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you choose an auction house that specialized in western genre painters?”
    Barton blinked. “Huh?”
    â€œI was just wondering what your experience in art sales was,” she said. “If the Custers are going to be sold, they need to be handled properly.”
    â€œAnd you think I can’t? I’ve got a degree in management, Harvard. I know business.”
    â€œThen you know that the art business is as idiosyncratic as they come. This isn’t the same as finding angel investors for a start-up. Selling art is part show business, part poker game, and part craps.”
    â€œAnd you’re just the gal to handle it?” Barton asked. “The only guy who knows those paintings better than me is dead now.” He flushed and jabbed a finger at her. “I’ve got a personal connection.”
    â€œThat will be very useful in selling the paintings if the time comes,” she agreed, smiling professionally. “Collectors like to have a personal link to the history of a painting. It helps add a glow to the narrative, to the legend of a painter, and, of course, to the artistic taste of the owner.”
    â€œCan’t pay bills with a legend,” Barton said.
    â€œNo, but you can make it work to your advantage. That’s a medium-long game if you want to play it right. Sellers like that seersucker guy just pump and dump, but don’t give the audience enough time to really get into the work.”
    â€œLegends aren’t built overnight,” Jay said quietly.
    â€œOvernight sensations brought on by years of work are a lot more common,” she said, nodding.
    â€œYears?” Barton laughed roughly. “Who has the time?”
    â€œA professional willing to invest in the future has the time,” she said. “If you have any interest, we can talk about the process and the kind of work it will take to properly market paintings such as the Custers.”
    â€œAnd you’re just the professional to show me how, right?” Barton said sarcastically.
    â€œGlad you realize that,” Jay said, glancing at his watch. “When the paintings are sold, I suspect that Ms. Medina will be a big part of it. Assuming, of course, that she wants to be hired for the job.”
    Relief snaked through Sara. “Thank you. If you want, I’d be happy to help you sell the Custers. Did you have a time line in mind?”
    â€œNo guarantees on handling the sale,” Jay said. “Not yet. I need to know someone—in person—before I trust them.”
    â€œUnderstood.”
    Liza’s voice called impatiently, “Barty, come here!”
    Barton grimaced. “A minute,” he yelled.
    Wind gusted, making Sara grab Jay’s coat at the same time he did. Their fingers tangled. She admired the difference in texture and strength and heat between his fingers and hers. He had calluses, but the skin itself wasn’t rough. She couldn’t help wondering how those fingers would feel against her bare skin.
    Then she wondered how he could stand around in his shirtsleeves in a cold Wyoming wind and have warmer hands than she did.
    â€œListen,” Barton said, leaning in to Jay. “Did you look over the new plan I sent you?”
    â€œMs. Medina is getting cold standing around in the wind,” Jay said. “I’ll call you after—”
    â€œYou remember that guy I sent out to my quarter of the ranch last week?” Barton cut in hurriedly.
    â€œThe one who was three days late?”
    Barton waved that away. “He’s an important man. Got lots of irons in lots of fires. Anyway, the reports came back and it’s looking good. But he wants to dig a few more holes to be sure before he offers a deal.”
    Sara felt Jay go absolutely still.
    â€œThis is the land along Lash Creek?” Jay asked.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œThat creek feeds Crowfoot, which waters most of the ranch. That watershed is too valuable