Dane's Storm

“Oh, I”—I shook my head—“I can’t really remember.”

He narrowed his eyes, aware of my dishonesty, but didn’t push. “Hmm. All right. Well, I never knew you had such a romantic streak. It’s certainly not from experience.” He raised an eyebrow, alluding to my lack of a love life. “But it worked in case you have more where that came from. I’m going to make another pot of coffee. We have the Spellman wedding to get ready for and the McMaster quote alone could take all day.”

I smiled, gathering my things and taking them to my desk on the other side of the room, next to the window. The door to the shop opened and closed as Jay left to make coffee in the employee kitchen down the hall. For a moment I simply stood by the window, staring at the mountains beyond, thinking of a handsome chief, and the woman he loved enough to stand over her in protection for all eternity. Sadness welled up inside me at the knowledge that a love like that was not my destiny.

CHAPTER TWO

Then . . .

Audra moved the brush slowly down the canvas, going over the line she’d already drawn. Her picture was done, and she was pleased with the result, but the model held her pose at the front of the room as the other art students focused intensely on the likeness they were still attempting to capture.

Movement out the window caught Audra’s attention and her breath hitched as she watched Dalila Townsend’s brother take a seat on the bench in the small park area next to the building. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment as she glanced at the empty seat Dalila usually occupied. Didn’t he realize she wasn’t here today?

He’d been picking Dalila up after class—every Tuesday and Thursday at five—since they had started a month before. At first Audra had thought he was Dalila’s boyfriend, until they’d struck up a conversation one day, and Dalila had caught sight of him out the window, saying, “Oh, there’s my brother. I have to go,” before breezing out the door. At the revelation that the boy was Dalila’s brother, something Audra wasn’t sure how to name had lifted in her chest, as if taking flight inside her. It couldn’t be relief. Why, she wondered, would a girl like her be relieved that a boy like him didn’t have a girlfriend? Or at least, if he did have a girlfriend, it wasn’t Dalila. And it would never be her, of course. An invisible girl like her would only ever watch boys like him through windows and across rooms.

“Pitiful,” she muttered under her breath, drawing her shoulders straight. She knew she should turn her gaze away from the window. She knew it was slightly weird—okay, maybe really weird—to watch him like she did, but she couldn’t help it. She was drawn to him. Not only to his looks, but his mannerisms, his expressions, the goodness she saw in him.

Today, he was bent forward, his elbows on his knees as he ate a sandwich. He glanced to the left and Audra’s eyes moved to where a stray dog sat watching him as closely as she was.

The boy paused, his hand halfway to his mouth, as he stared at the dog. Audra tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she watched the interaction. The boy hesitated for several moments, seeming to be weighing the situation. The dog continued staring, sad eyes imploring. The boy’s shoulders rose as if on a sigh, and he held the sandwich out to the dog. The dog approached him timidly, yet hopefully, taking the sandwich from his hand and eating it in one single gulp. He said something to the dog and reached his hand out tentatively. The dog took a step forward,

nudging the boy’s hand with his head, and was rewarded with scratching under his chin and behind his ears for several minutes before a car honking somewhere nearby startled the mutt and he turned, running off.

Audra glanced at the sketchbook on her lap as she quickly and effortlessly drew the exchange between the boy and dog, switching pencils as she added detail. Movement in her peripheral vision had her closing the pad of paper quickly, right before her teacher approached from the side.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, looking at the completed drawing perched on her easel. “The shading is . . . absolutely stunning. Lovely work, Audra.” Pleasure filled her at his compliment, the look of genuine respect in his eyes. He smiled. “You always draw in black and white, though. Aren’t you ever inspired to add a bit of color?”

Audra smiled, shrugging, not sure how to answer his question. He patted her on the shoulder, chuckling softly, and walked to the next student. She glanced at the drawing, thinking about what the teacher had asked. Why did she always draw in black and white? Was it because that was the way she saw the world? Colorless? Yes, her heart whispered. Yes. She thought of her home, of the melancholy that permeated those four walls, of the way she’d always felt part of the shadows. But also of the way—secretly, deep inside—she yearned to seek the yellow warmth of the sunshine.

She glanced at the pad in her lap, opening it to the picture of the boy and the dog, the one she’d drawn with colored pencils. Audra’s world felt as if it was black and white, shades of somber gray, but surprisingly, to her, he was in color.

**********

“Hello?” Dane called, stepping into the room, empty except for a girl at the sink near the front. She whirled toward him, water droplets flying off the handful of brushes she held, her eyes wide with surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, walking toward her. “I’m, ah, looking for my sister.”

For a moment the girl continued staring, the bunch of brushes clasped tightly in her fist, her mouth shaped in an O. Finally, she blinked and shook her head slightly, reaching backward and turning off the water, before facing Dane once again. “Your sister’s Dalila Townsend, right?” she asked softly.

Dane moved closer, nodding. “Yeah. I usually pick her up.” His brow furrowed as he glanced around the empty room and then at the girl.

“Dalila mentioned last week that she wouldn’t be in class today . . . something about an eye appointment?”

Dane grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, shit, that’s right. I totally forgot.” He glanced back to the girl. She looked down at her shoes for a moment and her dark braid fell over her shoulder. More hair seemed to have slipped out of it than was contained within it. He really looked at her now and an unexpected tingling raced through his blood. She was pretty in an unusual, exotic way. She was small and delicate, something about the set of her cheekbones and the slope of her forehead hinting at a native American ancestor. Her chin was pointy as was her little nose. But it was her big, thickly lashed eyes that captivated him, seemed to hold him prisoner for a moment. And her mouth . . . it was narrow, but her lips were full, and so perfectly pink. He swallowed. “Are you the teacher?” he asked in confusion. She looked about his age, maybe younger. An aide? He took a step closer so they were only a few feet apart now. Up close her skin was clear and smooth, a bloom of pink staining both cheeks.

She blinked and then shook her head. “No. I”—she furrowed her brow—“um, I’m a student. I get a discount on the class for cleaning up the room when it’s over.” She glanced next to her at the sink where Dane noticed a broom leaning against the wall, a dustpan clipped to the handle. When he looked back at her, he noticed the color in her cheeks had deepened. Regret knotted his stomach. Shit. He’d embarrassed her. Seeking to change the subject, he glanced at the easel to his right, his eyes widening at what he saw.

He glanced at the girl and her eyes moved from the easel where he’d been looking back to him. “We had a model visit the class today,” she explained. “She was . . . obviously . . . well, topless.”

The corners of Dane’s eyes tightened as he turned toward the easel. “I see.” The girl moved to stand beside him, gazing at the drawing. She took her full bottom lip between her teeth, tilting her head. “I’m not exactly an expert,” Dane said, “but I don’t think they’re supposed to be . . . sharp.”

The girl’s lip quirked and then she pressed her lips tightly together as if suppressing a smile, perhaps not wanting to insult the artist in question. “Well, everyone sees the world differently, I guess. He obviously sees a woman’s body as . . .” She furrowed her brow as if trying to come up with the appropriate description.

“Advanced weaponry?”

She laughed, her face lighting up in a way that made Dane’s stomach muscles clench. Their eyes met, and Dane saw the surprise in her wide, dark gaze along with the amusement. She hadn’t expected him to make her laugh and the knowledge that he’d surprised her sent a thrill of satisfaction through him.

He took a few steps to stand before the next easel, bringing his hand to his chin and staring at the next artist’s vision of womanhood—grimacing at the breasts that looked like rotten fruit. “Please tell me this is not how she really looked.”

The girl shook her head, still considering the drawing. “No,” she murmured. “I would have suggested medical attention.”