I glance toward the refrigerator and see the application forThe Trail of Painted Ponies.
On a whim, pull up the web address at the bottom of the page and fill out the online application, then snap a photo of her painting and attach it as the example of her work.
It might not win her back, but she deserves a shot, and I know without prodding, she’ll never enter this contest.
If she isn’t chosen, I’ll never mention it. But if she is, maybe it will show her that her talent matters.
I’ve got one more thing to do, then I’m hitting the sack and getting a couple of hours' sleep. Removing the lame painting over the fireplace mantel, I replace it with hers.
Stepping back, I grin. It looks perfect there.
Then I shuffle to the bedroom and fall face down on the mattress.
Tomorrow I’ll figure out a way to win Luisa back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blue—
It wasn’t easy getting Luisa to answer, and when I pushed for her to meet me today, she resisted. It’s been a week, but she finally caved, and I’m waiting for her in the driveway when she pulls in.
I open her car door and help her out.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
She nods but makes no move to kiss me or indication she wants a kiss from me. Her arms cross, and she stares at the horizon. “So, what was so important?”
“Come inside. I want to show you something.”
For a split second I think she’s going to refuse me, and I’m prepared to throw her over my shoulder and carry her ass inside if that’s what it takes.
Our eyes connect, and she sees the resolve in mine.
Her arms come uncrossed. “Fine. But just to talk. Nothing more, Blue.”
I grin. “Sure.”
I don’t plan to jump her bones, but I’m not taking it off the table.
We move inside, and I hold the door like a gentleman.
She stops ten feet in and spins to face me. “What is it?”
“I got you something. It’s in the living room.”
She gives me the side-eye, suspicious about what this is about. “You already bought me a gift.”
“I know, and you left it here.”
She trails behind me and pauses when she spots her painting hanging over the fireplace. “You hung my painting.”
“Of course I did. It’s beautiful. Looks good there, doesn’t it?” I shove my hands in my hip pockets, mostly to keep from taking her in my arms. “You should enter that art contest. You’re good, babe. Real good.”
“I could never do that. I’d never win,” she murmurs.
“Why not? You’ve got to believe in yourself, Luisa. I believe in you.”
“Do you?”
