Colorado 01 The Gamble (26 page)

“Are you thinking of taking the job?” I
asked, again surprised.

“No fuckin’ way,” he answered instantly.

“Then why do you need a lawyer to look at
them?”

“Just wanna know which way they’re thinkin’
of screwin’ me.”

“Kami said they sweetened the pot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they did. Don’t mean there
ain’t fine print.”

I went back to scooping potatoes. “It
doesn’t sound like these are nice people.”

“They aren’t.”

“Then why would your sister want you to work
for them?”

“I’m around more often, means she’ll have
help lookin’ after Mom.”

I finished putting the potatoes on top; Max
noticed and took the bowl from me, turned and headed toward the
sink.

“Is your Mom all right?”

“
Yeah,” he said, rinsing the bowl and
skillet. “Just alone and doesn’t like it.” He turned off the tap
and headed back to me. “Today, took care of Mindy’s shit, talked to
Bitsy, hit the Station and then went to visit Mom. That’s why I’m
late. She wanted to talk and then she wanted me to look at her
kitchen sink. Spent part of the afternoon listenin’ to her bitch,
another part in the hardware store, another part on my back on the
kitchen floor under her sink.”

I looked down to the potatoes, smushing them
around and coating the creamy fish, thinking of him taking care of
Mindy, Bitsy, his Mom and what that meant about him then mumbling,
“It’s good you look after your Mom.”

“It’s good, but isn’t fun.”

I looked at him and said softly,
“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly back then his
hand came up and his finger touched my earring. I’d put my new ones
in when I put away my shopping, impatient to see the way they
looked then I liked the way they looked so I left them in.

“You got ‘em.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned then walked around me.

I grabbed the dish and put it in the
pre-heated oven, closed the door, tinkered with the timer and set
it. He came back when I went to the other counter, picked up my
wine and took a sip.

After I swallowed, Max took my glass, set it
on the counter and grabbed my right hand.

His head was bent to look at our hands but
he was talking.

I was watching his hands working at
mine.

“Went to Karma to get you those earrings you
liked, they told me you’d already been by. Jenna was there, local
jewelry artist that makes this stuff.” I held my breath as I
watched him slide something on my ring finger then he twirled it
around and slid it off. “She said she had rings to match, doesn’t
make many of them, usually only does it special so she doesn’t sell
them in the shop. She ran home to get one and brought it by Mom’s.”
He slid the ring on my middle finger and twirled it around then his
fingers curved around my palm, his thumb touching the ring as he
muttered, “Fits there.”

I looked down at a ring that was the same
heavy, wide, stunning web design of my earrings with solid edges.
It was gorgeous and it sat perfectly, from base nearly to knuckle,
on my finger.

Then I continued to stare at it and all it
indicated including the fact that Holden Maxwell paid attention
(which I was learning) and thus he gave thoughtful, generous
gifts.

I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and
I tipped my head back to look at him.

“Max,” I whispered.

His hand came to my cheek then it slid into
my hair before he asked, “You like it?”

I nodded though I wouldn’t say I
liked
it. I’d say I
more than
liked it.

He looked into my eyes, his face grew soft
but his mouth grinned before he prompted, “Then you gonna kiss me
or what?”

I really should have replied “or what”.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The ring was beautiful, it was special and
his gesture was remarkable.

So instead of saying “or what”, I did
something not smart, not sane, not rational and got up on my toes.
Then I slid my fingers in his hair from the neck up. Then I grabbed
onto his hard bicep with my other hand.

Max helped, leaning into me, bending his
neck, gliding his fingers further into my hair to cup my head and
putting his other hand to my waist.

Then I kissed him, touching my tongue to his
lips which he opened for me then sliding it inside, tasting beer,
tasting Max and thinking he was the most beautiful taste to ever
touch my tongue.

He growled into my mouth, slanting his head,
his arms coming around me and he took control of the kiss.

His was better, so much better, I felt the
need to slide my other hand into his hair and hold his head to me
so he’d get the hint I didn’t want him to stop.

Maybe never.

Maybe I
never
wanted him to stop.

We made out in the kitchen for awhile, I
had no idea how long and didn’t care. I was simply loving the act
of making out with Max in his kitchen partly because I loved
kissing, mostly because Max was a
really
good kisser.

Then he finally lifted his head an inch and,
unfortunately, stopped.

“I’m guessin’ you like it,” he muttered, a
grin playing at his mouth.

“Yes,” I breathed, unable to grin and
practically unable to remain standing. Luckily, he was still
holding me.

“God, you’re cute.” He was still
muttering.

I wasn’t able to form a reply.

Then we both heard the loud knock of
knuckles banging insistently on glass. This sound made me jump but
Max didn’t jump, instead his mouth got tight.

Max twisted his neck and his torso, taking
me with him and we both saw Jimmy Cotton standing outside the
door.

Then Jimmy Cotton opened the door, stuck his
upper body in the house and demanded, “Quit neckin’ with Nina, Max,
and get out here and help me.” Then he disappeared, leaving the
door open.

Max twisted back, looked down at me and he
didn’t look happy.

His words proved my guess true. “Swear to
God, this doesn’t quit happenin’, I’m gonna kill someone.”

He sounded like he meant it.

“You can’t kill Jimmy Cotton. He’s an
American Treasure,” I informed him.

“Right now,” Max returned, letting me go,
“he’s a pain in my ass.”

I watched Max stalk to the door, flip on the
outside light and exit, closing the door behind him and I didn’t
know whether to laugh, scream or count my lucky stars.

I didn’t do any of those. I got out a cookie
sheet and the tube of crescent roll dough, popped it open and
started to unwind the dough.

I was forming the crescents when the door
opened and Max walked in. His eyes hit me the instant he did. He
had a funny look on his face and he was carrying what looked like a
somewhat large frame wrapped in plain, brown paper wrapper.

I was forming crescents but I did it while
I’d stopped breathing, my eyes on the wrapped package.

Without a word, Max set it on the floor,
leaning it against the wall between the doors under the loft,
turned and walked right back out.

My eyes stayed riveted to the frame as my
hands automatically rolled crescents.

Then Max and Cotton walked in together, Max
backing in, Cotton moving forward, both of them carrying what
looked like a huge frame wrapped in the same paper.

My heart stopped beating.

“Get over here, girl,” Cotton ordered when
they’d set it beside the smaller one. It was so big it engulfed the
space.

Silently I grabbed a dishtowel, wiped my
hands and then walked into the open space entry, my eyes still on
the frames. I came to a stop right beside Max.

Cotton had moved forward, taking out a
penknife, he pulled it open and carefully slid it into the paper at
the edge on the larger frame. Then he moved the knife through.

He did this all the while muttering, “Meant
to do this when your Dad was alive, kicked myself when he passed.
Holden didn’t have a place on the land. He would have wanted this
at his house, seein’ as he had to live in town.”

Then Cotton yanked the paper down and
exposed a huge black and white panorama of the view from the bluff
and I caught my breath at the sight. It was all there, the river,
the banks on either side, the mountains rising up them, all of it
framing the river trailing away, leading to an opening that exposed
a vista of valley, river and far away white peaks.

Without thinking, I reached out my hand and
found Max’s, my fingers sliding up and through the webbing of his,
before I curled them, linking our hands.

Max’s finger’s curled back and his grip was
tight.

When no one spoke for awhile and I realized
Cotton was staring at us, I struggled but found my voice. “It’s…
it’s,” I looked at Cotton, “there are no words.”

Cotton turned to look at the picture
assessingly then he mumbled, “Yeah, kinda like that one
myself.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered
from my throat. “You
kinda
like it?”

Cotton grinned at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty
good.” Then he looked at Max. “It’ll look great here in the
A-Frame.”

I felt Max’s body grow tight and his hand
flexed in mine.

“What?” he asked.

“Givin’ to you, boy,” Cotton answered.

“I can’t –” Max started but Cotton waved his
hand.

“You can, you will,” Cotton interrupted.
“I’m old. Wanna know, when I die, my photos are in the places where
they need to be. This one needs to be here.”

Oh my
God.

“Cotton –” Max started again but Cotton had
turned toward the other picture and he kept talking.

“This one’s for Nina.”

I started, this time my hand flexing in
Max’s and whispered, “I’m sorry?”

Cotton didn’t answer. Instead he slid the
knife in and along then ripped the paper down, bending to pull it
away.

“V&A,” he said, turning back to me but I
was staring at the picture.

I remembered it. It was a close up photo of
the rock on the side of a mountain, again in black and white which
was all Cotton did. The lines in the rock prolific and almost
mesmerizing, sliding through in random undulations, one lone, yet
utterly perfect wildflower growing out of the rock.

“Cotton,” I whispered.

“I like that one too,” Cotton declared,
gazing at it critically.

“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he
looked at me.

“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely
puzzled.

“
I… it’s…”
Why not?
Was he
mad?
“Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.

“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a
dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the
feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk
would be.”

“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.

“
Like the feel of it hangin’
wherever
you
might
be.”

At his words, which rocked me to my soul,
I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop
myself I cried, “Oh
bloody hell!
I’m
going to cry!”

Then I did. I burst right into tears.

Within an instant, I was in Max’s arms. I
put mine around him and held on tight, shoving my face into his
chest and crying like an idiot.

It was several moments later when I heard
Cotton mutter, “Women.” Then sounding like he was on the move he
asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I felt Max’s body get tight against my wet
cheek.

I tipped my head back to look at him, the
tears subsiding when I saw his neck was twisted and he was staring
toward the kitchen and, regardless of the fact that Cotton just
gave both of us priceless pieces of his art, Max’s expression
appeared murderous.

I followed his eyes and saw Cotton pulling
himself up on a stool.

“Get me a beer, Max, it’s been a long day,”
Cotton called, leaning forward to look at the rolls then he spun on
the stool and exclaimed, “Right on! Crescent rolls!”

“Cotton –” Max started but my arms gave him
a squeeze, Max stopped speaking and looked down at me.

“He just gave us his photos,” I told him.
“We can give him dinner.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal
since Alana died or least not a good one.” Cotton drew in an
audible breath through his nostrils and he declared, “And
whatever’s cookin’ smells good.”

“Fish pie,” I told him and Cotton
grinned.

“I like fish,” he said.

It was low, it was soft but I definitely
heard Max growl.

I gave him another squeeze with my arms, let
him go and, slower, he let me go too. Then, wiping the tears from
my face, I went back to the rolls.

Max got Cotton a beer and I had poured
frozen peas into a bowl and was setting them in the microwave when
lights flashed on the wall.

“This is a fuckin’ joke,” Max clipped from
his place, hips against the sink, beer in hand, unhappy expression
on his face as he stared toward the drive.

“Max’s popular,” Cotton noted.

“I’m noticing that,” I replied, also looking
out the windows.

I watched a figure come up the steps then I
recognized Arlene walking across the porch toward the door. Her
eyes were on us and she didn’t bother to knock, she just walked
right in.

“Hey y’all,” she called, striding toward the
kitchen like she lived there. “Hey Cotton.”

“Heya Arlene. What’s shakin’?” Cotton
greeted.

“Don’t shift some of this weight,
everything,” Arlene replied, she stopped at the mouth of the U in
the kitchen and looked at me.

“That don’t look all that bad,” she
observed.

“Um…” I muttered, “hi Arlene.”