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“Whenever I’m in an exhibit like this, I always expect the display to come alive and move,” she says, wandering over to a giant bison along the “Native Animals of the Plains” wall.

“I think that only happens at night, once everyone’s gone home.”

“I guess we’re safe, then.” She glances over at me. “Good thing, too. These things are huge.”

“That bull probably weighed close to a ton.”

“I can’t even.” Riley shakes her head.

I’ve seen stampedes, but thankfully I’ve never come face to face with a bison. They are some of the most dangerous animals out here when provoked.

“It’s hard to believe there used to be millions of them out here two hundred years ago,” I say.

Riley gets a faraway look in her eyes. “I think I’d like to sketch one, but from a safe distance.”

“Which reminds me. I have something I want to show you,” I say, grabbing her hand to guide her through a room honoring Pawnee history and an exhibit on shelter construction. We pass scale models of a log home, a sod house, and a teepee before coming to a roped-off room with a sign that says Room Closed. New Exhibit in Progress.

I glance left and right just in case someone else is here, and after verifying the coast is clear, I unhook the velvet rope, usher Riley in, and fasten it shut behind us. The room is dark because the lights are out, and it takes a few minutes for the light bulbs to warm up after turning them on.

“What is all this?” Riley asks, surveying the folding table in the middle of the room, covered in random paints and brushes, rollers and rulers.

The floor is covered in a tarp and blue painter’s tape lines the molding around the windows and doors.

“Welcome to what will eventually be an exhibit called ‘Surviving the Seasons.’ Each wall will be painted with a mural of how the prairie looks in the spring, summer, autumn, and winter. In the center of the room will be displays about the challenges each season brought to the local Native American populations and to the pioneers on the Oregon Trail.”

Riley spins around and I can tell she’s picturing how it would all come together. “Sounds interesting.” Her finger glides over a can of white paint and she brushes the dust on her apron. “This stuff’s been sitting here awhile.”

“A little over a year.”

She glances at the walls, which have been patched and repaired from previous exhibits and could use a coat of primer. “What’s the holdup?” she asks.

“Talent. Well, lack of talent’s more like it. The museum had a few muralists submit proposals for the work, and even had one lined up to get started a few months ago, but it just never panned out. There’s not exactly a ton of artists in the area and trying to convince someone to either make the drive or stay over as an artist-in-residence hasn’t been easy.”

Riley settles her hands on her hips and nibbles her bottom lip as she stares at the blank wall across from the window. “All this blank space. There’s so much potential here.”

“Picturing what you’d do if this was your canvas?”

She lifts her eyebrows and gives me a slight smile. “Am I that transparent?”

I shrug and move to stand beside her. Our arms brush and I glance down at the top of her bonnet, which shields her face. “How would you do it?”

“Hmm.” She sighs. “I think I’d make each of the seasons blend together so it’s almost like a continuous calendar as you walk through the room with January here,” she says, stepping forward, “next to the door.” She pivots and points as she outlines her idea. “It would be cool to paint what’s happening underground, too. Show roots and burrows, that kind of thing, maybe a foot up from the floor. Oh, and the ceiling.” She tips her face up and the bonnet swoops back, falling to hang by the ribbon against her back. “It would be fun to have clouds and birds around the edges so it would feel more immersive.”

Riley practically radiates sparks of creativity. She turns and her boot catches on the edge of a drop cloth, sending her stumbling toward me. I reach out and catch her around the waist. Her hands brace against my forearms. Her dark brown eyes focus on mine.

I know I should drop my arms and step back, but Riley isn’t exactly pulling away. In fact, she inches closer until her skirt brushes against my ankles.

“I think your ideas sound amazing,” I say. What I really want to say is that she’s amazing, but the words get caught in my throat.

“Thanks.” Her cheeks grow rosy and she eases closer, her gaze flicking down to my mouth and then back up again.

“I bet you’d do an amazing job.”

“You think?” she whispers.

All I want to do in this moment is kiss her, so I lean forward, watching to see if she’s okay with it. She doesn’t move away and her eyelashes flutter shut, her hands warm and steady on my arms. Our noses brush and just as I’m about to make contact, all I hear in the back of my mind is Jake warning me that Riley is only in Nebraska for a few more days. It’s a valid point. Damn him for living rent-free in my brain and causing me to second-guess myself.

Riley’s eyes open and she gazes up at me with such a tempting look that before I can talk myself out of it again, I press my lips against hers. She leans in, her mouth warm and sweet. Her hands trail up my arms to my shoulders, and then she twines her fingers behind my neck.