“Well, open it and find out.” Luke crossed his arms and tried not to look too interested. There’d been a false note to the disparaging comment Judith had said about Tom’s art needing watercolors. Why would she tell a lie to be mean?
Tom tore the wrapping from the carton. He lifted the lid, and both he and Luke leaned closer to see the contents. Tom glanced up and said, “Do you mind? You’re blocking the light.”
“Sorry.” Chuckling, Luke shifted his angle but didn’t step away.
Tom removed a book that had been on top of a wooden box with a shiny veneer. He carefully removed it from the carton and lifted the brass latch holding it closed. Inside were slots that held small colored blocks labeled with names like vermilion, indigo, sienna, and yellow ochre. The label on the inside of the lid said Color Box and had been crafted by Reeves and Sons. InLondon.
With a surprised expression, Tom said, “This must have cost as much as I make in a year. Why would anyone send me something like this?”
A sudden rush of pride flowed through Luke. Judith had only ordered a few watercolors, had she?
“What do you know? There are paintbrushes in the drawer underneath.” Tom picked up one and ran his fingers over it. He handed it to Luke.
“These must be made of mink or sable.” He ran the soft bristles over his cheek before handing it back. “That first chamber is deeper than what’s holding those paints. See if it comes out.”
With great care, Tom clasped the edges of the wood and lifted it to expose a porcelain platter divided into four sections. One end of the dish was perhaps an inch deep while the other end was quite shallow.
“What’s that for?” Luke asked.
“I’ve seen one of these before up in Billings a couple of years ago. You put water in the deep end to mix watercolors to the intensity you want.” Tom heaved out a breath. “I can’t accept this. It’s too expensive.”
Luke had been about to tell him Judith had sent it to him, but his foreman’s comment stopped the words. She considered Tom’s sketches good enough to justify an expensive purchase like this. Luke would have to warn her not to say anything, or the man would for sure give them back. Though she probably wasn’t planning to admit to the gift anyway.
“Are you going to send it back?” Luke asked.
“Good question.” Tom picked up the paper wrapping and scanned it. “There’s no return address.”
“Well, my suggestion is to not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Tom scowled, but it was obvious from his expression he was loath to give it back in spite of what he thought.
“I wonder what one of your sketches would look like colored with these,” Luke said, going to stand by one of the framed pictures on the wall.
“I’d want to paint some practice sketches first. Martha would kill me if I ruined one of those by painting them wrong.” Tom studied the pictures, his expression contemplative.
“Well, you’ll want to make sure you have plenty of paper then.”
“You really have no idea who sent this?” Tom asked, a crease between his brows.
“I just pick up the mail. I’d best head to the house. Maude and Charles are coming for dinner. You don’t want to be late either.” Luke didn’t wait for his foreman to say anything else but left the house.
Standing on the porch for a second, Luke braced himself against the cold as he scanned the white landscape. His thoughts drifted back to the box of watercolors. That Judith Breckinridge was a pistol. There was certainly more to her than met the eye.
* * *
“I’ll just geta bite to eat here with Mrs. Hauser,” Judith said to her niece.
“Oh, please come.” Five-year-old Lydia had taken her hand and was now wearing one of her pleading expressions. “I love having so many aunties now. Frances makes me laugh. I want to be just like her when I grow up.”
Judith straightened. The child could not have said anything more likely to convince Judith to attend. She would not allow Marshall’s delightful daughters to be influenced by that wild woman. Luke’s youngest sister spent her time with the men, riding with them, herding cattle, and had even led tours for the dude ranch guests last summer. It was outrageous, and Judith had no intention of allowing Frances to be a negative influence.
“I will come.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“So, my little sugar pie, you did it,” Marshall said from the doorway.
Lydia spun around. “I told Mama Doris I could talk her into coming, and I was right.”
