Retribution. Ruth Langan
the earlier afternoon sunshine had caused her to discard her corduroy jacket and roll her sleeves, she now shivered in the gathering shadows as she struggled to put this entire scene on canvas before the duck family decided to depart for warmer climates.
Picasso lay at her feet, panting from his romp in the woods, his fur matted with burrs that would take most of the evening to remove. Toulouse was nowhere to be seen, but Sidney wasn’t worried. Even if he stayed out all day stalking field mice, that cat was smart enough to show up at her door in time for dinner. Toulouse never missed a meal or a chance to curl up before the fire.
She added a dab of paint to her palette, mixed it and bent to her work.
Picasso’s ears lifted. He sprang to his feet, a low warning growl issuing from his throat.
Surprised, Sidney turned in time to see a shadow emerging from the cover of the woods. As the shadow separated itself from the others, she realized it was a man. At first, judging by his rough beard and even rougher garb, she thought he might be a hunter, until she realized that he was carrying, not a rifle, but a camera. A second camera hung from a strap around his neck.
He paused, allowing the dog to get close enough to take his scent.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was deep, the words spoken abruptly, as though he resented having to speak at all.
Sidney set aside her brush and wiped her hands on a rag before getting to her feet. “We don’t see too many people out here.”
“I didn’t expect to run into anybody.” He glanced around. “I don’t see a car or a boat. How’d you get here?”
“I live over there.” She pointed to the forest at his back.
“In those woods?” He shot her a look of surprise. “I was told this was federally protected land.”
“It is. Or at least most of it is. My property was grandfathered in before the government bought the surrounding land. It’s been owned by the same family since the turn of the century, so it remained private property. When it went on the market, I liked the idea of a guarantee that there would never be any neighbors.”
She could feel him studying her a little too intensely. When an uncomfortable silence stretched between them she tried a smile. “How about you? I don’t believe I’ve seen you around Devil’s Cove before.”
He didn’t return the smile. “Just moved in.” He watched the way the dog moved to stand protectively beside Sidney. “I’m staying in the lighthouse.”
“Really?” She turned to study the tower that could be seen above the tree line. “How did you manage that? I thought it was an historic building now, and off-limits to the public.”
“Just lucky, I guess. The historical society asked me to photograph the area for their almanac. In exchange, I get to stay there until next spring.”
“Then you’re a professional photographer?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at the canvas. “And from the look of that, I’d guess I’m in the company of a professional artist.”
When he made no move to introduce himself, Sidney offered her hand. “I’m Sidney Brennan.”
He seemed to pause a beat before saying gruffly, “I think I’ve seen some of your work. Wildlife?”
She nodded.
“Adam Morgan.”
He had a strong, firm handshake, she noted. And his eyes stayed steady on hers until she withdrew her hand and motioned toward the dog at her feet. “This is Picasso.”
When he looked down, the dog cocked his head to one side and regarded him. “A good watchdog.”
She laughed. “He knows who feeds him.”
“Lucky dog. Since I have to feed myself, I’m about to head back and see about dinner.”
“Dinner?” Sidney glanced up at the sky, noting for the first time that the sun had begun to slip below the horizon. “I had no idea it was so late.”
“That must mean you were having a good day.”
She nodded, surprised that he understood. “That’s right. I get so lost in my work, I forget everything. I even forget to eat.”
“Yeah. I know the feeling.” He turned toward the lighthouse in the distance. “Good night.”
“Nice to meet you, Adam. Maybe I’ll see you again some time.” Sidney began to pack up her paints.
Seeing her fold up her easel and camp stool to pack them in the wagon, he paused, taking her measure. She was no bigger than a minnow and couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds. “You sure you can handle all that?”
“Don’t worry. I haul it all the time.”
She’d gone only a few paces when he fell into step beside her.
At her arched eyebrow he merely took the handle from her hands. “Sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners. Living alone does that. I’d feel a lot better if you’d let me pull this.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. She didn’t know this man, and wasn’t sure she wanted to get to know him. But she was feeling the effects of working all day without eating. Not really weak so much as light-headed. The thought of having help hauling this equipment home was comforting. “Thanks.”
As they followed the path deeper into the woods, Sidney looked up at the canopy of fiery autumn foliage. “You picked a great time of year to visit.”
When he didn’t reply, she added, “This is my favorite season.”
“For the color?”
“There’s that, of course. But it’s more. The tourists are gone, a lot of the trendy shops are closed until next summer, and there’s this wonderful feeling of anticipation.”
He turned to her. “What is it you’re anticipating?”
She shrugged. “Slowing down, I guess. Settling in for the winter. Have you ever spent a winter in Michigan?”
“No. Tell me what I’m in for.”
She laughed. “Snow. Mountains of it. I hope you like skiing, sledding and ice fishing.”
“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried my hand at all of them.”
“Where are you from?”
Again that pause, as though reluctant to reveal anything about himself. “Florida, originally. But it’s been years since I’ve been back.”
“Where do you live when you’re not here photographing nature?”
“Wherever an assignment takes me.”
“Assignment?”
“I’m a photojournalist with WNN.”
Her eyes widened. “Really? I’ve never met anyone who actually worked for television news before. I suppose you’ve been all over the world.”
He merely gave a shrug of his shoulders, as though reluctant to talk about his work. And though it was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was here in Devil’s Cove, instead of some exotic location, there was something about his closed, shuttered look that told her he wouldn’t be comfortable answering any more of her questions.
They came up over a rise and Adam stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the cabin. “Talk about isolation.”
Sidney couldn’t decide if he was impressed or dismayed. “I guess I’m just comfortable with my own company. I knew the minute I saw it that it had to be mine.”
He shot her a sideways glance as she opened the door and held it while he stepped past her. Once inside he handed her the easel and stool, and she set them in a corner