Then Cotton yanked the paper down and exposed a huge black and white panorama of the view from the bluff and I caught my breath at the sight. It was all there, the river, the banks on either side, the mountains rising up them, all of it framing the river trailing away, leading to an opening that exposed a vista of valley, river and far away white peaks.

Without thinking, I reached out my hand and found Max’s, my fingers sliding up and through the webbing of his, before I curled them, linking our hands.

Max’s finger’s curled back and his grip was tight.

When no one spoke for awhile and I realized Cotton was staring at us, I struggled but found my voice. “It’s… it’s,” I looked at Cotton, “there are no words.”

Cotton turned to look at the picture assessingly then he mumbled, “Yeah, kinda like that one myself.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that fluttered from my throat. “You kinda like it?”

Cotton grinned at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Then he looked at Max. “It’ll look great here in the A-Frame.”

I felt Max’s body grow tight and his hand flexed in mine.

“What?” he asked.

“Givin’ to you, boy,” Cotton answered.

“I can’t –” Max started but Cotton waved his hand.

“You can, you will,” Cotton interrupted. “I’m old. Wanna know, when I die, my photos are in the places where they need to be. This one needs to be here.”

Oh my God.

“Cotton –” Max started again but Cotton had turned toward the other picture and he kept talking.

“This one’s for Nina.”

I started, this time my hand flexing in Max’s and whispered, “I’m sorry?”

Cotton didn’t answer. Instead he slid the knife in and along then ripped the paper down, bending to pull it away.

“V&A,” he said, turning back to me but I was staring at the picture.

I remembered it. It was a close up photo of the rock on the side of a mountain, again in black and white which was all Cotton did. The lines in the rock prolific and almost mesmerizing, sliding through in random undulations, one lone, yet utterly perfect wildflower growing out of the rock.

“Cotton,” I whispered.

“I like that one too,” Cotton declared, gazing at it critically.

“I can’t take that,” I said to him and he looked at me.

“Why not?” he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

“I… it’s…” Why not? Was he mad? “Because it’s worth a fortune,” I explained.

“I know,” Cotton retorted. “Got about a dozen offers on it, all, like you said, a fortune. Didn’t like the feel of any of ‘em. Didn’t want it hangin’ wherever those folk would be.”

“But –” I began but Cotton cut me off.

“Like the feel of it hangin’ wherever you might be.”

At his words, which rocked me to my soul, I let Max go, my hands went to my cheeks and before I could stop myself I cried, “Oh bloody hell! I’m going to cry!”

Then I did. I burst right into tears.

Within an instant, I was in Max’s arms. I put mine around him and held on tight, shoving my face into his chest and crying like an idiot.

It was several moments later when I heard Cotton mutter, “Women.” Then sounding like he was on the move he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

I felt Max’s body get tight against my wet cheek.

I tipped my head back to look at him, the tears subsiding when I saw his neck was twisted and he was staring toward the kitchen and, regardless of the fact that Cotton just gave both of us priceless pieces of his art, Max’s expression appeared murderous.

I followed his eyes and saw Cotton pulling himself up on a stool.

“Get me a beer, Max, it’s been a long day,” Cotton called, leaning forward to look at the rolls then he spun on the stool and exclaimed, “Right on! Crescent rolls!”

“Cotton –” Max started but my arms gave him a squeeze, Max stopped speaking and looked down at me.

“He just gave us his photos,” I told him. “We can give him dinner.”

“Yeah, I haven’t had a home-cooked meal since Alana died or least not a good one.” Cotton drew in an audible breath through his nostrils and he declared, “And whatever’s cookin’ smells good.”

“Fish pie,” I told him and Cotton grinned.

“I like fish,” he said.

It was low, it was soft but I definitely heard Max growl.

I gave him another squeeze with my arms, let him go and, slower, he let me go too. Then, wiping the tears from my face, I went back to the rolls.

Max got Cotton a beer and I had poured frozen peas into a bowl and was setting them in the microwave when lights flashed on the wall.

“This is a fuckin’ joke,” Max clipped from his place, hips against the sink, beer in hand, unhappy expression on his face as he stared toward the drive.

“Max’s popular,” Cotton noted.

“I’m noticing that,” I replied, also looking out the windows.

I watched a figure come up the steps then I recognized Arlene walking across the porch toward the door. Her eyes were on us and she didn’t bother to knock, she just walked right in.

“Hey y’all,” she called, striding toward the kitchen like she lived there. “Hey Cotton.”

“Heya Arlene. What’s shakin’?” Cotton greeted.

“Don’t shift some of this weight, everything,” Arlene replied, she stopped at the mouth of the U in the kitchen and looked at me.

“That don’t look all that bad,” she observed.

“Um…” I muttered, “hi Arlene.”

“What’re you doin’ here?” was Max’s greeting.

“Damon whaled on her, had to check, see she’s all right,” Arlene explained to Max then turned to me. “Woulda thought it would be worse, thought he really walloped you one. Least it looked like that.”

Something unpleasant was emanating from Max and I took a step closer to him. His response was to slide an arm around my waist and yank me back so the side of my back was to the side of his front.

“What’s this about?” Cotton asked and Arlene turned to him, walking to the bar and putting her forearms on it.

“Last night Damon Matthews backhanded Nina at The Dog,” Arlene answered like she would say, “Last night, I made a TV dinner and watched the News.”

“What?” Cotton exclaimed on a near shout, his eyes moving to me and then narrowing on my cheek. “Is that was that is?”

“Yeah,” Arlene replied before I could speak then she turned to Max and ordered, “Get me a beer, will you Max?” Then without pause she turned back to Cotton and went on. “Damon came into The Dog, manhandled Mindy, Nina here didn’t like that, got in his face. He gave her a shove, she shoved him right back and he backhanded her.”

Cotton was staring at me throughout Arlene’s recitation and now he didn’t look happy. “You shoved Damon Matthews?”

I shifted against Max’s body and said, “He was being, um… rude.”

“Girl, that kid is rude, came outta his mother’s womb rude,” Cotton told me. “But he’s also solid as a rock and mean besides. What’re you thinkin’ gettin’ into his face?”

Max entered the conversation at this juncture, saying in a dangerous voice, “He shouldn’t have touched her.”

“No, agreed, he shouldn’t,” Cotton returned instantly. “But he’s Damon Matthews. Half the acts that boy perpetrates, he shouldn’t do.”

“Nina doesn’t know him and didn’t know that,” Max replied.

“She could take one look at him and know not to get in his face,” Cotton retorted.

“Bottom line, Cotton, he shouldn’t have fuckin’ touched her,” Max stated and the way he did, the room fell silent.

Arlene eventually broke the silence by sharing, “Max messed him up in the parking lot.”

Cotton looked at Max and asked, “How bad?”

Cotton asked Max but it was Arlene who answered. “Figure it ain’t a lesson he’ll forget anytime soon. Whole town’s talkin’ about it. It’s like Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one, what with Dodd dead and Max beatin’ the crap outta Damon.”

Cotton chuckled but I exclaimed, “Arlene!”

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “What? Not sayin’ anything anyone ain’t thinkin’.” Then she moved to the other stool, slid on it and eyed the crescent roll dough on the cookie sheet. “Fantastic!” she cried. “Crescent rolls! Got enough for one more?”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Max muttered from behind me.

“Sure,” I said to Arlene and she grinned.

Cotton leaned toward Arlene and stage-whispered, “We’re crampin’ Max’s style.”

“Whatever,” Arlene stage-whispered back, turned to Max and called, “Max? Beer?” Then she turned back to Cotton and said, “What’s up with the pictures?”

Cotton answered but it was Max who had my attention.

“I’m thinkin’, Duchess,” Max murmured in my ear, “that I’ll give you the keys to your car but we’re both gettin’ in it, drivin’ down the damn mountain and checkin’ into the hotel.”

I bit my lip and twisted my head to look at him. Then I smiled. Then he let me go. Then I got Arlene a beer, slid the crescent rolls into the oven, took the bowl of peas out of the microwave and poured more in.

***

“I gotta carry you upstairs?” I heard Max ask and I struggled with it but I opened my eyes.

“Sorry?” I whispered when I semi-focused on him.

“Never seen anything like it, honey, when you’re out, you’re out,” Max said, took my hand and pulled me out of the chair.

I blinked and looked around.

The last thing I knew, dinner consumed, beers consumed, three glasses of wine consumed (all by me) to Max’s displeasure, we moved to the living room with our uninvited guests and a plate full of cookies. Max made a fire while Arlene and Cotton ate my cookies and entertained me.

I didn’t want to admit it but I thought Max put up with them and allowed them to stay because he knew that Arlene and Cotton were entertaining me. Arlene simply because she was entertaining. Cotton because he’d been a lot of places, done a lot of things, met a lot of people and he was almost as good a storyteller as he was a photographer. I hadn’t laughed that hard or that much since…

Well, since the night before, with Arlene and Mindy at The Dog.

But before that it had been years, before Charlie died or, more to the point, before he’d been so badly wounded.

Arlene and Cotton claimed the couch and I sat in the armchair. When Max was done with the fire, I was shocked when he sat in it with me, settling right down, forcing me to scrunch to the side.

I was right when I first saw the chair. It could fit two but it was cozy. Cozy, warm, snug and safe and with three (working on the fourth) glasses of wine in me, I curled up in it with Max. It was a little chair of heaven. He put his feet on the ottoman, crossed at the ankles. I bent my knees and put my feet in the chair, my thighs against his. His arm curled around my shoulders and, for comfort’s sake (I told myself), my arm curled around his belly. I rested my head on his shoulder and I listened, laughed and sipped wine while the fire burned in the grate and Max sat relaxed and close to me then, apparently, I fell asleep.

Which, even standing, I mostly was at that moment.

I finished looking around, noting Arlene and Cotton were gone, the only light was coming from the loft and my eyes hit Max.

“Asleep,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, baby,” Max said on a grin and tugged my hand, leading me up the stairs to the bedroom.

I did not argue with this. At that moment I needed Max’s bed and I didn’t care if he was in it.

In fact, if I was honest, that made the prospect even better.

I grabbed my nightgown from the suitcase, shuffled to the bathroom, changed, did my washing face, brushing teeth, moisturizing business, left my clothes in a pile on the floor and then shuffled out.

Max was in bed by the time I finished these onerous tasks.

His side of the bed was the side closest to the bathroom.

I hadn’t had enough energy to wash my face, brush my teeth and moisturize. I certainly didn’t have the energy to walk around the bed.

So I didn’t.

I walked right to Max’s side and he watched me do it. When I got close, he threw the covers back.

A wall of hard, muscled chest, cut abs and pajamas bottoms were all I saw.

The chair wasn’t heaven, the bed was.

I crawled over him and flopped to my side.

He tossed the covers over us, switched off the bedside lamp and turned into me.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, his arms came around me, his knee went between my legs, my thigh moved to hook over his hip and my arm slid around his waist as I got closer to his warm, solid body.