Grant and Burke exchanged confused looks while Caitlin and Izzy stared at the screen like they’d seen a ghost.
“What are y’all talking about?” Grant asked.
Caitlin pointed at the painting.
“The light. The brushstrokes. The layering.” She looked at Burke breathlessly. “It’s exactly like the paintings in the cabin.”
Izzy nodded quickly.
“That’s Clara Vale.”
Caitlin pulled up the gallery profile beneath the image and began reading aloud.
“C. Arden Tate…” Her voice trembled slightly. “The reclusive artist rarely appears in public. Her mountain landscapes sell for thousands and are collected internationally.’”
Izzy laughed softly through tears.
Alive.
After all this time?—
alive.
Across the table, Burton Scott closed his eyes briefly.
And for the first time in twenty-seven years?—
The ghost of Clara Vale no longer haunted the room like a dead woman.
* * *
That night, after everyone else had gone home, rain still drifted softly across the pasture lights as Grant walked Izzy toward the rental car parked beside the barn.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Izzy leaned back against the driver’s door with her jacket pulled tighter around her while Grant stood in front of her, broad shoulders shadowed beneath the porch glow from the house up the hill.
“You sure you can manage packin’ everything up yourself?” he asked finally.
A small smile touched her mouth.
“Most of it I’m selling.” She glanced down at the keys in her hand. “The rest I’ll box up and have shipped.”
Grant nodded once and looked away briefly.
Izzy stepped closer, smoothing her fingers lightly along the front of his shirt.
“You know it’s only for a couple of weeks.”
“I know.”
And this time?—
She believed he did.
That realization settled quietly between them, warmer than the rain, warmer than the mountain air.
For so long, Grant had looked at her like loving someone meant eventually losing them.
