Iris


    The evening breeze drifts through the open windows of the ranch house, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Miles is


    already fast asleep in bed, worn out from a day of ying with the ranch hand''s children and helping feed the baby goats.


    Apparently, he had a st and got along exceptionally well with the other kids.


    Now, after a talkative dinner and a bedtime involving a few tears because Miles had a minor exhaustion-induced meltdown, the


    house is blissfully quiet except for the asional creak of the old wooden beams and the sound of paper rustling as Arthur reads a


    book on the couch across from me.


    I sit cross-legged in an armchair with my sketchbook bnced on my knees. My pencil moves almost of its own ord, tracing


    lines that gradually form the outline of three figures on horseback.


    I smile as I sketch Miles''s expression of wonder, his little hand pointing toward the ridge where the she-wolf stood watching us


    yesterday. Arthur''s gaze follows, and I stand beside them, the wind blowing my hair.


    This will be the centerpiece of my final exhibition for the artist residency, which ising up in just a few short weeks. I''ve been mulling over what to create for months now, but haven''t been able to settle on anything. I just knew that I wanted it to be


    something meaningful.


    But as the months ticked on and the end of my residency crept closer, I just couldn''t seem toe up with anything. I sketched more than a few ideas, but nothing felt... right. I must have wasted at least half a sketchbook''s worth of paper in an attempt to


    And then we saw the wolf yesterday, in all her glory, and everything clicked into ce.


    My pencil hovers over the page as I consider how to depict her. The wolf was magnificent-wild and free and utterly beautiful, and the artist in me wants nothing more than to paint her and show her to the world. But each time I try to convince myself to


    draw her, I just... can''t.


    It feels wrong somehow, like a disservice to her. Once again, I feel as if painting her, especially on a canvas that hundreds of eyes will see-likely even more now that people know who I am-might strip her of her freedom in some way.


    And in a strange way, that moment when I locked eyes with her felt so... private. Intimate. Like a moment that was only meant for


    us and no one else.


    Instead, I sketch in a gnarled tree branch extending from the foreground, partially obscuring the ridge where she stood. To anyone else, it will look like a simplepositional choice. But I''ll know-and Arthur will know, once he sees the finished piece


    -that she''s there, just out of sight, watching over us.


    "What are you working on?" Arthur''s voice suddenly asks. I jump, not having


    realized that he got up from his seat and is now


    behind me, trying to peer over my shoulder.


    +25 Bonus


    I quickly close my sketchbook and tuck it against my chest. "You can''t see it yet."


    His eyebrows lift. "A surprise? For me?"


    "Don''t get a big head. Maybe it''s for Miles."


    "Liar," he says fondly, reaching over my shoulder for the sketchbook. "Let me see."


    "Absolutely not." I jump up, whirl around, and hide the sketchbook behind my back. "You''ll have to wait for the exhibition like everyone else, Mr. President."


    "Is that so? Well, Mr. President has ways of making people talk," he says, stalking around the chair and toward me.


    I shriek withughter as he lunges, trying to grab the sketchbook with one hand while tickling my ribs with the other. I twist away, but he''s faster and stronger. Within seconds, he has me pinned to the chair, both of us breathless.


    "You''re terrible," I gasp as he nts kisses along my neck. "This is extortion." "Consider it... gentle persuasion," he murmurs, his hand inching toward the sketchbook again as his tongueps at the sensitive


    spot just below my ear.


    I swat him away, even though I want to relent under the pressure of his warm mouth grazing my skin. "If you peek, I''ll never forgive you," I breathe.


    Arthur sighs and sits up, then returns to his spot on the sofa, feigning hurt all the while. "Fine, keep your secrets. I''ll just sit here


    all alone, unloved and uncared for."


    I roll my eyes, but can''t help butugh. "You poor thing. How