“I wondered about those. They were driving me crazy.”
“Better crazy than mauled.”
“So this Talking Tom. Who is he?”
Winter shrugged. “He showed up here a little over two years ago,” she told him. “Do you remember seeing the wood carvings in my gallery? Tom did them.”
“And nobody knows anything about this man, who just walked into town and took up residence in someone else’s cabin?”
Winter waved at the forest around them. “There’s dozens of old abandoned cabins in these woods. Most of the land belongs to the paper and lumber mills, and as long as they’re not actively cutting an area, they don’t bother people who aren’t bothering them.”
“You won’t kick Tom out, will you?” Megan asked, looking at Matt with worried eyes. “He respects the land and the animals. He’s not hurting anything by staying there. And…and we don’t think he has any place else to go.”
Matt couldn’t help but smile at the pleading woman. “Is that why you don’t think the point would be a good place for me to build?” he asked, looking at Winter to include her. “Because you don’t want Talking Tom evicted?”
Both women shook their heads. “You’d have to clear all the trees to put a home on that narrow point,” Winter said. “And that would expose your house to the strong winds that blow in off the lake.”
“And building up here wouldn’t?” he asked, waving at the open expanse in front of them. “This is just as exposed.”
“The point is too narrow for the legal setback from the lake required for new construction,”
Megan said. “You can’t build there even if you wanted to.”
Matt took the saddlebag from Megan, carried it over to her sleeping horse, and tied it on the back of her saddle.
“Well?” Winter asked, untying her own horse’s reins. “Are you going to evict Tom?”
“I haven’t even met the man,” he said, untying his own horse and mounting up. He looked down at the two women glaring up at him and smiled. “But I’ll take your resounding endorsements of his character into consideration.”
“If you kick him out, I’m not taking your commission.”
Matt nodded. “I will also factor that in.”
Winter looked mad enough to spit. Matt turned his horse away before she could see his amusement and headed in the general direction of the point of land Talking Tom was calling home. But he stopped and looked back when he realized he was riding alone. Both women had lead their horses over to what was left of an old stump, and Winter held her sister’s horse while Megan tried to mount up.
“Wait,” he called, trotting back to them and dismounting with a laugh. “I forgot you can’t reach your stirrups.” He leaned over and laced his fingers into a step for Megan. “You two ride such massive animals. Why not normal horses?”
Megan stepped into his hands and Matt lifted her into the saddle. She gathered up her reins and smiled down at him. “We had a rather opinionated uncle who thought draft horses were the only safe pet for us girls. He said ponies were spoiled brats and regular horses were unpredictable.” She nodded toward Matt’s horse. “Goose Down is my second pet. The first horse Uncle Ian gave me, Lancelot, had to be put to sleep ten years ago when he broke his leg.”
“So Goose is really your horse?” he asked as he turned to help Winter mount, only to find her sitting in her saddle. Apparently, she was back to being mad at him.
“I’d like to meet your uncle Ian,” Matt said, remounting and reining Goose into step behind Winter as she headed out of the clearing.
“He…ah, died three years ago,” Megan said.
“I’m sorry,” Matt murmured, falling silent as they carefully made their way down the side of the mountain. They eventually came upon a shallow gorge, the granite and tumbled boulders worn smooth by cascading water as it swirled down the mountain with seemingly endless energy. “Bear Brook, I take it?”
Matt asked loudly, to be heard above the noise. He moved between Winter and Megan as they stood with their horse’s hooves just touching the water so they could drink. He gave Goose his head, so he could also drink.
Winter looked over at Matt, her expression aloof. “There’s a clearing downstream that might make a good building site.”
“Is there a view of the lake?”
“You can see the lake from anywhere on this mountain, if you don’t mind chopping down acres of trees.”
Matt leaned over to Megan. “Is your sister always this pleasant with her patrons?”
“She’s just worried about Tom,” Megan told him, also leaning close so Winter wouldn’t hear.
“Otherwise, she usually has a great sense of humor. And she’s still a little touchy about leaving college after only one semester.”
Matt gave Megan a nod, backed Goose out from between them, and turned to start down the mountain along the stream. They rode for several minutes, winding their way through the thick forest, and Matt let Goose pick the easiest route. The stream eventually broke through to a natural meadow, and part of Pine Lake came into view again.
“We can cross here,” Winter called out.
Matt turned Goose into the stream, and the horse stepped through the knee-deep, babbling water with sure-footed care. Once he was on the other side, Matt looked around the meadow as Winter and Megan moved up beside him.
“I like it here,” he said. “Where would I place the house?” he asked, looking over at Winter.
She pointed toward the high side of the meadow. “Up there, maybe. That would be the best view.”
Matt looked at Megan. “Can I build here without disturbing too much of the wildlife?”
Megan shrugged. “Probably. I know there’s a deer yard up here somewhere. Tom might know where it is.”
“What about building a road? We’ve come, what…three or four miles from the main road?”
“It can be done,” Megan assured him. “If you have deep pockets. Roads and bridges aren’t cheap.”
“But the logging companies build hundreds of miles of forest roads all the time,” Matt pointed out. “They must have a system that doesn’t break the bank.”
“You could hire men from their crews,” Winter suggested. “To build it on weekends.”
“That would take forever to finish four miles of road.” He shook his head. He looked at the lengthening shadows creeping across the meadow and urged Goose forward. “Let’s go get your jacket,”
he said. “And you can introduce me to my tenant.”
They rode three abreast through the meadow until Megan suddenly stopped. “Look,” she said, pointing at the ground. “See the disturbed grass?” She looked around the clearing, then over at Matt, and smiled. “I bet there was a big battle up here last night. Have you ever seen two bull moose fighting, Matt?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he visually examined the broken shrub and matted grass. “Is it rutting season?”
“It’s just starting,” Megan clarified, walking her horse in a circle as she studied the ground. She looked at Matt. “This is moose country. I hope you don’t mind sharing your home with huge animals that think landscaping shrubs are candy. In the language of the Micmac Indians, moose means ‘twig eater.’ ”
“What about bear?” Matt asked, scanning the edge of the clearing. “I’m assuming they named it Bear Mountain because bear live up here.”
“The mountain was named for what it looks like rather than what lives on it,” Winter interjected.
“If you see this mountain from the lake, you can just make out the image of a sleeping bear.” She pointed to an area just below the summit. “From a distance, that dropped ridge would be his head, stretched out over his front paws. The brook cuts a winding path that makes the outline of a rear leg tucked against his body, and the long, narrow peak,” she said, pointing first to the south end of the knife-edge peak, then to the north, “is his back, finishing the illusion.”
Matt just stared at Winter in silence, watching her hand stroke out a drawing only her mind’s eyes could see. This was it; he was witnessing firsthand the magic he’d felt in her paintings. Winter’s eyes sparked with passion, her whole body moving into each gesture as her hand gracefully stroked out the lines of her vision. She had forgotten he and Megan were even there, Matt suddenly realized. Winter was completely immersed in a painting only her imagination could see.