Devon growled deep in his throat. “I know you mean well, but please don’t push. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but if things happen, it will be in their own time.” He sighed and his shoulders slumped further.
Enrique hesitated and looked at Devon as though he were searching for a solution to a riddle. “We could go next Sunday afternoon. We don’t have to take the paints if you don’t want to. There’s a system that’s going to move in and it will be wet for a few days, but by Sunday it should be clear again.” Should being the operative word. The weather here was extremely unpredictable. The mountains created their own weather and did exactly what they wanted.
“I’ll see if I can get him to agree.”
“We can go right after church and leave from there, take a picnic or something,” Enrique offered. Devon winced slightly but didn’t contradict him. Enrique wasn’t a religious person, but he was spiritual, and going to church on Sundays held its own personal spirituality for him. What the minister said was immaterial. The time was about community and his chance to sink into his thoughts with the spirits of those who had gone before him.
“I don’t suppose it’s changed very much up there,” Devon offered.
Enrique shook his head. “The gold mines are still there. The state came through a few years ago and put up better fences to keep people from trying to get into them. But that’s about all.” He loved it up there. “I know a few spots where there’s some great fishing. We could take your dad. I know he loves to fish, even if he sits on a chair on the bank.”
Devon nodded. “It isn’t good for him to just stay here all the time.” He bit his lower lip and flicked his fingers silently against the table. “Let’s do that,” he said softly. “I think it will be fun, and it’s been a long time since I was there.” He nodded, and Enrique wondered if he was trying to convince himself.
“Then I’ll make us a lunch.” He smiled and stood up. “I should get back to the post and see what needs to be done. I’ll be back tomorrow to bring dinner, but it will be a quick in-and-out since I’ll need to get right back to the post.” Saturday nights were the hardest time of the week for him. Everyone in town usually stopped into the Trading Post at some time or other, and there was plenty of socializing and drinking.
“Thank you.” Devon got up and saw him to the door. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for Dad and me. It’s very nice of you.” Devon opened the door and held it in such a way that Enrique had to pass close by. He paused and turned with Devon right near him. He was close enough to smell the sweetness on his breath and take in the hint of sweat and man that permeated the air around him. It was all he could do not to inhale deeply and just imprint that scent on the part of his mind that could hold on to it forever.
Devon Starr was a stunning man, and he seemed both strong and vulnerable. He was going through a great deal of self-doubt, but made the time for kids who would never have the chance to learn from someone like him otherwise. That told Enrique that Devon had a good heart, and that was the most important thing.
A car pulled into the drive, breaking the spell that had held Enrique in place for a few seconds more than he should have stayed. He cleared his throat and took the first steps away from the cabin, hurrying toward his truck, passing Craig and his two boys with a wave.
He had to get back to the post, where things were familiar. It felt like the ground under his feet had turned to sand and the water of the lake threated to wash it away. The Trading Post was home, and he would be on more solid emotional ground there.
“You’re back late,” Angie commented as he slipped behind the mostly full bar, greeting each of the people on the stools. One of his rules was that no matter who the customer was, there were no strangers in his Trading Post. If a tourist wandered in, they were treated like a local. That was the way he wanted people to feel. Let visitors get a taste of the real Alaska and the people who lived there. Once he had said hello to everyone, he checked the kitchen to ensure it wasn’t backed up before joining Angie out front and getting to work. At least if he was busy, he would have something to think about besides Devon Starr.
Chapter 4
DEVON STOOD by the lake early on Sunday morning. The sun shone over the water, sending up crystals of light that were nearly blinding and incredibly beautiful on the mostly still lake. His dad was still sleeping but had actually seemed a little excited about getting out of the cabin, though Devon half expected him to back out at the last minute. He wasn’t sure why. Call it a feeling of some sort.
“Are you going to stare out at the water all day?” his dad called from the doorway behind him.
“No,” he answered, turning around, but he made no move back toward the house. After a minute, footsteps crunched the leaves and undergrowth.
“Then why are you just standing here?” his dad asked, getting closer. “What’s going on?”
“Should you be out here?” Devon asked.
His dad rolled his eyes. “It’s a whole fifty feet. The quack says I need to get some exercise, so I think it’s safe for me to come this far on my own land. I’m not dead yet.” Devon half expected his dad to smack him. He turned away again, this time smiling. It was good to hear some of his father’s feistiness coming back. “You didn’t answer my question. And don’t try to deflect again. You aren’t too big for me to give you a push into the lake to cool you off.”
Now the hint of mirth had him grinning. It was an old threat that his father had only needed to follow through on once… when Devon was fourteen and pushing his boundaries… as it were.
“I don’t know, Dad.” He turned to face him. “Enrique says that I should be looking out here for inspiration, and I keep watching and hoping that something comes, but I’m not getting anything. I’ve been running on empty for a while, and I keep hoping something, anything, will spark an idea… something.” He swallowed hard. “I haven’t had anything in a while, and I keep wondering if my really good ideas were because of the drinking, and….” The smack on the shoulder didn’t hurt, but it took him by surprise. “Hey.” He rubbed the spot.
“That’s about as stupid an idea as I have ever heard in my life. The drinking had nothing to do with it. It’s your own damned head that gets in the way. Stop thinking so much and let that damned lump two feet above your ass get out of your damned way.” He turned around and headed slowly back toward the cabin. “Right now, you got worse things to think about. It’s time to get ready for church, and everyone in town is going to want to mob you.”
“I was going to stay here and….”
“The hell you were. If you don’t go, they’ll all mob me to find out how you are, and I’m not having that. So get your butt in here, shower, shave, shoes, and shove off. We have to leave in half an hour. And drop the sad sack routine, it’s pulling me down… and I just had a stroke.” Clearly his dad wasn’t above using his illness against Devon.
“This is serious, Dad.” He just didn’t understand.
“So am I.” He stopped and shuffled back to where Devon stood. “Inspiration doesn’t come from your eyes. Even I know that. You always painted from the heart, and that was where the interest and passion came from. That has nothing to do with the booze. As I said, you’re only letting your head get in the way.”