled her into the barn. Luke and Ryder then walked toward the
corrals, deep in conversation. Jenny's brother was conversing with the father
of her child!

Jenny made a choking noise and rushed into the
main house to find Joy. Angel was handing cookies to the girls. Joy looked up
with a big grin. "Mama, want some cookie? I share."

Jenny tried to look normal, but Angel perceived
immediately that something was wrong. She said to the toddlers, "Eva, why
don't you and Joy take your treats to your room and play with the dolls Grandma
Abby made?"

"We can take cookies to my bedroom?"
Eva asked with big eyes.

"Yes, sweetheart; just this once."

"C'mon Joy; let's go feed cookies to our
dollies."

"Oh, yeth." The girls ran from the
room.

As soon as they were gone, Angel rushed to
Jenny. "Honey, what's wrong. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Jenny placed a trembling hand to her lips.
"In a way, I have."

Angel motioned to the table. "Let's sit
down so you can tell me what's happened."

Jenny sat in the chair Angel pulled out and
placed her head in her hands. "Angel, I don't know what to do. Jake Ryder
just rode up."

Angel sounded confused. "Jake Ryder? The
famous painter; the one whose academy you attended in New York?"

"Yes," Jenny croaked.

"I don't understand. Maybe he saw your
paintings in Ft. Worth and he wants to purchase some."

Jenny lifted her eyes to Angel's, her expression
revealing what she had never told her family—the identity of the father of her
child.

Angel blinked when understanding slammed her.
"Oh, my goodness. Does he know about Joy?"

"I don't know. He asked if we had a child
and I didn't answer him. Then he rode to the barn and dismounted. He's talking
to Luke at this very minute!"

Angel grasped Jenny's twisting hands. "We
don't know what they're talking about, so let's not think the worst."

"Oh, Angel, he's going to find out and want
to meet Joy. I never meant for him to know. What am I going to do?"

Angel hesitated. "Maybe he
should
find out. She's his child. Maybe he'll own up to his responsibility."

Unable to think of a fitting retort, Jenny gave
Angel an incredulous stare.

The kitchen door opened and both women's heads
shot in that direction. Luke walked in alone. When he saw the women sitting at
the table, he sighed, and said, "Jenny, looks like your secret is out.
Jake Ryder just spilled the beans."

Jenny groaned and asked hopefully, "Did you
send him away?"

Instead of answering, Luke walked to the kitchen
sink, reached for a glass and poured water from a pitcher into it. After a long
draw, he said quietly, "No, I didn't send him away. I hired him as a ranch
hand."