twitched her mouth as he disappeared down the path next to The Art Barn.
She got into her car and placed her camera on the passenger seat again. A sigh of regret escaped her when she considered how attractive the man was, and how she might never see him again.
Chapter T wo
Jeanie didn’t go straight home. Instead, she followed the other half of the road where it split. She drove along a lane that took her steadily up to the top of a hill, and then down again through dense woodland. With her car window open, the drop in temperature raised goose bumps on her bare arms. The trees soothed her with their pine and cedar perfume.
This place is beautiful.
When she came across an indent in the hedgerow, she stopped to take photographs of the trees. She got close-up shots of the bark and tangled branches as she breathed in the atmosphere.
Jeanie hoped to start another business, although she hadn’t gotten very far with it. She wanted to take beautiful pictures, get them printed poster size, mount them in lovely frames, and sell them. She hoped to have frames that were original craftwork or antique finds. Sometimes in the city, she would search amongst the many antique stores for picture frames. She had some ready for restoration in her small garden shed, well wrapped against any dampness that might spoil them.
When she arrived home, Jeanie went around the house opening windows to let in the late afternoon breeze. She hadn’t yet dealt with the need for insulation , so the third story of her house became especially hot in the very warm afternoon. She brought a cold drink with her, to sit at the small table on her patio. She decided to read for a while before she made her solitary meal. She propped the usually engrossing, romantic book in front of her and stared at the text. Jeanie couldn’t concentrate to read more than a page. Her mind wandered to the man in the tiny place, bizarrely named Owlswick.
She got up, drank down her lemonade, and went indoors. At her desk in the room designated her study she opened her laptop lid. As it booted she took the SD card from her camera, and inserted it into the special slot. Jeanie gasped as the array of photographs displayed.
In the row above the pictures of trees, bark, and leaves, where she expected to see the huge bird on top of the signpost, sat a man.
She clicked on the first photograph with her heart beating loudly. Her blood rushed in her ears. A mixture of nausea and urgency swept over her as the picture enlarged to its full size. Jeanie stared at it. The close-up shot showed the man with his hands clutching the side of the old sign. He was scrunched up, balanced on there. He’s striking . His dark hair was glossy and well cut, his eyes an amazing blue. He’ s gorgeous .
She opened each photograph and caught her breath at the one where he looked straight at her. A shiver went down her spine as she read speculation in that azure gaze and her hands trembled. She flipped through the photographs she’d taken in the woods to make sure they contained nothing weird.
Her thoughts were a jumble of disbelief and excitement. Is this real? Did I somehow photograph the bird over an existing picture? She shook her head. No. I’d remember taking a photograph with a man like that in it, even if he was in some group near a landmark or something. How extraordinary. How spooky.
Disoriented, s he got up from her desk and went to make a cup of coffee.
Jeanie half expected the photographs to be changed when she got back to her computer. She put her cup of coffee down carefully some way off from the machine, worried her shaking hand might splash the drink over her keyboard. She sat down and checked the pictures. They were the same. She tried to recall exactly what the man called Reed had said to her. He was angry I might have photographed the bird. That’s what was wrong initially. Would he have taken my camera if he’d seen it? What the hell?
She looked at each photograph again . Her
She got into her car and placed her camera on the passenger seat again. A sigh of regret escaped her when she considered how attractive the man was, and how she might never see him again.
Chapter T wo
Jeanie didn’t go straight home. Instead, she followed the other half of the road where it split. She drove along a lane that took her steadily up to the top of a hill, and then down again through dense woodland. With her car window open, the drop in temperature raised goose bumps on her bare arms. The trees soothed her with their pine and cedar perfume.
This place is beautiful.
When she came across an indent in the hedgerow, she stopped to take photographs of the trees. She got close-up shots of the bark and tangled branches as she breathed in the atmosphere.
Jeanie hoped to start another business, although she hadn’t gotten very far with it. She wanted to take beautiful pictures, get them printed poster size, mount them in lovely frames, and sell them. She hoped to have frames that were original craftwork or antique finds. Sometimes in the city, she would search amongst the many antique stores for picture frames. She had some ready for restoration in her small garden shed, well wrapped against any dampness that might spoil them.
When she arrived home, Jeanie went around the house opening windows to let in the late afternoon breeze. She hadn’t yet dealt with the need for insulation , so the third story of her house became especially hot in the very warm afternoon. She brought a cold drink with her, to sit at the small table on her patio. She decided to read for a while before she made her solitary meal. She propped the usually engrossing, romantic book in front of her and stared at the text. Jeanie couldn’t concentrate to read more than a page. Her mind wandered to the man in the tiny place, bizarrely named Owlswick.
She got up, drank down her lemonade, and went indoors. At her desk in the room designated her study she opened her laptop lid. As it booted she took the SD card from her camera, and inserted it into the special slot. Jeanie gasped as the array of photographs displayed.
In the row above the pictures of trees, bark, and leaves, where she expected to see the huge bird on top of the signpost, sat a man.
She clicked on the first photograph with her heart beating loudly. Her blood rushed in her ears. A mixture of nausea and urgency swept over her as the picture enlarged to its full size. Jeanie stared at it. The close-up shot showed the man with his hands clutching the side of the old sign. He was scrunched up, balanced on there. He’s striking . His dark hair was glossy and well cut, his eyes an amazing blue. He’ s gorgeous .
She opened each photograph and caught her breath at the one where he looked straight at her. A shiver went down her spine as she read speculation in that azure gaze and her hands trembled. She flipped through the photographs she’d taken in the woods to make sure they contained nothing weird.
Her thoughts were a jumble of disbelief and excitement. Is this real? Did I somehow photograph the bird over an existing picture? She shook her head. No. I’d remember taking a photograph with a man like that in it, even if he was in some group near a landmark or something. How extraordinary. How spooky.
Disoriented, s he got up from her desk and went to make a cup of coffee.
Jeanie half expected the photographs to be changed when she got back to her computer. She put her cup of coffee down carefully some way off from the machine, worried her shaking hand might splash the drink over her keyboard. She sat down and checked the pictures. They were the same. She tried to recall exactly what the man called Reed had said to her. He was angry I might have photographed the bird. That’s what was wrong initially. Would he have taken my camera if he’d seen it? What the hell?
She looked at each photograph again . Her
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