“Off and on. Trying to ease ourselves into retirement. Sold off fifty acres and kept enough to give us plenty of open space. We still stable horses. Remember José?”
“The gang kid from Stockton? Yeah, I remember. He went into the military, didn’t he?”
“Served six years in the Marines, and came out a sergeant. He and his wife, Abbie, take care of the place now. He’s a good worker, a natural with the horses. Frees Susan and me up to travel when we don’t have any resident boys. We’re heading out again the end of the month. Spend some time in Yellowstone and then Glacier. How about you?”
Roman felt like they were picking up where they’d left off all those years ago, no time in between. He told Chet about traveling around Europe on Jasper’s advice. Grace walked a few feet ahead of him, in conversation with Jasper and Susan.
The living room had been redone with pale-beige carpeting. Wheat-colored couches replaced the brown leather, but they hadn’t buffed the wall he painted when he was seventeen.
“Yep. It’s still there.” Chet grinned. “That and the one on the barn are our claims to fame. ‘Roman Velasco’ lived here.”
Roman struggled with his emotions. “I thought you’d have developed better taste by now.”
After he’d painted the scenes Susan had asked for in the kitchen, Chet had offered the barn for his next project. Chet had set down a few rules: Whatever Roman painted had to be recognizable and reflect positively on Masterson Mountain Ranch. “When I approve the drawings, we’ll negotiate the price. I’ll buy whatever supplies you need. Take into consideration what you might have to pay a crew, if you need one. We’re going to draw up a contract, teach you how to do some business.”
The edgy simplicity of Roman’s stylized horses and cows grazing in a neon-green pasture had people stopping by to ask who did the mural. “A kid did that?” One rancher offered to hire Roman to paint his barn up the road. Jasper Hawley started teaching him how to put together business proposals. They studied costs and hours of labor and profit margins. Jasper took him to Wells Fargo to set up checking and savings accounts, taught him how to do his state and federal taxes. “If you’re going into business, you’d better get it right from the beginning.”
By the time Bobby Ray Dean earned his GED, Roman Velasco had five thousand dollars in savings and several more jobs lined up. All thanks to Chet and Susan and Jasper and their investment in a kid nobody else had time for.
“Come on into the kitchen.” Susan led the way, laughing over her shoulder. “We always end up in here anyway.”
Grace lingered, studying the living room mural. Roman put his hand against the small of her back, wanting to steer her away. “You don’t like my work, remember?”
“Who’s Sheila?”
Roman froze. “What?”
“Sheila. It’s right there. And Reaper.” She tilted her head. “White Boy.” She looked at him, perplexed. “And there’s a bird in flight in the corner. Or are those letters, too? BRD.”
“Bobby Ray Dean.” His heart pounded. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Jasper spoke from the archway leading to the kitchen. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem.” Roman glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll be with you in a minute.” He blocked Grace and lowered his voice. “Don’t say anything about the wall.” The mural had been there for years, but Roman doubted that Chet and Susan had ever seen what he’d painted in it. How was it Grace saw what he’d been so careful to hide?
Her eyes flickered in surprise, but she nodded.
The kitchen had been remodeled, too, the scenes of Italy he’d painted long gone and replaced by pale-yellow walls and white crown molding. Susan slid a prime rib into the top oven and announced dinner would be ready by six thirty.
“We’re only staying an hour or two.”
She gave him a look he remembered from his time living in this house. “You’re staying for dinner, and you’re spending the night.”
Roman could be stubborn, too. “We have a lot of road to cover.”
“Chet, go let the air out of his tires or kill the computer in that fancy car of his.”
“Or you could let him go.” Grace shrugged. “But if it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay.” She pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table.
The Mastersons laughed. Jasper grinned at Roman. “I think you’re outnumbered.”
Roman relaxed. “Okay, but don’t listen to these people. They don’t know me as well as they think they do.”
Susan and Chet launched into what a pain he’d been when he first came to the ranch. “Couldn’t get more than a growl out of him.”
“He still growls.” Grace smiled at him, obviously enjoying his discomfort.
Chet poured himself a cup of coffee. “We didn’t know how to reach him until he got his hands on some paint.” He winked at her. “Now we put the tough cases in his old room.” He lifted his mug to Roman. “They understand that piece. It’s started a lot of conversations.”
“What room?” Grace looked at Roman. “What piece?”
Roman didn’t answer. Chet nodded toward the door. “Go on through the living room down the hall, second door on the right. You can have that room tonight, if you want.”
When she pushed her chair back, Roman spoke up quickly. “Don’t bother.”
“Why not?”
“It’ll give you nightmares.” When she turned to go, he caught her wrist. “You won’t like it, Grace.” He let go of her quickly, aware that he had everyone’s attention.
“Don’t be so worried. My opinion shouldn’t matter anyway.”
He muttered a foul word under his breath when she left the kitchen. He stood, not sure whether to follow or wait. Panic rose. It was a second or two before he realized Chet, Susan, and Jasper were watching him. “She doesn’t like my work.” He felt light-headed.
“Neither do you.” Jasper pulled back the closest chair. “Sit down. You don’t look well.”
Roman sat heavily and wondered what was wrong with him.
Jasper gripped Roman’s shoulders. “Put your head down.” He squeezed. “Have you had a checkup lately?”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t think that wall is going to scare Grace away, son.”
Roman heard Jasper’s voice through a tunnel. The weakness passed, and Roman felt better. Jasper let go and took a seat, studying him. Chet and Susan started talking again, telling him how they’d followed his career. They brought up some of the other boys who had been on the ranch the same time he was—all doing well, most married with kids.
Why was Grace taking so long? Jasper leaned forward. “You should see a doctor.”
Roman gave a mocking laugh. “I’m thirty-four, in the peak of health.”
“You had a couple of these episodes when you were here. Have you been having them all these years?”
Roman shrugged. “Not enough sleep.” He smiled wryly at Chet. “Wake-up call at five, as I recall.”
“Whiner.” Chet frowned. “You fell off the barn roof once. Remember?”
“Someone dared him to walk the ridge.”
“Good thing you landed in a pile of hay.” Susan shook her head. She smiled when Grace returned. “What do you think of that piece?”
“It’s very different from what Roman’s doing now.” Grace looked at him. “More revealing.”
Roman felt exposed. “I pilfered a marker and drew a hole in the wall.”
“He was trying to get kicked out.” Jasper winked at Grace.
“It’s where he was going I find interesting.”
Chet shoved his chair back. “How about a walk around the old homestead? Stretch our legs a bit before dinner.”
Roman stood and nodded for Grace to come along. Susan spoke up. “Grace, why don’t you stick with me and let the men talk.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Roman hesitated. Susan grinned at him. “Don’t look so worried. I’m sure she already knows you
’re no angel.”
Grace couldn’t understand why Roman was so uneasy. The Mastersons clearly loved him. They welcomed him like a prodigal son. “How long has it been since Roman visited?”
“He hasn’t come back since he aged out of the program. Once the boys reach eighteen, they’re on their own. He could’ve stayed, but . . .” Susan lifted a shoulder. “An opportunity knocked, and he answered.”
If Grace had a family as loving as this in her life, she’d find a job close to home. She’d visit every chance she had. She offered to help with dinner preparations, but Susan said she’d have everything done in a few minutes. “Comes with cooking for a houseful of boys.” She washed potatoes, poked holes in them, and put them in the oven. “How do you like working for him?”
“He spends most of his time in his studio. I’m in the office.” She knew it didn’t answer the question.
They sat together at the kitchen table. “He could have a wide circle of friends in the art world, if he wanted.” Susan smiled impishly. “Jasper keeps us up on what’s happening with our boy. He says Roman has a beautiful place at the top of a mountain overlooking a canyon.”
“With a magnificent view all the way to the coast.” And he doesn’t even enjoy it.
“And you’re his closest neighbor.”
Grace blushed. What might Susan Masterson make of that proximity? “I couldn’t afford the commute. Roman offered to rent—”
“I know. Jasper told us. I’m not suggesting anything is going on. Roman never lets people get too close.” Her smile was apologetic. “I knew you two weren’t married. I just wanted to see Roman’s reaction when I said it.”
He’d been quick to set the record straight. “I’m his employee. Nothing more.”
“That doesn’t mean you two can’t become good friends.”
Grace wasn’t sure that was possible anymore. Her feelings were changing, heading in an unwelcome direction. “He’s not an easy person to understand.”
“I don’t imagine you are either.” Susan put her hand flat on the table. “He was the smartest boy we’ve ever had here at the ranch. Brilliant, in fact. Quick learner, photographic memory. He could have gone through college, but didn’t want anyone telling him what to do. We’ve kept up with him on the Internet, and Jasper is a pit bull. He fights for his boys and never lets go, especially the ones with the deepest wounds. One look at that bedroom wall, and Jasper knew how to get closer. Books on art. Roman devoured them. Jasper kept fanning that flame. We found places for Roman to experiment. He filled every sketchbook we gave him. I still have them.”
“I’d love to see them.”
“I thought you might. Sit tight.” Susan went down the back hall off the kitchen. She returned carrying a short stack of notebooks.
Grace took one and turned the pages slowly: a boy currying a horse, the black oak in front of the house, Chet smoking a pipe on the front porch, Susan working in the garden. Jasper standing at a chalkboard. Each book showed steady improvement and gave her insights into Roman. Her throat felt tight.
“We didn’t sit for him.” Susan looked teary. “He drew them from memory. After lights out, with a flashlight.” She shook her head. “He never did like rules.”
“These are so good.”
“The rawness is still in his work now, but he doesn’t draw or paint people anymore, does he?” Susan shook her head. “He has bonding issues, understandable after what he went through.”
Grace put the last sketchbook down. “Can you tell me?”
Susan studied Grace. “His mother disappeared when he was quite young. He was passed from one foster home to another. He was a runner and always ended up back in the Tenderloin, where he and his mother had lived. Not a new story. We’ve had a lot of boys from dysfunctional families—or no family at all. They don’t attach to people. It takes time to build trust, and some of them do their best to sabotage any relationship, especially if they start feeling something. That was Roman from the get-go.” Her eyes glistened. “He left the sketchbooks behind so he could forget us.”
Leafing through the last sketchbook, Grace shook her head. “I think he left them behind so you’d know how much he loved you.”
Susan wiped tears away. “I’d like to believe that.” She got up and checked the oven. When she sat down again, her eyes were clear. “I will believe that.”
Grace studied one picture of a young, pale-skinned girl with dark hair and eyes. “A girlfriend?”
“His mother. He was seven when she disappeared. He was in and out of thirty foster homes between the ages of seven and fifteen. There’s a lot of deep-seated anger in a child who’s been abandoned. Some turn to violence. Roman used paint to fight back.”
“Some hide or become people pleasers.” Grace realized she’d spoken aloud. She shrugged. “I was seven when I lost my parents. My aunt raised me.” She looked at Roman’s mother, trying to see any resemblance between mother and son. He must take after his father. Had he been a constant reminder to his mother of someone she had loved? Or someone who’d used and abandoned her? She remembered what Roman said about prostitutes in Bodie. “Roman talks about his travels, but not his past.”
“Don’t talk. Don’t trust. Don’t feel.” Susan nodded. “The mantra of kids who suffered at the hands of their parents.”
Grace never spoke of her past either. She’d always felt vaguely responsible for what happened in Memphis, though she didn’t know why. Her aunt couldn’t bear to look at her because she looked so much like her father, and Aunt Elizabeth had hated him. She had said as much to Miranda Spenser. It didn’t matter that she’d been quickly shushed and corrected. Grace had heard, and the seed was planted. She grew up doing whatever people wanted her to do. Aunt Elizabeth above all others, until Patrick came along and usurped her. Grace constantly tried to make up for whatever she’d done wrong.
How do you make amends for something you don’t understand?
Men’s voices came from outside. Footsteps on the porch announced their return. Susan closed the sketchbook she’d been looking at. “These are good, but not even close to what he’s capable of doing. Chet and I went down to San Diego last week and spent a few days. We wanted to see Roman’s mural.” She picked up the sketchbooks. “He keeps getting better and better, but he hasn’t come close to his real potential. If he can’t let go of the past, he never will.”
Grace knew the same truth applied to her.
The Mastersons invited José and Abbie over with their two tweens. Dinner was lively with conversation. José had been a tough gang kid when Roman shared a room with him. Now he was quick to laugh, fit and content. His wife, Abbie, an ordinary-looking girl with brown hair and hazel eyes, made Carlos and Tina mind their manners. Abbie brought two homemade cherry pies for dessert. Carlos and Tina, far from shy, talked about school and friends and what they were doing this summer. They teased their father about lazing around the ranch on horseback while they had to muck out the stables. José said he’d had his day; now it was their turn. Roman reminded him of the hours they’d both spent shoveling horse manure into wheelbarrows and spreading it over an acre garden.
When Susan rose to clear dishes, everyone helped. The men talked sports and local politics. Chet invited them all to make themselves comfortable in the living room. Abbie sat next to José. José put his hand on his wife’s thigh, and she smiled at him. Clearly, twelve years of marriage hadn’t put the fire out. Grace stood by the bookshelves, talking with Jasper.
When Roman started to get up, Susan reclaimed his attention. “Tell us about the Laguna Beach show.”
They must have heard about the event from Jasper. “The paintings sold.”
“Roman always was good with words.” Chet grinned at him. “Where are you and Grace heading tomorrow?”
“South.” He wasn’t ready to go home, but he’d promised Grace they’d be back by tomorrow so she’d have her son over the weekend.
Grace came to sit on the couch across from him. “Golden w
ants to commission Roman to paint a town mural.”
“Golden?” José laughed. “You’ll have to invent some history.”
Roman looked at Grace with fixed attention. No doubt, she had been getting an earful about his private life. He intended to learn more about hers. “We’re skipping Golden and going to Fresno.” She didn’t look happy with that announcement. He gave her a steely smile. “Grace hasn’t seen her aunt in a while. Seems an opportune time.”
Hands clenched, Grace sat on one of the twin beds and stared at the wall. She’d like to step through the hole Roman had painted and get away. Why was Roman so set on stopping in Fresno? Even if Grace called first thing in the morning, Aunt Elizabeth would see the short notice as a gross breach of etiquette. She stood when Roman came into the bedroom with her suitcase.
“I left your backpack in the car. I didn’t think you’d be up to studying this late at night.”
“You won’t get the same warm welcome in Fresno that we’ve received here.”
He put the suitcase on the dresser. “Why is that?”
“Just take my word for it.” She didn’t want to talk about Aunt Elizabeth. “You said you’d tell me about Sheila, Reaper, White Boy, and BRD.”
“BRD. Bobby Ray Dean. That’s the name on my birth certificate—that and my mother’s, Sheila Dean. No father named. Susan came up with the name Roman Velasco. Writers have pseudonyms. Why not painters? She was kidding.” He looked at the wall, a muscle jerking in his jaw. “I thought Roman Velasco would have a lot more class than Bobby Ray Dean ever could.”
“So Sheila is your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And Reaper and White Boy?”
“Boys I knew in the hood. One was shot dead at a party where I should’ve been. One died in a fall.”
Three names to honor the dead? Or did he see himself as dead, too? Did he feel guilty because he was alive and they weren’t? Grace felt close to tears. She understood the feeling.
“Why don’t you want to go to Fresno?”
He didn’t know he was opening old wounds. “My aunt took me in when my parents died. She did it to fulfill my mother’s wishes, not because she wanted me. You were welcomed into the Mastersons’ life. I wasn’t welcome in hers.”