without dragging him upstairs. She’d never been this turned-on by a guy before, not to the point where her jeans were wet just from walking beside him, holding hands.
“I didn’t tell you last night that your barn is amazing. It looks every bit as professional as Shane’s veterinary office,” Dash told her as they moved into the cool, shady barn.
“Shane helped me set it up,” she admitted. “We actually work together quite a bit.
Since wild animals don’t have anyone to pay vet bills, he usually lets me do what I can and handles things such as surgeries and euthanasia as needed.”
He watched intently as she fed the eagle the other half of this morning’s fish, and once again pitched in, filling the water bowl and dumping dirty newspapers in the trash while she relined the bird’s cage.
“So what do you do to pay the bills?” he asked as they walked back to the house.
“Your grandfather mentioned you were some kind of artist, but he didn’t give me any details.”
She caught the note of uncertainty in his voice and grinned. “And you’re wondering how someone who can’t see can draw. You and everybody else. The answer to that is, I don’t know. I just can. Especially animals. What I do is write children’s books based on Native American legends and illustrate them with my pen-and-ink drawings. The publisher has someone else who sometimes adds color. When I’m telling the story, the art just seems to flow. I couldn’t tell you exactly what they look like, but I 26
Eagle’s Redemption
can tell if they’re good or not as I’m doing them. It’s just another gift—one I don’t question too closely, just in case I jinx it.”
“That’s…amazing,” Dash said. They stopped on the patio where he fussed with the grill some more. “Maybe after dinner you could show me some of your drawings.”
Seemingly right at home, he let himself back into the house and started pulling things out of his grocery bag.
“If you want. You don’t seem as freaked out by the idea that I can draw as some of my dates have been.”
Dash shrugged. “Cops aren’t supposed to believe in anything they can’t see, touch or enter into evidence. But I don’t know a single one, especially the good ones, who don’t rely on some kind of intuition. I’ve knocked on doors where the wife knew the moment her husband died, and was waiting for us to come tell her. My mom has a friend who reads tea leaves, and let me tell you, I’d have been a lot better off if I’d listened to her more often. Weird shit exists in this world. Why not a visually impaired woman who creates art? Now a more important question. Do you like California shiraz?”
Once again she couldn’t help but laugh. Her nose picked up a hint of garlic and pepper, and figured he was seasoning the steaks. “It’s fine. There’s a corkscrew in the drawer next to the sink. I’ll get some glasses.”
* * * * *
“I think you have everyone fooled, Dash Hyde,” Carmen teased as they finished loading the dishwasher after dinner. “Everyone in Morgan’s Creek is convinced you’re this quiet hermit, but you can really hold up your end of a conversation, can’t you?”
Dash felt his face heat. “I’m not—comfortable around most people. For some reason it’s easy to talk to you.”
Looking around the great room, he saw only a couple of doors—one led to the bathroom where he’d washed up before dinner, and the other, next to it, was open, 27
Cindy Spencer Pape
showing a laundry-utility area. The entire rest of the first floor was one big open space, with soft earth tones on the walls and colorful rugs on the gleaming pine floors.
Furnishings and the area rugs divided it into three basic sections—kitchen, living room and office-studio. Her voice softened as she took him by the hand, leading him over to her work area. “Is it because you know I can’t see the scars?”
“At first, maybe,” he confessed. “For a few minutes anyway. After
“I didn’t tell you last night that your barn is amazing. It looks every bit as professional as Shane’s veterinary office,” Dash told her as they moved into the cool, shady barn.
“Shane helped me set it up,” she admitted. “We actually work together quite a bit.
Since wild animals don’t have anyone to pay vet bills, he usually lets me do what I can and handles things such as surgeries and euthanasia as needed.”
He watched intently as she fed the eagle the other half of this morning’s fish, and once again pitched in, filling the water bowl and dumping dirty newspapers in the trash while she relined the bird’s cage.
“So what do you do to pay the bills?” he asked as they walked back to the house.
“Your grandfather mentioned you were some kind of artist, but he didn’t give me any details.”
She caught the note of uncertainty in his voice and grinned. “And you’re wondering how someone who can’t see can draw. You and everybody else. The answer to that is, I don’t know. I just can. Especially animals. What I do is write children’s books based on Native American legends and illustrate them with my pen-and-ink drawings. The publisher has someone else who sometimes adds color. When I’m telling the story, the art just seems to flow. I couldn’t tell you exactly what they look like, but I 26
Eagle’s Redemption
can tell if they’re good or not as I’m doing them. It’s just another gift—one I don’t question too closely, just in case I jinx it.”
“That’s…amazing,” Dash said. They stopped on the patio where he fussed with the grill some more. “Maybe after dinner you could show me some of your drawings.”
Seemingly right at home, he let himself back into the house and started pulling things out of his grocery bag.
“If you want. You don’t seem as freaked out by the idea that I can draw as some of my dates have been.”
Dash shrugged. “Cops aren’t supposed to believe in anything they can’t see, touch or enter into evidence. But I don’t know a single one, especially the good ones, who don’t rely on some kind of intuition. I’ve knocked on doors where the wife knew the moment her husband died, and was waiting for us to come tell her. My mom has a friend who reads tea leaves, and let me tell you, I’d have been a lot better off if I’d listened to her more often. Weird shit exists in this world. Why not a visually impaired woman who creates art? Now a more important question. Do you like California shiraz?”
Once again she couldn’t help but laugh. Her nose picked up a hint of garlic and pepper, and figured he was seasoning the steaks. “It’s fine. There’s a corkscrew in the drawer next to the sink. I’ll get some glasses.”
* * * * *
“I think you have everyone fooled, Dash Hyde,” Carmen teased as they finished loading the dishwasher after dinner. “Everyone in Morgan’s Creek is convinced you’re this quiet hermit, but you can really hold up your end of a conversation, can’t you?”
Dash felt his face heat. “I’m not—comfortable around most people. For some reason it’s easy to talk to you.”
Looking around the great room, he saw only a couple of doors—one led to the bathroom where he’d washed up before dinner, and the other, next to it, was open, 27
Cindy Spencer Pape
showing a laundry-utility area. The entire rest of the first floor was one big open space, with soft earth tones on the walls and colorful rugs on the gleaming pine floors.
Furnishings and the area rugs divided it into three basic sections—kitchen, living room and office-studio. Her voice softened as she took him by the hand, leading him over to her work area. “Is it because you know I can’t see the scars?”
“At first, maybe,” he confessed. “For a few minutes anyway. After
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