“Have you been there?”
For the first time that night, Brett smiled. “I went to a barbecue at Jacob Green’s property.”
“He lives three houses away from my friends. You might have met Holly and Daniel at his barbecue.”
“I could have. It was a few months ago.” He studied the painting, moving forward for a closer look at the sunlight peeking through the clouds. “How did you make the clouds look so fluffy?”
Hannah smiled. “It’s all in the way I hold my tongue.”
“Your tongue?”
Her smile grew wider. “When I was little, my sister used to tell me that a real artist can make magic by holding their tongue the right way. I spent hours in front of the mirror, learning how to curl my tongue.”
“Because you wanted to be a real artist?”
“Sort of. Claire and I were very competitive. She could already curl her tongue. Watch.” Hannah poked out her tongue and rolled the edges into the center. “I’m a real artist now.”
“That’s quite a skill you’ve mastered.”
“It was almost as hard as learning how to mix paint colors. Talking about paint, I’d better clean the rest of my brushes. If you’d like a cup of coffee, there’s a coffee pot on the table over there.”
Brett headed across to the far side of the landing. “It’s just as well Pat’s bedroom is downstairs. He might think we’re having a party without him.”
“He went to bed early. I think the drive into Bozeman makes him more tired than he likes to admit.”
“Pat’s stubborn. He’s been thinking about moving into town for more than a year, but he doesn’t want to leave the ranch. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Hannah nodded. “Half a cup would be fine. Otherwise, I’ll still be awake when Henry starts cock-a-doodle-doing in the morning.”
Brett poured the coffee and handed her the cup.
She smiled. “You remembered to add creme.”
“And sugar. Did you inherit your artistic talent from your mom or dad?”
Hannah’s smile disappeared. “That was a fast change of subject.”
“I was hoping to catch you off guard. You don’t talk about your family very much.”
“I could say the same about you.”
Brett sat in a chair and sipped his coffee. “Occupational hazard. There aren’t many people on the ranch, and the cows don’t seem to care.”
Hannah picked up a brush and gave it a firm rub with another sheet of newspaper. “As far as I know, mom and dad were never interested in any form of art.”
“Why was your dad sent to prison?”
She stopped rubbing the bristles. “It’s not important any more.”
Brett cradled his coffee cup in his hands. “My dad was an alcoholic. Whiskey was his downfall, but he’d drink anything he could find.”
Hannah stared at the small container of paint thinner beside her easel. She didn’t talk about her dad to anyone except Claire. But tonight, with everyone else in bed, it didn’t seem quite so painful to remember her father’s sad life. “Dad started his criminal career with burglary, then moved into selling drugs and, finally, aggravated assault.”
“He doesn’t sound like someone you’d want to be around.”
“Mom was codependent. She couldn’t live without him, even when he treated her badly.”
“You and your sister survived.”
