Country Roads(58)

“That feng shui you and I did at the studio seems to have made the atmosphere more conducive to creativity,” she said, throwing him a sly look as he came up beside her.

She caught the look of puzzlement, then the dawn of realization. “Feng shui, eh? That’s a new name for it.” He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Does painting Darkside require you to see him in person?”

“Possibly.”

He sighed. “Leave it to you to pick the world’s most dangerous whisper horse.”





Chapter 17




LOOK WHAT PA did to my room,” Eric said, leading Paul down the hall. “He got the idea from a TV show. It’s called penciling.”

“You mean stenciling,” Paul said, stopping in the doorway. He scanned the newly colorful walls, where soccer balls, horses, campfires, baseball bats, and dogs danced in a kaleidoscopic array. “Your pa did this?”

“Yeah. I got to pick what pictures I wanted and he pen—stenciled them. See, there’s a pony, although he’s not gray like the one at Sharon’s. Maybe Pa can repaint the colors for me.”

Paul took a step into the small room, pivoting slowly as he spotted Mario and Luigi from Eric’s favorite video game, Harry Potter, hockey skates, and a skunk. He laughed at his brother’s reference to the eventful camping trip. “How long did it take him?”

Eric bounced down on his bed, his brow furrowed in thought. “I dunno. A lot of weeks? It took awhile to find the right pictures. It’s awesome.”

“It sure is,” Paul said, sitting beside the boy and considering the amount of work and care that had gone into the project. So Jimmy hadn’t painted the outside trim because he’d been busy doing this. Paul felt his frustration with his brother ease.

“Eric? Paul?”

“We’re in Eric’s room,” Paul called out, “admiring the new decorations.”

Jimmy appeared in the doorway. “His room needed painting, so I, uh, figured I’d jazz it up a little.”

“You could give Martha Stewart a run for her money.”

Jimmy made a scoffing sound, but pride shone in his face. “It came out pretty good.”

“Pa, could you make the pony gray like Sharon’s?” Eric asked.

“Sure,” Jimmy said. “I can mix the black and white from the skunk and make gray.”

“Pa’s a pro at mixing paint,” Eric said. “He said he couldn’t buy every color under the rainbow, so we figured out how to make colors.”

Paul stared at his brother, searching for some outward indication of this new facet of his brother’s personality. All he saw was a two-day growth of beard and untrimmed dirty-blond hair.

He tried and failed to picture Jimmy experimenting with various combinations until he came up with all the colors on these walls. Come to think of it, he couldn’t imagine him taping stencils up and carefully filling them in, letting each color dry between coats.

“Anyone want ice cream? I got rainbow sprinkles,” Jimmy said.

Eric took off like a rocket.

Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at his sneakers. “You don’t have to babysit me tonight.”

Paul levered himself off the bed. “Better safe than sorry.” He was still trying to wrap his mind around his brother’s unexpected artistic accomplishment.

“Suit yourself.” Jimmy spun out of the room while Paul followed more slowly.

When Paul got to the kitchen, his brother had his head in the freezer, rummaging for ice cream. Bowls, spoons, and a bottle of sprinkles sat on the kitchen counter. Jimmy backed out of the freezer, juggling three cartons of ice cream and an ice cream scoop. Paul was pretty sure Jimmy didn’t own an ice cream scoop a year ago.

Julia believed a killer horse could change. Maybe it wasn’t crazy to believe his brother was changing too.



“This is Verna Hinkle, the best legal secretary in the state of West Virginia.”

Julia put her hand out to the woman sitting behind the big oak desk in Paul’s reception area. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hinkle.”

“It’s Verna, hon,” the woman said, reciprocating with a hand covered in huge, sparkling rings. “A pleasure.” She winked at Julia, her thick false eyelashes turning the small gesture into a showpiece of drama.

“Is she typing words or just random letters?” Julia asked in a low voice when Verna turned back to the computer and began keyboarding at blinding speed.

“Whole sentences with nary a mistake,” he said, ushering her into his office and closing the door. “Before I hired her she used an IBM Selectric. She said word processing was for the weak fingered, but once I convinced her to give the computer a try, she took to it like a duck to water.”