LITMIR.BIZ

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storefronts.

      Belle glanced around at the colorful array of buildings. “Where’s the courthouse?”

      “In San Marcos.”

      “Pardon?”

      “The courthouse for Hayes County is in San Marcos, the county seat,” Gabe said.

      “When you said ‘square,’ I assumed that you meant courthouse square. Like our square in Naconiche.”

      “No courthouse here,” Gabe said. “We don’t even have a jail.”

      “What do you do with the bad guys?” Belle asked.

      Gabe smiled. “We don’t have many bad guys, but the few assorted lawbreakers get carted off to the calaboose in San Marcos.”

      “No police force?”

      “Nope,” he said. “The county sheriff and his deputies handle things pretty well.”

      “We frown on crime,” Flora said. “This is the Firefly, the gallery that handles my work.” She pointed to a shop painted a sun-weathered blue. “And Daisy’s Health Food is just beyond it.”

      Gabe retrieved the paintings from the trunk while Belle and Flora got out and went inside the gallery.

      When the bell over the door jingled, a tall, slender man, with more hair on his chin than on his head, turned from his customers. His face brightened. “Flora! Dear heart. Your timing is perfect.” He rushed over to envelop Flora in a hug, trailing a scent that reminded Belle of sweet potato pie and mint tea. “Where on earth have you been, darlin’? And who is this gorgeous lady with you?”

      “This gorgeous lady is Belle Outlaw, our houseguest. Belle, this is Mason Perdue, the owner of the Firefly.”

      “Mr. Perdue.” Belle offered her hand.

      He grasped her hand in both of his and bowed slightly. “Mason will do. My late fahtha was Mr. Perdue. Are you an artist, Belle?”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      The bell jingled again, and Gabe came inside carrying the two paintings. “Where shall I put these, Mason?”

      “By my desk for now if you don’t mind, Gabe. Belle, may I steal Flora away for a moment? These very nice people from San Antonio have stopped by and are absolutely enamored by her portraits. They’d like to discuss a commission with her.”

      “Mason,” Flora whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t put me on the spot like this. You know how I feel about it.”

      “Double your price, darlin’,” Mason whispered back. “They’re loaded, and I need to pay my light bill. Things have been slow this month.”

      Flora rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Excuse me, Belle.”

      “No problem. I’ll look around.”

      “I’ll give you the guided tour,” Gabe said.

      Amused, Belle asked, “Think I might get lost?” The gallery was no more than twenty feet square.

      Gabe grinned. “You might lose yourself among all these bluebonnets.”

      Belle soon discovered what he meant. About half the paintings were landscapes, and most of those were of fields of wild-flowers, primarily bluebonnets. But these weren’t poor attempts by somebody’s grandmother or a weekend hobbyist. They were beautifully done by a variety of artists.

      “Are these local artists?” she asked.

      “Most of them, I think,” Gabe said.

      “Why so many bluebonnets?”

      “Tourists, my dear,” Mason said from behind them. “They gobble them up—even the bad ones at the place down the street. By the end of wildflower season, we won’t have a one left. I’ve tried to get Flora to paint more bluebonnets, but, alas, one is all she’ll do for now. This is hers.” He hung one of the canvases Gabe had brought in an empty spot on her left.

      Belle moved toward it and stopped dead still. It took her breath away.

      “You can almost see the unicorns frolicking in the mists, can’t you?” Mason asked.

      Unicorns? No. But she could almost see fairies dancing in the flower fields. “It’s…spectacular.” And the price discreetly displayed on a card in the corner was spectacular, too. It was well beyond her means—especially now that she didn’t have a job.

      “I’ll wager that it’s gone by the weekend,” Mason said. He sighed. “God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to paint like that.”

      “You don’t paint?” Belle asked.

      “Compared to Flora, I merely dabble. I’m mediocre at best.”

      “But an excellent teacher,” Gabe said.

      Mason sighed. “You know what they say. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.”

      “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Belle said. “My oldest brother was an outstanding cop, and now he’s an excellent criminal justice teacher. I suspect that you’re a very good artist.”

      “Good, I suppose, but not great. Look at these portraits of Flora’s.”

      They walked along the display beside Flora’s landscape, and Belle stopped again to draw a deep breath. Spectacular didn’t begin to describe the three large paintings displayed there. A surreal quality radiated from the canvases, captivating her. Besides her own few pitiful attempts at sketching and watercolor, Belle didn’t know a great deal about art, but she recognized brilliance.

      These were brilliant.

      Beyond brilliant.

      The first was of Napoleon, Skye’s assistant. His features were carved into a huge oak tree and into the craggy mountain behind it. Strength and endurance fairly shouted from the powerful painting, yet doves and a lamb rested among the tree branches and flowers grew at its base. Seeing the painting, Belle’s feelings about Napoleon subtly shifted. Rather than thinking of him as mean-looking, she saw him as powerful and fierce, but gentle and protective at the same time.

      The second portrait was Mason and, while it was very different, it was no less awesome. On canvas, Mason became a wizard with a display of colored light circles illuminating the background. Each circle contained a different symbol, some Belle recognized, some she didn’t. A pied-piper sprightliness seemed to draw her to the twinkle in his eyes.

      “Did she capture you?” Belle asked Mason.

      “Absolutely. I’m astounded every time I look at it. Something stirs deep inside me.”

      The third painting was of a little girl, a blond fairy clad in wispy drapes of moonbeams, lying prone beside a glade’s misty pool and surrounded by every type of animal from tigers to bunnies. The creatures seemed enamored of the fairy child, whose finger trailed in the water and spread ripples over the still surface.

      A feeling of familiarity tugged at her, but Belle couldn’t name the subject. “Who?”

      “Skye,” Gabe said. “She was about four or five.”

      “No wonder she became a vet,” Belle said. “Wow.”

      “Wow, indeed,” Mason said.

      Feeling both energized and a bit drained, Belle moved on to look at the other paintings. None compared to Flora’s.

      By the time they’d completed the perimeter, Flora had finished with her conversation, and they went next door to the health food store.

      “Are you feeling tired?” Gabe asked.

      “Not at all,” Belle said.

      Flora introduced Belle to Daisy, the owner of the health food store. Daisy’s name suited her perfectly. A short, no-nonsense person, the owner was

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