Christmas On Snowbird Mountain

“May I make a suggestion? You’d be able to find things more easily if you kept your quotes, correspondence and billing linked in this one program. It would also reduce your aggravation, especially at tax time.”

“I don’t know how to do all that. Typing a letter takes me two hours as it is, and then I can never find where I saved them—if I remember to save them.”

“I could set up a billing system and teach you how to use it and your computer in exchange for a few mosaic lessons. Until I quit my job to travel, I ran an office for twenty-three attorneys. I’m proficient in all the software programs you have here, and I’m available for the next eight weeks. I could really have you rolling on this thing by Christmas. And I know that being more organized would save you a lot of time.”

“Thanks for the offer, Susannah, but like I said earlier, I’m overwhelmed with contracts and I don’t have time to train anyone. Or to learn anything new myself. On three separate occasions I’ve tried hiring office staff, but nobody worked out. Having someone nearby asking questions all the time proved to be too distracting. I couldn’t concentrate.”

Dispirited, she nonetheless couldn’t blame him. “I understand.”

“But let’s take a look at your work. Maybe I can recommend someone else who can give you lessons.”

He reached for the sketchbook she’d left propped against the chair holding her jacket, but she jumped up and grabbed it first. She clutched it to her chest. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m embarrassed. Your work is so incredible and mine, I realize now, is amateurish.”

“With your enthusiasm, I doubt that. Where did you study?”

“I didn’t, not really. I had a year of basic drawing classes at Auburn University and grand dreams of being a portrait artist, but then…well, something happened in my personal life that forced me to return home. I ended up getting a two-year business degree at a community college.”

“How many years ago were those drawing classes?”

“Nine, unfortunately.”

“That’s a lot of time. Have you been drawing or painting since then?”

“Only sporadically. Recently I’ve started back in earnest, though.”

“Let me see.” He held out his hand. “I won’t sugarcoat my opinion, but I’m rarely brutal.”

With nervousness, Susannah gave up her art pad. He sat down in the office chair again while she reclaimed her former position on the edge of the desk.

He took his time examining each drawing, without making a comment about any of them. He’d flip a page, study for a minute or so, and then flip again.

Most of the drawings were of people she’d met in the past few months. Some were of her mother as she’d been before her illness, when she still remembered how to laugh and her eyes weren’t clouded by confusion.

A piece of loose yellow paper fluttered from the pad to the floor when he turned a page, and Susannah realized with horror that it was her Life List.

Ryan picked it up, gave it a cursory look and stuck it in the back of the pad. He went on to the next drawing.

Thank you, God. She’d never intended anyone to ever see her desires so blatantly scribbled.

He closed the sketchbook and handed it to her. “Your drawings aren’t bad. I wouldn’t call them good, but considering that you haven’t had a chance to develop your skills, you’ve done okay.”

“So do I have any talent?”

“I see evidence of it. You probably won’t ever be a professional artist, but with some practice you could develop into a gifted amateur.”

“I’d be happy with that,” she told him, pleased. “I’m really only drawing for myself. I don’t expect to make a living at it.”

“Then keep doing it. Draw what you like and do it often. You’ll see a big improvement fairly soon.”

“And what about mosaics and tile-making? Do you think I could learn the techniques?”

“I think so, although I warn you that crafting people in tile is extremely hard and that’s the subject you seem to like drawing the most.”

“Oh, I don’t care what kind of design I do. A leaf or a cloud would satisfy me as long as whatever I make will be around for a long time.”

He pulled out an address book, jotted down the names of teachers in the southeast and included phone numbers.

“Try some of these people.” He passed her the list. “Tell them I recommended you.”

“I will. Thanks for your help. And your honest opinion. It means a lot to me.”

They put on their jackets. Outside, the temperature had dropped dramatically with the coming of the dark, but yard lights guided their way. The snow was now ice in the low spots of the gravel driveway. Walking was difficult; twice she slipped and nearly fell. Only Ryan’s quick action saved her.

“You need real boots,” he said, supporting her under her good arm. “Those designer things are worthless up here.”

“I have sturdy boots in the truck, but I didn’t expect to be hiking through a blizzard when I got dressed this morning.”

“If you think this is a blizzard, you’ve never been in one.”

When, for the third time, she nearly went down on her backside, Ryan cursed. He picked her up and kept walking as though she didn’t weigh anything.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you from breaking another bone.”

Susannah should have protested, but he was warm, his arms were strong and, oh boy, he smelled good. The scent was masculine, woodsy.

“Do you usually carry your guests?”

“Only the klutzy ones,” he answered playfully. He smiled, and the transformation truly shocked her.

She’d been wrong before. The man was handsome as hell.

CHAPTER FOUR

“‘…AND…mouse…and…’ What’s this word?” Nia asked.

“Cricket,” the woman told her.

“‘Cricket…carr-ie-d…’”

“Carried.”

“‘Carried…the pea…to…get…her. To-get… Together’!”