The Country Guesthouse (Sullivan's Crossing #5)(19)

The library had one small sign on a shelf that said “Be so kind as to return books to the shelves and not to your suitcase so that the next guest might enjoy them.”

The books were beautiful but even more beautiful was Owen’s voice. She could hear him on the page, telling each picture’s story. Nothing serves as a greater illustration of our own existence than the tree, boughs spread wide and curiously reaching, roots deep and firm. There were pictures of lush, healthy forests as well as brutal logging and fires that left hillsides bare. There were images of Mexican maidens who’d married trees in Oaxaca as well as tree huggers chained to trees to protest illegal logging in the Pacific Northwest. People across the globe planted, chopped, destroyed, replanted. Birth, death, rejuvenation. Conservationists rail about the killing of the planet as if they don’t know—the planet will survive. It always has; it always will. Left alone, it will scrub the poison out of its air; vegetation will replace the death of an assaulted earth; animals will breed and populate. It is we who will die. And disappear.

There was a melancholy in that voice. A sweet, soft vulnerability that probably wooed women everywhere, just as that narrative voice wooed her. She suspected a deep wound. His failed marriage, perhaps. He said they were still good friends, that they stayed in touch.

When Noah woke her in the morning, she was sprawled out on the king-size bed, lying atop books and dreams. She quickly gathered them up and put them away. Noah had no concept of discretion—he told everything he saw.

But that visit with Owen’s amazing talent made her even more anxious for an afternoon spent in his shop, looking at his pictures and learning his process.

The barn wasn’t huge. Half was his shop—computers, large wide-screen monitors, cupboards, shelves, countertop, easels, storyboards, reams of photo paper, cutters, tools of all types. An archway led to a small one-room apartment behind his shop. He had a bed, sofa, shelves with books, a table and two chairs, a galley kitchen and a large bathroom with a big shower. In his walk-in closet there were drawers as well as rods for hanging clothes and a small stacked washer and dryer.

“This is amazing. From outside it looks like a small barn, not much more than an oversize shed,” Hannah said.

“It once held a tack room, supply closet and four horse stalls. Cal Jones has a barn. Huge barn. He gutted it and turned it into a big, beautiful house—five bedrooms and an office, four-and-a-half baths. He works out of his home. If I can think of an excuse, I’ll take you to see it. Amazing remodel.”

“You could live here comfortably forever.”

“I know. That’s why I flirt with the idea of selling the house. It feels so self-indulgent for one man.”

“Noah! Honey, don’t touch that,” she said, noticing Noah’s hands curiously checking out some big lenses.

“You’re okay, Noah. That’s a telescope. One night when we have a clear sky we’ll get it out and look at the moon and stars.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Really. How’d you like to take some pictures?”

“Huh? Can I?”

“Sure. Let’s find a camera more your size.”

And the hours were eaten up by browsing through pictures, both printed and matted in oversize file drawers and on his monitors, and with Owen showing Noah how to point, focus and snap pictures. Noah’s favorite model was Romeo, big surprise. Then Noah asked if Owen had any peanut butter and jelly.

“Oh, Noah, it’s after four!” Hannah said. She’d been sitting on the floor near the bookcase, paging through some of Owen’s books—his and those of other photographers. “Good thing you had two breakfasts! We missed lunch. Oh, I’m a terrible mother! Come on, let’s go over to the big house and I’ll make you something.”

“I have a better idea,” Owen said. “Let’s all go and throw together some dinner. I think it’s almost wine time.”

“What can I make?” she asked, trying to think of what she had.

“Let’s have a look through your refrigerator and see what’s there. I’ll cook,” Owen said.

It turned out a little help was needed from Owen’s kitchen in the barn. He concocted some chicken and pasta dish with a creamy pesto sauce, spinach, sun-dried tomatoes and mushrooms. Hannah was nearly drooling but she was sure she’d have to make Noah a grilled cheese.

But, of course, Noah loved it because Owen made it. And he told them, “My mom used to put spinach and other vegetables in everything. This is so good. It’s reminding me of her.”

After dinner Noah played with Romeo in the yard while the May sun hovered just above the Rockies. Owen and Hannah sat on the porch, trying to digest another wonderful meal. Then Noah came up on the porch and slumped against Hannah, yawning.

“Oh, no, you don’t, young man! You’re not falling asleep without a bath again. Let’s get you cleaned up, teeth brushed and in your pajamas...”

“I can’t,” he said with a whine.

“We’re getting it done even if I have to hold the toothbrush!” she said, lifting him. “You gained weight today!”

“I’ll clean up the kitchen while you get bedtime rolling,” Owen said.

Noah was so tired Hannah had to practically hold his head out of the bath to keep him from drowning. She did have to hold the toothbrush, but she got him into clean jammies and into bed. He was yawning big before she kissed him. “I love you, Noah,” she whispered.