Bijou studied the embankment above them. Small rocks and the root structures of trees seemed to be the only thing holding the crumbling dirt together. Some roots jutted out like gangly, boney arms, moss hanging from them. A few larger rocks were scattered along the wall, but for the most part, the bank seemed nothing but loose dirt.

She found it impossible not to be a little nervous. Behind were the gator-infested waters and in front of her a tall wall of soil, some of which was already falling like dust on top of her head and shoulders.

She cleared her throat. “Arnaud, I have to hand it to you. You’re very dedicated to your art. Couldn’t you have someone else do this for you?”

He examined the wall approximately three feet from the bottom. Intrigued, she squatted low and peered at the dirt, trying to see what he was looking for.

“No one else can find exactly what I need for each project. I actually scheduled a visit to the gallery here because I need some of the colors I can get from this little cache. I can get the banded agate, but here . . .” He broke off, using the brush like an archeology tool, exposing the rock beneath. “Here I can find various hues you don’t find very many other places.”

“I had no idea,” Bijou admitted, finding the entire idea of elegant, sophisticated Arnaud Lefevre, in his thousand-dollar suit, mining for stone in a dangerous, mosquito-infested swamp fascinating. He was totally focused on the task of gently brushing away the dirt to find his hidden treasure. She’d seen him in the studio and he clearly hadn’t even noticed anyone around him, time passing or anything else. He was the same way now, taking the same care with his hunt for the perfect color agate for his sculpture.

His patient brushing revealed a small vein of pale blue, almost purple and blue-green rocks. He continued brushing away the loose dirt so more colors were exposed.

Bijou gasped. “Those colors are beautiful.”

“Even more so when I work with them,” he said almost absently. He took the fork and meticulously began prying the pastel purple rock free. He was careful not to scrape it, digging around the edges to free the small stone.

“Do you already know what you’re goin’ to use it for?” Bijou asked. “Do you actually have a sculpture in mind?”

He nodded. “I draw what’s in my head and then figure out which mediums I’m going to use and how best to get what’s in my head to come to life.”

“Arnaud.” She waited until he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. “You know you’re a genius, don’ you? No one in the world can do what you do.”