A Grand Teton Sleigh Ride: Four Generations of Wyoming Ranchers Celebrate Love at Christmas (26 page)

“Sure thing.” He winked, his eyes were warm and friendly.

Where had Jim been keeping this one?

Hayley carried the box to the back of the gallery, eyeing several people who browsed through the studio, someone with small children even, which could be hazardous around the more delicate pieces like sculptures, glass, and pottery. Just before she entered through the employees-only door at the back, she glimpsed a salesperson assisting a potential customer with questions about a large nature painting on the wall.

She set the box on an empty shelf and began unpacking. She didn’t want Jim to miss this one. He was sure to spot it as soon as he returned. Hayley exited in time to see her helper meandering across the studio floor, searching for her.

“I’m over here,” she called.

He grinned and strode toward her, carrying the last two boxes. Didn’t he understand what was in them? If he dropped them, all that time and effort would be lost. But Hayley kept her grin in place as she led him to the back.

“Set the boxes on the table, and I’ll unpack them. Put these pieces next to this one on the shelf.”

His eyes grew wide. “Whoa, you did that?”

Hayley cocked her head. Hadn’t Jim informed all his employees of her work? “Yes, I’m Hayley Covington.” She let her hands fall from the box she was unpacking. “Jim gave me an opportunity to display my work at his studio.”

He reached for the vase.

Hayley reached, too, placing her hand against his. “Please, be careful.” Oh, no. She sounded like a prima donna, and there wasn’t any call for that kind of attitude.

He didn’t appear offended at her overprotective reaction. “May I?”

Hayley liked that he asked her. “Yes, of course.”

He lifted the vase and ran his finger over her etchings in the clay. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Why haven’t I heard of you before?”

His praise warmed her insides. Had others who’d seen and purchased her work reacted this way? “I’m just starting out. I’ve only had a few pieces in the studio, but they’ve sold quickly.”

He gently placed the vase on the shelf.

Ty Walker wasn’t sure he could afford this, lovely as it was. He’d come into the gallery to get ideas, just browsing mostly, though he doubted he’d end up purchasing anything so pricey. But prices were all steep in Jackson.

“I can see why, this one is amazing. You might be new on the scene, but I predict you’re going to be popular in no time.” With her crystal blue eyes and shiny blond mane, she was as amazing as her pottery. Looking into her eyes, he imagined that he saw a depth there, intricately carved into her being, like she’d carved into her pottery.

“Thanks. That’s just what Jim said. He’s been telling me this for a few years. I finally agreed. I don’t know … I guess I was afraid of success.” The uncertainty behind her eyes confirmed her words and stirred compassion in him.

“Success can be brutal.” Not that Ty would know anything about that.

She laughed. “You didn’t ask to hear all this.”

“I’m good with it. And I know what you mean about being afraid of success.” Maybe that had been his problem all along, and this girl, this lovely girl who he’d only just met, had nailed it. She didn’t even know him. Ty … a ski bum with nothing to offer a pretty lady like her, an up- and-coming artist—found himself wanting to see her again. To know more about her.

“I’m looking for a special present for my grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday. I know we only just met, but I’m having a hard time finding something that’s just right. Something unique. This piece is unique but”—Ty frowned—“I’m not sure it’s her. No offense.”

“None taken. I completely understand.” Hayley stared at nothing in particular, like she was in thought.

Ty figured he’d overstayed his welcome. “Well, it was nice to meet you Hayley Covington. I need to go.”

“No, wait, please. I didn’t get your name.”

“Ty Walker.”

“Well, Ty, I have an idea. I’d really like to help you with your grandmother’s present. Maybe I could create something special just for her.”

“Oh no, that’s too much. Thanks for the offer, but—”

“It’s no trouble at all, and I insist. You helped me today, and I’d like to return the favor.”

By creating one of her special pieces for his grandmother? “I … Hayley, I’ll be up front with you. I don’t think I could afford your pottery.”

Hayley’s cell phone chirped. She frowned when she glanced at it, but smiled up at him. “Not to worry. We’ll work something out. When can you come over so we can talk about your grandmother and I can give you a few ideas?”

“I’m free for a few hours Thursday afternoon.”

“Good. I’ll see you at the Covington Ranch. It’s easy to find. My studio is in a small cabin off the back of the house. And Ty, please, if you decide you don’t want any of my pottery for her, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Why would you want to do this?”

She gave him a half grin. “Have trouble trusting people, do you? I’m kind of impulsive like that, just ask my father. But I started thinking it would be nice to do some commissioned pieces, and I’d like to start with you. So think of yourself as a test.”

Ty laughed. “Now that I can agree to.”

He left Miss Hayley Covington to unpack the rest of her boxes, revealing her extraordinary pottery, and return her phone call, with a bounce in his step he hadn’t felt in far too long. He strolled through the vibrantly decorated studio, eyeing the expensive oil paintings and sculptures and wood carvings, feeling for the first time like he belonged. Feeling like he wasn’t out of place in the ritzier places Jackson had to offer. And all because of Hayley’s offer. Her warm, unpretentious ways. She was a Covington, for crying out loud—part of that big spread outside Jackson. Had to be worth millions.

When he’d woken up this morning, he’d prayed for direction for his life, and God sure answered in funny ways. Of course, meeting Hayley wasn’t exactly a path for his life, but he hadn’t expected any of that to happen.

All he’d wanted was to find something special for Nanna to make up for her disappointment in him. He’d fallen in love with skiing as a teenager and moved in with her, convincing his parents in Texas that he could train and become something great.

Yeah right.

All he’d managed to accomplish was working as a part-time ski instructor at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort, and he worked part-time at the National Elk Refuge to bring in extra cash, too. His grandmother thought he was a ski bum. She was right, because he didn’t have any other aspirations. He lived to ski. What more did he need? He’d prayed for God to show him.

And meeting Hayley today …

I guess I was afraid of success
. Her words came back to him.

A gnawing started in his gut and worked its way up into his chest. He just might need something more in life besides cutting through the icing on the most vertical slope in the country.

P
erfect
.

She’d gotten on top of her ranching chores. A rich beef stew, a Covington family recipe handed down through the years, simmered in the Crock-Pot, filling the spacious home—built in the late eighteen hundreds—with a wonderful aroma. Daddy was in a much better mood when she took good care of him. He was an old-fashioned guy. No getting around that. And considering he’d insisted she join him in discussions with Will, the ranch manager, about selling off some of the horses, she needed him in a good mood so she could beg off. Ranching was hard work, but they had plenty of hands to do the grunt labor. The work could go on forever, from dawn to dusk, if she let it.

Since Daddy hadn’t quite stopped thinking of her as his little girl yet, even though she was twenty-four, she’d used that to her advantage. She needed time to explore her artistic side, and she’d started putting more time into that lately. The more she put into it, the more ideas for pottery designs she came up with at all hours of the day and night. Designs even took over her dreams.

The problem was that Daddy didn’t know she’d put her pieces in a gallery in town. She needed to be the one to tell him before someone else did. She hadn’t honestly thought people would buy her pieces so quickly, or that her work would actually be in demand. Getting permission to put her pieces in the studio when Daddy had never had much respect for artists—though she didn’t understand why—seemed futile. But maybe it was more that he wanted her focus on running the ranch. Maybe he was afraid of losing her to other endeavors.

She sighed, feeling her dreams tugging her away from the ranch. Who was she kidding? She was afraid her art would pull her away from the ranch, too, but she had to make it work.

Somehow, she needed to convince him that she could create and sell art, and work the ranch, too. With Ty stopping by, she’d have even more to explain.

She thought about Ty and his warm smile. Helping him with this gift for his grandmother had seemed like the right thing to do. It would help them both. She could find out if she could create a “commissioned” piece especially designed for a particular person—Ty’s grandmother—though Hayley had done the commissioning.

In her small studio, Hayley stored away the messy slip, glazes, and clays, and wiped off the counters and her Lockerbie kick wheel. She wanted to make an impression on Ty. For some reason she couldn’t explain, the man had stayed in her thoughts since she’d met him, and in a way that had nothing at all to do with pottery.

She promised herself if she ever fell for someone, he’d need to be a cowboy or a rancher, too, so he could be part of her life here. She’d come close once, a couple of years ago. But Daddy had come on strong, and Ray hadn’t stuck around long after that. She’d never been sure what happened—if Daddy had run him off, or if Ray had lost interest. But regardless his reason for moving on, Hayley had been deeply hurt.

She hadn’t met anyone since who she would be willing to risk her heart over. Maybe she’d been too isolated at the ranch, she didn’t know.

All she knew was that Ty had stayed in her thoughts. The problem was he wasn’t really a cowboy. Had no ranching experience. What was she thinking? She’d met the guy once. Her thoughts were getting away from her. She lassoed them, reining them in.

Someone knocked on the door. Hayley’s palms slicked.
Calm down, girl
. The thought of doing this kind of work made her giddy. When she opened the door, Ty filled the space on the other side like his smile filled his face. Then she was giddy for an entirely different reason.

“You made it.” She swung the door wide. “Come inside and see my meager little studio. But hey, it’s all mine.”

Ty stepped inside, the subtle hint of his musky cologne tickled her nose. He shrugged out of his jacket.

“I’ll take that.” Hayley hung it on the coat tree by the door along with hers.

He thrust his hands into his khaki pants, his sweater pulled tight over his broad shoulders. Hayley suddenly wondered what she’d been thinking. She had no idea how to go about this. Might as well be honest about that.

“Thanks so much for driving all the way out.” She used her hands a lot when she talked, so she clasped them in front of her. “I’ll be honest, I’ve never done this before.”

Ty angled his head. “What? Had anyone out to your studio?”

She laughed. “No, actually, but that’s not what I mean. Ty, I want to create something special for your grandmother based on what you tell me about her, and of course, based on what you’d like me to create.”

He frowned and drew in a breath. “I hope I haven’t wasted your time. I don’t make a lot of money, so I’m not sure I could afford anything you make.”

“You’re doing me a favor. Like I said, I have never done this before. You already agreed to be my test subject. We’ll work something out, remember?”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“Well, see anything you like?” She gestured to the pottery on the shelves around the room—vases, pitchers, bowls, teakettles, and more. “Why don’t you look around and talk to me about which pieces speak to you. Then we’ll talk about your grandmother.”

He flashed a lopsided smile. Hayley liked that.

“All right,” he said. “I have a feeling this is going to be great.”

He moved to the shelves.

“That one is just greenware. It hasn’t been bisque-fired yet. And that over there”—she pointed across the room—“has been bisque-fired but not yet glazed. Unless you see some shape you like here, I’m more interested in hearing your thoughts on the completed designs.”