Logan’s eyes haven’t left my face, but I look away, breaking the contact between us.
I close my diary and fiddle with the lock and key before carefully putting the book away in my purse.
“Yep, I remember. I’m heading to bed soon. Sleep well.”
After Logan’s hung up, he stands up and puts out his hand to me. “Let’s walk through the fields.”
That sounds dangerous. Especially after how close we just came to…
“I don’t know. I think maybe I should stay here.”
“In your prison?” he says. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I take his hand and try to ignore the way holding it makes me feel even when it’s only meant in friendship. By the time we’ve reached the first fence of his family’s ranch, I have to let go because it’s too much. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I climb over the wire and wait for him to do the same.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask as we cut across the burned out grass.
“You’ll see.”
When he turns left and heads for his cottage, I laugh. “Yeah, I’ve seen this before.”
“Not what’s inside. Come on.” He increases his pace to the stone pathway and then walks up the two steps to his front door, pulling out his keys.
By the time I catch up, he’s already inside.
“I haven’t been here in months…” I start to say before I see what he’s done.
Paintings are everywhere. All over the front room. On stands, on the couch, hanging on the walls. Oils, acrylics, watercolors, depicting West Texas, Hill Country, and the rivers and lakes. “Logan. You must have over…”
“Over twenty of them,” he says. “I did a lot on my trip but some here also. Before I left, you know.”
I didn’t, actually. I didn’t know how far he’d come since I last saw him paint.
“I remember sitting on that tree stump by the back pasture and watching you paint the sky,” I say almost to myself. “Wow. I’m so proud of you, Logan. You’re incredibly talented. And this is just…” I gesture with my hand around the room. “Amazing. But you always were. Even before I saw all of this.”
He swallows hard and tries to thank me, but all he gets out is, “Yeah, well…”
I step closer to him. “What are you gonna do with all of them? Will you sell them like you always dreamed of doing?”
Logan kneels down and reaches behind the couch. “Not this one. This one’s a gift. For your birthday. I’ll be a little busy on July fourth this year, so I have to give it to you earlier than I planned on.”
When he hands it to me, my tears come immediately, and I can’t hold them back.
“It’s the red rains,” I say in a sob. “By the creek.”
“You wouldn’t let me give you the painting I did all those years ago of us by the lake,” Logan says. “So I finally painted you a companion piece.”
“This is perfect,” I whisper.
With the rain all around us and the muddy bank at our bare feet, two people, two little people—younger than we actually were when this moment happened—stand, hand in hand, at the water’s edge. Looking fearless, far more so than I’ve ever felt in my life.
“I made us younger on purpose,” Logan says as he looks with me. “I did it as if…”
“As if it was the first time we ever met.” I finish his sentence for him, knowing exactly what he means.
I can still smell the rain and hear the turgid water rushing down over the town’s failed attempt to dam it up.
This is the most beautiful gift anyone’s ever given me. It’s truly priceless. My tears keep spilling out from under my eyelids.
