Except my agent, of course. Sometimes she gets these mad ideas about creating another national phenomenon of a book and children’s television show, but I know nothing will take off quickly like Leo and Johnnie did. I struck gold, and you only strike gold once.
No one gets hit by lightning twice.
I’m not even sure why I took the meeting this week when I went to Inverness, but I did, and the ideas I brought were all soundly rejected. I only want to draw silly stories for children. Can I not simply do that? Does everything need to be the best book Britain has ever seen?
Shayla seems to think so.
I wouldn’t know the first thing about being stuck in the middle of a school program I’m unhappy in. It seems to me America has plenty of universities; Callie could move to a different one.
My boots crunch in the snow as I make my way toward the barn. My horses are snugly tucked away, but I need to check their water and food and make sure they’re in good spirits. The door to the barn whines as I push it open, and I let myself inside. The smell of dirt and wood and manure fills my nose. Elephant neighs, greeting me. Piggie just huffs.
“Good morning, ladies. Bit of a cold one, eh?”
My phone rings, and I drop my head back, letting out a heavy sigh. I don’t have to look at the screen to know who it is and exactly why they’re calling. You’d think, after three years, the babysitting would cease.
Sliding it from my pocket, I debate not answering, but that would only lead him to drive to my house, and we can’t have that in this kind of weather.
“How about this snow,” I say, running my hand along Elephant’s mane. Her name should be Gerald like the children’s book character she’s named for, but since she’s a female, I didn’t go that far. In my head, she’s Geraldine.
Rory breathes into the phone. “Not the best timing with all the travel, I’d wager. How’s your guest?”
I glance back at the house through a dusty window and think about Callie’s affronted attitude yesterday. “Nowt like her sister described her. I was expecting a ball of sunshine, but I got Nessie instead.”
“Strange. Women usually like you.”
My back straightens. Piggie nudges my shoulder, so I move toward her stall and scratch where she likes at the lower end of her neck. “She doesn’t dislike me. Not that it matters. You know you don’t need to call as often when I’ve people in my house, eh?”
“Accept it, Gav. Some habits are unbreakable.”
I would grumble more, but it feels pointless.
“How was the meeting with your agent?” he asks.
“Fruitless. She hated every idea.”
“I still think you need to draw the kid crashing his bike in the fence and fixing it with the old man’s prosthetics.”
My laugh rumbles through my chest. “You’re mental.”
“Aye, but I’m not wrong.”
“Things can be true, Rory, but that doesn’t mean folk will believe them.” I pat Piggie and cross the barn to climb into the loft where the hay is kept. “None of my ideas are really hitting right.”
“It’ll come to you. Don’t force it.”
Easy for him to say. His work is entirely left-brained. “Is your office closing for the week?”
“We’ll have to. My receptionist is using this time to post about maintaining health through the holidays. Have you been online recently?”
“No.”
“Probably good.”
I grow still at the top of the ladder. Ice pools in my stomach while I force myself to finish climbing into the loft and open the trap doors above each of my horse’s troughs. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Just tell me, Rory.”
