His face was blank which gave away the depth of emotion he was hiding.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Long time ago, honey.”

“I’m still sorry.”

His arm around my shoulders gave me a squeeze and his other hand went to my waist.

I edged back a bit, he gave me some space but not much so I was forced to stop when he stopped giving me leeway.

“But, I meant,” I went on. “What’s lovely is that, when he was alive, he could give you this, bring you and your sister here.”

He nodded and looked over my head to the view. “This was Dad’s favorite place. He wanted to build a house on the land. All his life he wanted that. Couldn’t do it but he talked about it all the time. But he’d never touch this place. Told me never to do it either.”

There was something impressive and moving about Max building a house on the land where his father wanted to build, not to mention doing it with his own two hands.

“Your sister get land too?” I asked and his eyes came down to me for a second before they went back to the view.

“Nope.”

“He gave it all to you?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

His arm left from my shoulder but only so his hand could slide into the hair under my cap as his other hand moved around my waist.

“She got everything else, his house in town, car –”

“The land is better,” I announced, even though I had no idea what kind of house his father had or what kind of car. It could be a mansion and a Maserati, the land still would have been better.

Max grinned down at me and agreed, “Yeah.” Then he continued, his eyes going over my shoulder, his expression moving far away. “She was pissed, though she never gave a shit about this place. She did know what it was worth.”

I pressed my lips together to stop myself from asking questions.

Max didn’t need me to ask questions and he looked back to me. “She’d sell it off, Dad knew that, even said it in his will, explainin’ things. So he gave it to me.”

“Did he make it a condition you never sell it?”

Max shook his head. “Just knew I’d never sell,” his eyes went back over my shoulder, “and I never will.”

“I wouldn’t either,” I whispered and then bit the inside of my lip to remind myself to stop talking, mainly because Max looked back at me and his face had gotten soft, but his eyes had gone intense and his look struck me deep but in a good, warm, happy way.

“Been in my family since 1892,” he told me.

My eyes grew wide and I asked, “Really?”

He grinned again and said, “Yeah, Duchess.”

I opened my mouth to speak, put an end to this intimate tête-à-tête which I was enjoying too much and I knew I shouldn’t let myself, when we both heard, “Max!”

Max let me go with one arm but the hand at my neck slid around my shoulders as he moved to my side and looked up the trail.

“Hey Cotton,” Max said to a man who looked like he should be called Cotton.

Cotton looked like Santa Claus, lots of white hair and a thick, full white beard that was a bit overlong, and one mustn’t forget the big jolly belly which Cotton definitely had. But he wasn’t wearing a red suit, he was wearing a pair of jeans, a huge parka and snow boots.

“Heya,” Cotton said, eyes on me, ten feet away but I could see his nose and cheeks were red, just like Santa’s.

“Hello.”

“Cotton, this is –” Max started but Cotton talked over him.

“Yeah, Nina, I know.”

“What –” I began but Max gave me a squeeze.

“Trudy’s Cotton’s granddaughter,” Max explained.

“Oh,” I muttered.

“Small town,” Cotton noted, stopping close, “we talk. Get used to it.”

“Oh…” I said slowly and finished, “kay,” uncertain I’d be around long enough to get used to it but I decided against sharing that with Cotton.

“Give me your camera, I’ll take a picture of you both,” Cotton dipped his head to my camera.

I got stiff. A picture of me and Max on Max’s bluff? I didn’t think so. And I didn’t think so mainly because the very thought of having a photo of Max and me, together on his beautiful bluff, made me want it so badly I could taste it in my mouth and I knew that was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Um… that’s okay, I took some shots.”

“Duchess –” Max said but Cotton interrupted him.

“Give me your camera, girl.”

“Really, that’s okay,” I said.

“Nina, this is Jimmy Cotton,” Max told me under his breath, my body froze and I stared.

When I could again speak, I whispered, “No kidding?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Max said back on a chuckle.

I stared at Santa Man.

Jimmy Cotton, the great American photographer. I’d seen three of his exhibitions, one at the Smithsonian, one at the Victoria and Albert and one at The Met. He was a national treasure and his pictures were revered, including by me. I bought one of his calendars every year and had one of his Smithsonian posters framed and in my hallway at home.

He was also a recluse, never came to showings, never did interviews, famously eschewed the world that adored him. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a picture of him, not even when he was young. I knew he lived in the Colorado Rockies, most of his photos were of the mountains, but I obviously had no idea he lived here.

“I’m… I’m… so pleased to meet you,” I stuttered, feeling stupid and shy, both at the same time. “I saw your exhibitions at the Smithsonian and the one at the Victoria and Albert and –”

“V&A?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, it was spectacular. I was… it was amazing,” I replied.

“Got a few of those they showed at the V&A up at my place. I’ll go through my barn, wrap one up, bring it over to Max’s.”

My mouth fell open, I felt it but I couldn’t do anything about it.

Max started chuckling and gave my arm a squeeze. “Give him your camera, honey.”

Automatically, my hand holding the camera lifted up, Jimmy Cotton came forward, took my stupid, little, digital camera in his artisan’s hand and took several steps back. I was so stunned that Jimmy Cotton was holding my camera, I didn’t fight against Max curling me so my front was tucked into his side, his arm tight around my shoulders, fingers shifting my hair around to bunch at my neck under his hand, forcing my cheek to his shoulder, his other hand going around my waist.