Welcome to Last Chance by Cathleen Armstrong Page A

in easy silence for another half hour until they arrived at a small cabin tucked between two huge cottonwood trees. A trickle of water moistened the rocks of a streambed that emerged from a pile of boulders behind the cabin.
    â€œHere we are. This is my place.” Ray swung from the saddle and tossed his reins over a rail next to a water trough before loosening the girth of his saddle.
    â€œI knew that was where we were going.” Lainie sounded smug.
    â€œCity girls. You can’t put anything past them.” Ray grinned up at her and pulled the saddlebags from the back of his saddle. “Come on. Aren’t you hungry?”
    Clutching the saddle with both hands, Lainie threw her right leg over the saddle and slowly lowered herself to the ground. Her legs felt rubbery and nearly buckled under her. Ray caught her waist.
    â€œIt’ll take a minute to get your land legs back. You’re going to feel it tomorrow, though.”
    Lainie glared up at him. “Now you tell me. You do know I have to work tomorrow, don’t you?”
    â€œOh, you’ll be able to move all right. You’ll just look funny doing it.”
    Lainie took a careful step. “You laugh and you’re a dead man.”
    Ray’s expression was careful deadpan. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, let’s see some hustle. I want to show you something.”
    â€œYou are really asking for it, aren’t you? If I could move, you’d be so sorry.”
    She stopped inside the door. Paintings lined the walls and were propped up on easels in the middle of the room. The air was thick with the sharp aroma of oil and turpentine. She whipped her headto look at Ray, still standing behind her in the doorway with an expression of eager uncertainty on his face.
    â€œWhat is this? Are these yours?” She stepped inside and wandered from painting to painting. In every painting sky and towering clouds dwarfed the desert below—the orange and purple sky of sunset, a dark sky filled with storm clouds, a pale blue sky dotted with lofty white billows casting shadows on the desert floor.
    â€œWell, say something.” Ray took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
    â€œThese are amazing. And you did them? I didn’t know you were an artist. I thought you were just a . . .” Her voice trailed away.
    â€œBartender? Nope, I told you that wasn’t my idea. I’m just stuck there for now. This is my life.” His sweeping gesture took in the room.
    Lainie stopped in front of a large painting hanging on the wall. She gazed at it a long moment before turning to Ray in confused recognition. “This looks like the one at Elizabeth’s.”
    Ray grinned. “Yeah, she was my first customer. She bought that at my senior show. I tried to give it to her, but she said she wanted to be known as the first person in the world to buy an original Ray Braden.”
    â€œBut she said her grandson painted that.”
    Ray looked bewildered. “Yeah. I’m her grandson.”
    â€œWhat? I don’t believe it. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t she?”
    Ray shrugged. “It never occurred to me that you didn’t know. I guess I thought she must have said something. She probably thought I had, or Fayette. Everyone around here has known everyone else for generations. I guess it just doesn’t occur to us to explain relationships.”
    â€œBut you never come around.”
    â€œOh, I’ve dropped by a time or two. You’ve been at work. Things are a bit, well, awkward.” He fell silent and dug into the saddlebags. “Come on, I’m starved. Let’s have some lunch. Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks from the fridge?”
    Lainie opened the door of the refrigerator and found it well stocked with grape soda and diet cola. Grabbing one of each, she joined Ray on the front steps and handed him his drink.
    â€œThought you