Strangers in the Night by Patricia H. Rushford Page A

think her foolish for wanting to paint a scene like this? Sobering, she thought about Nate and his family. Nate had appreciated her work in the beginning. He’d told her he would build her a studio when he had time. He never found the time. Nate was a practical and thrifty man—much like his parents. There was little time on the farm for mooning about, drawing pictures and painting canvases in whimsical colors. Lack of time and hard work, along with Leah’s disapproval, had nearly destroyed her dreams of being an artist. In Grand Forks, she’d regained her dream as well as her abilities.
    Abbie shook her head to clear it of the farm and the sorrow it held for her.
    The moonscape drew her back to what she had become— what she had always been, an artist. She imagined using a wide brush, saturated with color, to wash dark hues of blue across the sky. She would use wax resist to save the moonbeam swath and the white caps. The scene was much too perfect to resist.
    Abbie hurried to her room to collect the brushes and paints she’d need, returned to the living room, and sat in one of the cushioned chairs. She sketched out the scene and wrote in soft pencil the names of the colors she would later use.
    Once the sketch was done, she turned on a light over the table and painted her vision.
    When she finished, she left it to dry on the wide kitchen counter then headed upstairs to get ready for bed.
    Sleep didn’t come easily. Perhaps it was the anticipation of seeing Jake again. Or the feel of his lips on hers. Or the vision of her and Jake walking on that moonlit beach she’d captured in her painting.
    Abbie groaned and rolled onto her side. Punching up her pillow, she tried putting the man out of her mind. She’d begun to like him entirely too much.
    She tried to focus on her breathing—on counting to ten with each inhalation and exhalation, but her thoughts shifted from dreamy visions of Jake, to seeing the attorney and facing the possibility of arrest, making sleep even more difficult.

    The following morning her alarm went off at four and Abbie would have given anything for another four hours of sleep. Still, part of her was excited to see the property, the lake, and the man who’d brought her home.
    At four-fifteen, Pops tapped lightly on her bedroom door, making certain she was awake.
    â€œI’m almost ready.” She spoke softly so she wouldn’t wake anyone.
    â€œI’ll be in the car. Got to pack our gear and get our lunch basket.”
    Abbie dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved knit shirt. Since it would likely be cool until midmorning, she slipped a sweatshirt over the top. She thought about wearing makeup but decided against it. She was there to fish, not to impress Jake. She’d never worn makeup to go fishing and wasn’t about to start now. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and banded it, then, on the way downstairs, grabbed one of her father’s caps off a hook near the door.
    Their gear consisted of a tackle box and poles along with a couple of rain ponchos. Abbie hoped they wouldn’t need them. In the predawn darkness, the sky gave no hint as to what it intended to do.
    By the time Abbie stepped outside, Pops was ready to go. She climbed into his old Jeep and off they went.
    They drove through the main part of town until 101 curved to the right, taking them away from the beach. Abbie leaned her head against the seat back, thinking she might be able to catch a few winks.
    â€œI saw your painting,” Pops said. “It’s amazing.”
    â€œThanks. I got inspired last night.”
    â€œSo I see.” He glanced over at her. “I can’t believe you went for so long without painting. All those years you were married to Nate, did you paint even once?”
    She shrugged. “I lost my muse.”
    â€œNonsense. Those people took it.”
    â€œPops, don’t.” Her parents hadn’t wanted her to marry Nate. Back