The Mountain Between Us. Cindy Myers

“If I’m painting this mural, I guess I get to say who’s in it and who isn’t,” Olivia said. “Well . . . and Danielle and Janelle, since they’re paying for it.”

      “Then they probably don’t want Miss Wynock’s grandfather in their mural,” Lucas said. “I don’t think they like her much.”

      “They don’t?”

      Lucas tossed the banana peel in the trash and looked around the room, she suspected for something else to eat. “Nobody much does,” he said. “She’s kind of a grouchy old lady, though she does know a lot about history. She helped me find books about Native Americans and stuff.”

      “So she likes you.”

      He shrugged. “I guess.”

      Olivia was intrigued by the idea of a friendship between the grouchy librarian and her son, whom she’d always thought of as socially awkward. Not that Lucas wasn’t a sweet boy, but he was so damned smart he put people off, spouting knowledge about everything under the sun. And he wasn’t afraid to challenge adults if he thought they were wrong. No one liked their errors pointed out to them this way, especially by a kid.

      “Do you like her?” Olivia asked.

      “She’s not so bad, really. Just kind of bossy. And I think she’s lonely.”

      Olivia’s chest tightened—in sympathy? Or maybe empathy? She’d had her share of lonely nights, but who hadn’t? She knew a lot more people who were alone than together—her mother, Bob, and most of the other regulars at the Dirty Sally, to name a few.

      Even D. J., she guessed. Though if he was alone, it was by his own choice. She’d never asked him to run off to Iraq. He could have stayed with her if he’d really wanted.

      Better to be alone than with someone she couldn’t depend on.

      “You could put Jake Murphy on your mural,” Lucas said.

      She forced her thoughts away from D. J. “Who’s Jake Murphy?”

      “He’s Maggie Stevens’s father. He owned the French Mistress Mine and lived in that cabin up on Mount Garnet. I guess he was kind of a hermit.”

      “Why would I want to put a hermit on the mural?” she asked.

      “He won the Hard Rock Mining competition three times, and I guess he did a lot of other stuff.”

      “And he was a hermit.”

      “Well, yeah. I mean, he lived way up on the mountain by himself. I guess a lot of the pioneers did that kind of thing—came here to get away from the city and people and stuff.”

      So much for Bob’s boasting about the sense of community in Eureka. The real driving force behind the town was independence—all those miners who staked their claims on mountaintops and dug for gold. They weren’t banding together for a common dream. They were each out to get their own.

      They were all loners. And probably lonely, though maybe that was beside the point. She had a theme for her mural. She’d do a tribute to independence—all those singletons who didn’t need anybody else to succeed.

      Eureka’s only steak restaurant closed after Labor Day and the owners returned to Arizona for the winter. So Gerald drove Lucille to Montrose, to a new French bistro off the square. They were one of only two couples in the place on Friday night, which, Lucille reflected, probably had more to do with the economy than the quality of the food. She was sure of this when she saw the prices on the menu. She might have suspected a man from Eureka of trying to impress her, but Gerald probably ate at fancy restaurants every week back home in Texas. He was clearly a man who enjoyed the finer things in life.

      “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, once they were seated and had placed their orders. He lifted a glass of the French wine he’d chosen. “Not that you aren’t always lovely, but it’s such a pleasure to see you dressed up.”

      She resisted the urge to put a hand to the collar of the silk blouse she’d pulled from the back of her closet. “Thank you. I don’t have much occasion in Eureka to wear fancier clothes.” And she never thought of herself as a fancy clothes type of person. Jeans and prairie skirts, flannel shirts and sweaters were both comfortable and practical, and good enough for her.

      “Not even in your duties as Madam Mayor?” His eyes twinkled in amusement. Tonight he wore a western-cut suit of gray wool with black felt lapels and collar, and a cream silk shirt and string tie with a silver and turquoise slide. His black felt hat had a matching silver and turquoise band. He left the hat on while they ate—a habit Lucille had noted in Texans.

      “The mayor’s job in Eureka consists mainly of presiding over the town council meetings, juggling paperwork, and wrangling with the state over money.”

      “Ah, money.” He nodded sagely. “A concern for everyone these days.”

      “Let’s not talk about that right now,” she said. She wanted to believe Gerald was interested in her for herself, that this was a real date, not a business meeting.

      “Of course. We’re here to enjoy each other’s company.” He reached across the table and took her hand. His palm was smooth and cool against her flesh. He trailed his thumb across her wrist, a feathery, tingling touch that left her breathless.

      “How much longer do you plan to be here?” She wished she could take the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth. At her age, why couldn’t she keep her anxieties to herself? What did it matter if he didn’t plan to stick around? Couldn’t she enjoy being with him right now, without worrying about what might happen later?

      But the question didn’t faze him. He continued to stroke his thumb back and forth across her wrist in the hypnotic way. “I’m self-employed,” he said. “I make my own schedule. I can stay as long as I like. As long as there’s something here that interests me. Or someone.”

      Surely he could feel the way her pulse raced at his words. And he definitely could see the hot blush she knew stained her cheeks. She tried desperately to think of some casual, even coy reply. Some flirtatious remark to show she played these kinds of games all the time. But words failed her. She had zero experience playing fast and loose with emotions, or pretending her attraction to him was of no consequence. She didn’t do romance anymore and had no idea what was expected of her.

      He released her hand and sat back, his expression impassive. She thought at first her silence had offended him, then realized the waiter had arrived with their food. She looked down at what might be the smallest chicken breast she’d ever seen, garnished with a single boiled potato, three spears of asparagus, and an artful swirl of sauce. Her stomach growled and she thought longingly of Janelle and Danielle’s overflowing platters of southern fried chicken or pot roast and gravy.

      Gerald’s biftek looked only slightly more substantial, but he sliced into it with gusto. “I’m seriously thinking about relocating to the area,” he said as he dabbed delicately at his lower lip between bites. “Not to Eureka, necessarily, but perhaps to Telluride. The demographics there seem favorable for the investment services I offer.”

      In other words, he was looking for rich people with lots of money to invest. Telluride had plenty of those, and she could easily picture Gerald, in his ostrich boots and tailored suits, mingling with the rich and famous who filled what had once been a humble village favored by hippies, but was now a posh ski town and summer retreat for the elite.

      So what was he doing having dinner with her? She pushed the thought aside. She wasn’t rich, or one of the beautiful people, but why shouldn’t Gerald be interested in her? She was smart, reasonably attractive, and there was definitely a certain . . . chemistry between them.

      She smiled in what she hoped was an alluring fashion. “I hope you do stay around. I’d like to see more of you.”

      His expanded grin sent another surge of heat through her. “Do you know what I like about you, Lucille? What attracted me to you from the very first?”

      “What