RaeAnne Thayne - A Cold Creek Christmas Surprise

“Can you tell me,” she asked him, “was this piece part of the...stolen collection?”

After a moment, he nodded, his features dark.

What other answer had she expected? Sarah pressed her lips together. She couldn’t tell him the rest. The dozens of pieces of art she had found in that climate-controlled storage unit.

She also couldn’t tell him what she suspected.

She was suddenly exhausted, so tired her eyes felt gritty and heavy. She wanted nothing but to sleep again, to ease the pain of her injuries and the worse pain in her heart.

“Do you have any idea how your father obtained it?” he asked. “We’ve only found two or three pieces from the stolen collection in all these years. They seem to appear out of thin air, and we can never trace them back to the original seller. This could be just what we need to solve the case.”

She couldn’t tell him that. She didn’t have the strength or the courage right now when she was hurting so badly. She would have her father’s estate attorney deal with all the particulars, as she should have done from the beginning.

He would eventually know everything, but she wouldn’t have to face those piercing green eyes during the telling.

“I’ve told you all I can. I found it among my father’s things, as I said, and now I would like you and your family to have it. Take the painting, Mr. Bowman. Ridge. Please. Consider it a Christmas gift if you want, but it’s yours.”

“I can’t believe this. I’m...stunned.” He smiled at her, a flash of bright joy that took her breath away. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t begin to tell you how happy Caidy, Taft and Trace will be. You’ve given us a gift beyond price.”

“I’m glad.” She mustered a smile, even though it made her cheeks ache. “I’m so tired. Can I rest now?”

“Yes. Of course.” He picked up the painting from the bed and held it gingerly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was in his hands again. “Caidy left a lot of her clothes here. Would you like me to find a nightgown for you to change into so you can be more comfortable?”

“I can do that. Thank you.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. Not after this.” He gestured to the painting in his hands. “I’m supposed to check on you a couple more times in the night. I’ll apologize in advance for waking you.”

“Apology accepted.”

He headed for the door. “If you need anything else, call out. I’ll probably sleep on the sofa in the family room off the kitchen.”

She wanted to tell him that wasn’t necessary, that she would be fine, but she was just too exhausted to argue—especially when she somehow knew he wouldn’t listen anyway.

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