Harmony and High Heels (The Fort Worth Wranglers Book 2)

by Tracy Wolff

  “The pilot? I thought we were shooting a test show before the pilot.” Harmony wasn’t sure what the difference was, but from Holly’s tone, there was a huge one.

  “Plans change. The higher-ups at the network have decided all you get is one shot.” Holly paused like she was collecting her words. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this for you. Everything is riding on the pilot—for you and for me.”

  No pressure there at all.

  “I understand.” Harmony wanted to crawl back in bed and hit rewind on the whole morning. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I hope so. Talk to you soon.” Holly hung up.

  “So?” Tre asked, eyes wide and handkerchief at the ready. “What’s the verdict?”

  “The verdict is I better not mess up again or I’ll be stuck hocking brownies out of the back of Cherry Cherry.”

  The car backfired, as if to say no way in hell.

  Damn it. She’d been trying to be herself, trying to live her life on her terms. Instead, she’d nearly lost her dream job, she’d embarrassed herself and her sister on live TV, and she could only imagine what Dalton was going to say when she finally talked to him.

  Tre might think it was time to put the Talbots dresses to rest once and for all, but all of a sudden Harmony wasn’t so sure. Things sure as hell went smoother when she was pretending to be someone else.

  * * *

  Chapter 20

  * * *

  Two days later, Harmony was ready to quit everything and join a cult. In a cult, she wouldn’t have to think about anything. She’d just mindlessly take orders from some guy on a power trip. How hard could that be?

  Now that she thought about it, it would probably be really freaking hard. She’d have to take orders from a man, and that really went against everything she believed in. Plus, all the cult members she’d ever seen on TV wore really bad shoes, and there was no way in hell she was giving up her Louboutins.

  Were there any female cult leaders? She figured they’d be more understanding of her little shoe obsession. Then again, cult leader didn’t seem like a job that a woman would want. After all, womankind didn’t need to twist the truth or use the Bible to brainwash men—all it took was a bikini wax and some spiked heels.

  She put the finishing touches on some creole cream cheese tarts. For the next few days, she was trying out new recipes and watching back seasons of Food Network Star. Being in front of the camera was more about personality than cooking. Yes, she needed to know how to bake, but she also needed to know how to schmooze the audience.

  The front door opened, and she heard the now familiar footsteps followed by rumbling that heralded the arrival of Tre and his rolling suitcase. His apartment was being renovated, so he was staying with them for a while. Plus, he was helping get Harmony ready for her one and only shot at TV fame. Which she really hoped was going to be better than the last day of TV infamy had been. There was nothing quite like logging onto Twitter only to realize that her vagina was trending …

  Surprisingly, Dalton had taken it pretty well, but she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. And she still hadn’t told him she loved him. Then again, he hadn’t said anything about his feelings for her either, except that one time. A girl was only prepared to suffer so many tragedies in the space of two days before she lost her mind completely.

  Her phone rang. She checked the screen. She couldn’t help the smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “I’m always thinking about you.” Dalton shuffled some papers on the other end. “Sorry about tonight. I’m swamped. The contractor just informed me that his head electrician just quit, which somehow translates to more work for me. The hotel rooms aren’t ready, so now I need to find a place for a hundred and fifty-two people to stay.” He shuffled more papers. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump on you.”

  “Poor baby. You can dump on me anytime.” She missed him. It had been all of one day, but she still missed him. “Too bad you’re so busy. I have some really effective relaxation techniques. They involved whipped cream and my tongue.”

  “Wow.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I am definitely going to take you up on that later.”

  “Work faster. I want to see you.” Being with him was so easy.

  “Okay, I’ll be right there.” Dalton’s voice was muffled, like he was partially covering the phone. “Sorry, babe, I have to go. But I wanted you to know I was thinking about you, so I got you a present. It should be there soon.”

  “I love presents.” Every girl did. But that wasn’t why she was with him. She wanted him and not what he could buy for her.

  “I miss you.” He hung up.

  Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Dalton. “Love you.”

  She smiled to herself. She loved him too. Only she really should tell him in person first instead of via text.

  Tre came into the room followed by his suitcase. “Whew, I’ve had a day. It’s so good to be off of work. Can I tell you how much I hate rude people?” He parked his bag by the sofa and melted onto a barstool.

  “I’ll fix you a latte and you can tell me all about it.” She put two tarts on a napkin and set it in front of him. “Tell me what you think.”

  “I think my ass is going to be the size of a billboard if I don’t stop eating all of these carbs.” He picked up a tart, sniffed it, and then bit into it. “Yum. These are really good … only, they need a little something like fresh raspberry or blackberry. The cream cheese is tart, ha ha, but it needs something just a bit acidic to push it over the edge into world’s greatest.”

  Tre was a foodie, which totally worked in her favor.

  “Good to know.” Harmony made notes on her iPad.

  He put the tart down. “Before I forget, the blackout brownies were a hit in first class, but the pear sandies received mixed reviews. Most people liked the flavor but thought they were a little dry.”

  Tre had used today’s first-class cabin to taste test her recipes.

  Harmony pulled up the pear sandies recipe and made some notes to add more moisture to the dough.

  Her phone played the Funeral March, and Tre plucked it up and answered it. “Hello, Livinia, are you ready to apologize to your daughters yet?”

  Even from across the four-foot-wide granite counter, Harmony could hear her mother screaming.

  “We talked about this. You’re welcome to call back when you’re prepared to be civil and act like an adult instead of a spoiled child.” Tre hung up the phone and looked at Harmony. “Is Lyric keeping her promise to not answer your mother’s phone calls? Heath and I have let Livinia know in no uncertain terms that if she wants to yell at someone, she’s welcome to call the two of us, but that all contact with her daughters must come through us or not at all.”

  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” Harmony had just about resigned herself to never having a loving relationship with her mother. It was okay … sort of. She fixed Tre a latte and placed it in front of him.

  “Yes, but I can stand to hear it again.” Tre sipped his latte and smiled at her over the rim. “Family is complicated. God knows mine is.”

  It broke Harmony’s heart that Tre was estranged from his family. When he’d come out to them, they’d kicked him out with only the clothes on his back. They were Southern Baptist and ready to throw away their son just because he was gay. She wanted to run his parents over with her bakery delivery van.

  In the last few days, Harmony had learned that family was made rather than born.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Tre stood and stretched.

  “No, sit. You’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll get it.” Harmony had been on her feet all day too, but she hadn’t spent the last ten hours dealing with the public. She opened the door to find a delivery man holding a black garment bag. “Can I help you?”

  “I have a delivery for,” the man looked down at the tag on the outside of the garment bag, “Harmony Wright.”

  “I’m Harmony. Thanks.
” She reached for the garment bag. She hadn’t ordered anything. Roberto Modesto was written on the side. She couldn’t afford Roberto Modesto—maybe resale, but they were few and far to come by.

  “Can I get you to sign for it?” He held out a smartphone.

  With her finger, she signed her name. “Thanks again.”

  “Have a good day, and enjoy.” He waved as he turned and walked back to the nondescript white delivery van parked next to the mailbox.

  She closed the door and walked into the kitchen. “Someone sent me something from Roberto Modesto. Was it you?”

  “I love you more than my own sister, but if I scraped together enough money to buy something from Roberto Modesto, it would be for me.” Tre clapped in excitement. “Open it. I can’t wait to see it.”

  She pulled the zipper down, and a small white envelope fell to the floor. She leaned down and picked it up. After gently laying the bag on the back of a kitchen chair, she opened the card.

  She read the card out loud. “I know you’ve been busy, so I took the liberty of picking out a dress for you to wear to the cocktail party. I hope it fits. I love you. Dalton.”

  “Ohhhh.” She and Tre squealed like little girls—Tre because of the dress, and her because Dalton had just said that he loved her. In three words. For the first time. In a card. Well, the first time had been at his apartment when they were having sex, but she didn’t know if that counted. Men said all kinds of things when they were inside a woman, and it wasn’t like he’d repeated it since then. Before now. She wasn’t sure the “love you” text counted, since it was only two words.

  “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yummy is so thoughtful.” Tre’s eyebrows bobbled up and down. “I want one.” Harmony wasn’t sure if he meant a Dalton or a Modesto. Maybe both.

  He picked up the garment bag and pulled the dress out.

  They both stood there speechless. It was royal-blue chiffon with a high collar, five rows of ruffles, and no discernable waist. It reminded Harmony of a ruffle-y bedsheet with two armholes. And not in a good way, if there even was a good way …

  She looked at Tre and he looked at her.

  “Maybe it’s one of those dresses that looks better on.” Tre sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

  They walked to her bedroom, where she slipped out of her clothes and into the dress.

  She turned around and Tre just stood there with his mouth hanging open.

  “Say something.” She pulled at the dress, trying to see what the designer and Dalton had both seen in this dress. Had Dalton really picked this out for her? Was this who he thought she should be? He’d wanted her to tone things down, but this was a little over-the-top toned down. It covered her from neck to toe, and if it had any shape at all, it would have been toga-esque.

  Maybe Dalton hadn’t picked it out at all. Maybe he’d just called the store and told them to pick out something for his girlfriend. But he didn’t seem the type to have someone else pick out something so personal and important to him. And she felt like she was important to him—the man had told her he loved her.

  Tre closed his mouth and then opened and then closed it again. “I’ve lost all respect for Roberto Modesto. And for your man.” He stepped behind her and tugged on the back of the dress. “Maybe it’s a knockoff.”

  “Does it really matter? It’s terrible.” Being conservatively dressed was one thing, but this went beyond anything Ann Taylor or Talbots could have dreamed up.

  Tre pulled at the waist. “Maybe there’s a belt or something.” From behind, he pulled at the material, trying to give the dress some shape. That actually made it worse. “It’s maternity meets matronly meets kitchen curtains. But hey, the color’s really nice—it’s perfect for your skin tone, and it makes your eyes even darker blue.”

  He tilted his head to the left and then to the right. “Maybe you have it on wrong?”

  “I’ve been getting dressed for years. I’m pretty sure I know how to put on a gown.”

  “This isn’t the week to be touting your dressing prowess.” Tre shot her a one-eyebrow-up look.

  He had a point. Harmony undid the single button at the back that was holding the dress closed and stepped out of it.

  They spent the next five minutes looking for another way to put it on, but the armholes made it pretty clear how the dress was supposed to be worn.

  “Could it be inside out?” Harm checked to make sure the tag was on the inside.

  “Put it back on.” Tre steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “Maybe it got all discombobulated in transit. Put it on again, and maybe the ruffles will lie down. That’s it. Too much handling made it extra poufy.”

  She slipped the dress back over her head.

  Lyric walked into the room and looked Harmony up and down. “Why are you wearing a blue chiffon trash bag with ruffles?”

  Wow, if Lyric—who thought high fashion was wearing her glittery red Converse court shoes—thought it was bad, the dress must be even worse than she’d thought.

  “It looks like the dress Momma picked out for Great Aunt Lucille to be buried in. Except hers was prettier.” Lyric sat down on the bed. “Great color, though.”

  “Yes, that blue is beautiful.” Tre’s nose screwed up. “I don’t know about the dress.” He sat down next to Lyric. “Dalton sent it over for her to wear at the cocktail party. It’s Roberto Modesto.”

  “Is he a clothing designer?” Lyric asked.

  Considering the dress, it was a fair question. Harmony looked down at the dress that had swallowed her whole. “He claims to be.”

  Lyric drew her knees up to her chest. “What if it’s just a starting point? You know, like Dalton is having it completely custom made for you. This is like the foundation that they build from—or in this case take away.” She sounded so hopeful. “Like when men have a suit custom made. It starts out as just fabric, and then there’s a man with a tape measure around his neck who pins stuff and makes it into a suit.”

  Tre sighed like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. “That must be it. This is just the material and there’s a dressmaker on their way here right now.”

  Everyone froze, waiting for the doorbell to ring. Nothing but dead air.

  “They’re probably stuck in traffic.” Tre didn’t sound convinced. “You have three days until the party. Plenty of time.”

  “You’re right. No one in their right mind would take this for a dress.” Harmony slipped out of it and back into her jeans and T-shirt. Carefully, she hung it up. The dressmaker would probably contact her soon. Until then, it would stay in her closet. There were a million and one other things she needed to worry about right now.

  Tomorrow, a production team contracted by Food Network was headed over to measure the kitchen, take light readings, and do several other things Holly’s assistant Max had mentioned but Harm couldn’t remember. It was hard to believe that in five days, she would be Food Network’s newest and hopefully brightest star.

  “When’s Dalton coming over tonight?” Tre yawned.

  “He’s not. He’s working late into the night, and I need to pick out three recipes I’m planning on using in the pilot.” She couldn’t decide what three items best showcased her talent.

  “So exciting.” Tre’s grin morphed into another yawn. “I’m going to bed. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight. The life of a flight attendant isn’t as glamorous as you’ve been led to believe.” He stifled another yawn. “See y’all in the morning.”

  “Night, Tre.” Lyric blew him a kiss.

  Harmony gave him a brief hug. “Get some sleep.”Harmony waited until he’d left the room to share the news about Momma. “He hung up on Momma again today.” Harmony had been tempted to answer the phone one of the dozen times Momma had called today, but she’d made a promise to let Heath and Tre handle things. “I’m surprised she hasn’t driven up here to yell at me in person.”

  “Don’t you mean us?” Lyric raised her hand like she wa
s volunteering for something. “She blames me for your downfall. I moved all the way to Hawaii to get away from her … remind me why I came back?”

  “To be with the love of your life,” Heath said from the doorway. “What did I miss?”

  “Not much. Momma called to yell at Harm, but Tre took care of it. Dalton sent her a really ugly dress that we hope is just stage one in the dressmaking process, and Harm is force-feeding me baked goods.” In three sentences, Lyric had just summed up Harm’s entire day.

  It felt like it should have taken at least a couple of paragraphs.

  “Here’s the big question, what’s Harm making us for dinner?” Heath slid in behind his wife on the bed and massaged the muscles at her neck.

  Seeing up close and personal how much Lyric and Heath truly cared for each other was nice. They were affectionate and considerate and laughed at themselves and each other. Momma and Daddy never laughed at all, or at least Daddy never laughed when Momma was around. It was good to see different versions of love.

  She liked to think that she and Dalton might end up like Health and Lyric—with a loving relationship, and not the suck-the-fun-out-of-life marriage that Momma and Daddy seemed to have. She pulled the card out again and looked at the three little words at the bottom. I love you.

  He loved her.

  She was going to hold on to that for a very long time.

  “Ever wonder why Daddy wanted to marry Momma in the first place?” She’d never really questioned her parents’ marriage until she’d seen how different marriage was in the Montgomery house. True, they were newlyweds, but knowing Heath and Lyric, she didn’t see them ever evolving into Momma and Daddy.

  Lyric shook her head. “No.”

  She was too busy trying to figure out the origins of the universe to worry about personal relationships.