by Erika Kelly
Was he in town? Did he live here?
Doubtful. He’d hoped to make films with his dad, but even if that hadn’t panned out, she couldn’t see a reason for him to be in Calamity.
The edge of a clear plastic storage container peeked out from under her bed. My sketchbooks. A punch of energy got her moving toward her room. Getting on her knees, she pulled out the box and pried off the top. Excitement buzzed under her skin at the familiar black covers.
Throughout her childhood, before she’d had to design for her senior year fashion show, before she’d had to impress Luc’s couture world, she’d sketched for the brides in her dream sets.
Growing up, she couldn’t wait to go to bed, eager to return to her imaginary worlds. The stories unspooled like movies, always involving a group of friends and inevitably leading to weddings. They helped her fall asleep at night and got her though many lonely hours.
Opening the top book, she flipped through the pages. Serena. Oh, my God. She totally remembered Serena, a free spirit she imagined had moved to Calamity from a small beach community in southern California. Look at these bohemian gowns.
She’d have to buy a new sketchbook for Gray’s sisters-in-law. It would be fun not to worry about couture, to get to know the women, and come up with dresses that fit their personalities.
Snapping the book shut, she dropped it back on the pile. Just as she reached for the lid to seal the box, she noticed a sheet of heavy drawing paper. A memory tickled just under her skin, until she pulled it out to find the wedding gown she’d designed for herself.
It was a fairytale dress with a plunging beaded lace bodice and an ethereal ballgown with wispy layers of tulle. Hand-sewn flowers on top of the illusion foundation gave it an outrageously feminine look. She’d spent a lot of time on this one.
Do you know something? I’d choose this same dress today.
Well, marriage was so not on her radar. Maybe one of Gray’s brides would like it. But even as she thought about showing it to them, she felt a tug of resistance. It’s mine.
She’d take it to the studio with her. Tape it to her storyboard for inspiration.
Popping the lid back on, she shoved the box under the bed. She’d kept him waiting long enough. Only, when she came back into the living room, she found him leaning against the wall, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, his biceps round and hard under that dark gray T-shirt.
“Grab your suitcase. You’re staying at the ranch.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Before she could object to staying on the Bowie’s three-hundred-thousand-acre legacy ranch, Gray hoisted the luggage into his arms and headed out the door. “Both Callie and Delilah work full-time—crazy hours—so they can’t be driving out here every time they need to try something on. Besides…” He made a sweeping gesture. “You gonna turn this into your studio? When you get more orders, do you want the customers to come here for fittings?”
Obviously, that would be a hard no. Her heels clanked on the metal steps. “I’m not going to live in the main house with your family, Gray.”
“Of course not. You can have the bunkhouse. I’ve checked, and no one’s using it.”
She locked up the trailer, thinking about all that space. “If you’re sure no one’s going to mind, I would love that. It’ll give me a chance to spread out all my dresses, see what I can salvage.”
“It’s yours as long as you need it.” He waited in a patch of bright yellow desert parsley, until she caught up to him. “There’s something else I want to suggest. I’ve got the space, and I’ve also got some people who could help you.”
“I’m going to have to look at the dresses first, see if they can be fixed before I consider hiring anyone.” But she couldn’t expect orders to come in from the custom dresses if she didn’t market them. “Let me talk to Callie and her friend first, figure out their budgets, so I can see what I can afford.”
“And that’s where my proposition comes in.”
She could only smile and shake her head. “Okay, give it to me. What else have you got up your sleeve?”
“I’m thinking we could be business partners. Just like you and Luc were.”
She headed for the truck. “I’m not taking your money, Gray.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not giving you any. I’m offering the bunkhouse and staff to help you out.”
“Help me out how?”
“Someone to help on the creative end, someone to handle finances, marketing. Basically, I can provide the team and the infrastructure.”
Where on earth would Gray Bowie get a team to help her make wedding gowns? But, okay, if she wanted to turn this into an actual business, she’d need the help, so she’d play along. “And what would you get out of this partnership?”
They reached the truck. “A new business venture and…ten percent of your earnings.”
“Ten percent, huh? You’re not a very good businessman.”
He grinned. “No worse than you. You’re supposed to just take the offer and not point it out. But, since you did, I’ll tell you that you get the better end of the bargain, ‘cause I’m the one who got you into this mess.”
Before getting in, she stopped to take in her mom’s flat, sagebrush-covered property. “Twenty-four hours ago, my biggest worry was Luc’s reaction to the alteration I’d made on one of my dresses. And now I’m standing here with you”—of all people—“forming a business partnership.”
“But it’s pretty cool, right?” He tossed her suitcase into the bed of the trunk.
“It’s interesting, that’s for sure.” She got in and fastened her seatbelt.
The moment he climbed in, he fired up the engine. “So, we’re doing this?”
Salvaging her dresses, custom order requests…yeah, she’d need help. “We’re doing this.” Ooh, there it was. That crazy connection they’d always had. She’d never understood it back then. Frankly, it had frightened her. Maybe, on some level, she’d been attracted to him, but she’d shut down any possibility because a) she’d been with Robert, and b) Gray Bowie would never see her that way. Ever.
She didn’t know why she was thinking about it now, except that, sitting so close to him, breathing in his clean, mountain-man scent, was doing a number on her. He looked every bit the bad boy with his unruly hair and scruff, tattoos, and lazy smile, and yet he exuded this powerful energy.
That’s it. The juxtaposition of his carefree, yet take-charge attitude, was a total turn-on.
Well, shut it down, because that’s a no-fly zone.
Not only wouldn’t he be interested in her that way, if they were going to work together, they had to keep attraction—sex—out of it.
“I know we’re not drawing up formal paperwork or anything,” he said. “But I have to ask…you’re going to stay in town long enough to make these dresses, right? It’s okay if you’re not sure. I just need to know before I introduce you to Callie and Delilah. They’re good people, and they’re excited about wearing them. I’m not going to let them down.”
“That’s fair.” Sometimes, he seemed to know her better than she knew herself. On some level, she still clung to the dream that Chanel would call, and she’d be on the next jet. “I’d like to make an addendum to our business deal.”
He cracked a smile. “I’m listening.”
“If Jack Abrams calls and offers me a contract, I’m out of here. That goes for Chanel or Givenchy, too.” She gave him a teasing smile.
“Got it.”
“Other than that, I’m in.”
He grew serious. “Okay, then we have to plan the next steps carefully. The launch matters in terms of marketing.”
She knew her world had turned upside down—and been shaken violently—when Gray Bowie talked about marketing. But, once again, he was spot on. “Once I get settled, I’ll map out the whole game plan. I’ve got it from here.”
“I think you missed the part where I’m in business with you.”
“Aren’t you heading out to Titan
s? And God knows where you’ll go after that.”
“I’m coming back right after. Gotta train.”
That pinch of disappointment snapped her out of it. As sincere as he sounded, Gray was not in business with her. He’d set her up—which was incredibly generous of him—before taking off, back to his life as an extreme athlete and nomad. “Oh, yeah? Which competition’s next?” She didn’t follow surfing events.
“I’m training for the big one.”
“Wait, you’re on the championship tour?” For all his medals and trophies, Gray only entered competitions when he felt like it. He’d never wanted to be tied down, so he didn’t join teams.
“Hell, no. I’m talking about boarding.”
“I don’t understand.” Until she did. “Wait, you’re going for the Olympics?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Hold your horses. You’re committing to a sport?” And then it struck her. “Gray, why’re you doing Titans if you’re training for the Olympics?”
He shrugged. “I got the invitation. About twenty minutes before we crashed into our living room.”
“Gray.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“Does your coach know?”
“First of all, there’s no team yet. That won’t happen until January. Secondly, my coach right now is Fin, and no, I haven’t told him.”
“Because he’ll lose his shit?”
He tapped his fingers on the wheel. “Probably.”
“Oh, man. I don’t want to be there when he finds out you’re riding sixty-foot waves.”
“Won’t know the size till I get there. Or whether the event’s even on.”
Weather conditions controlled when Titans Invitational could be held. The participants would all just hang out and wait in tents and RVs. She remembered, because the guys had always dreamed of getting the invitation. For a while there, that was all they’d talked about. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, Robert would be so jealous. But she shut that line of thought down cold. The two guys had been crazy competitive with each other, and she didn’t need to stir it up again.
Up ahead she spotted the Masterson’s house, right near the turn-off for the Bowie ranch. The familiar white fence of their horse training facility stood out against the green sage meadow. “I can’t believe I’m back here. I didn’t think I’d ever…” She glanced down at the cuticle she’d been smashing with a fingernail. “Well, I wanted to come back as an established fashion designer. Not as a struggling wannabe.”
“Pretty sure you’ve had a career designing wedding gowns for the House of Bellerose.”
She smiled.
“What?”
“Hearing Mr. Rough and Tough Athlete say, ‘House of Bellerose.’” She made her voice all cowboy-raspy on the last three words.
“That’s what Amelia said it’s called.” He smiled, big and broad. “Did I get it wrong?”
“No, it’s just funny to hear you say it, like you’ve got some Bellerose tuxedoes hanging in your closet.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Unless your last girlfriend bought you one to wear to her galas, I doubt it.”
“You’d be right. Remember Mr. Santorini?”
“Your dad’s tailor? Of course.”
“He still makes our suits.”
A chill swept through her, so real she rubbed her arms. This is the world I’m returning to. The one where the wealthy people went to Mr. Santorini for tailoring. Where teachers pitied her, and classmates barked at her.
The town infested with people she swore she’d never see again.
And she’d just committed to a business here. It would take at least six to eight months to make Callie and Delilah’s dresses, so that meant she’d be here at least a year.
Okay, but who knew what might happen. If she marketed well, she could attract Jack Abrams’s attention sooner than later. Anxiety pinched the back of her neck. And if she didn’t, she could become a seamstress. The plan had potential, but without the backing of Luc Bellerose, it was risky.
Gray’s hand came down over hers, so big and strong. “I know this is a big swerve. That show meant a lot to you.”
“It meant everything.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?” As long as she’d known him, he’d flitted from one activity to another. Just when he’d gotten good at fencing, he’d switched to jazz guitar. Then, after a couple school performances, he’d dropped out of that. No wonder his dad hadn’t gotten him that electric guitar he’d wanted for his birthday.
He took his eyes off the road to give her a searching look. “I’m not sure where you’re going with that question.”
“Have you ever wanted something so much that you’d just die if you didn’t get it?”
He went quiet for a moment, attention back on the highway. She thought he wasn’t going to respond—which was an answer in itself—until he looked her right in the eye and gave a dead-serious, “Yes.”
It had never once occurred to her—she was just so used to the bachelor Bowies—but with Fin and Will settling down… “Are you and Amelia…”
“What?” He seemed genuinely confused.
“Together?”
“Amelia? Hell, no.” He shrugged. “We’re friends.”
He entered surfing and snowboarding competitions on a whim, jumped from one activity to another, and had never had a girlfriend. That’s Gray. Not all that invested in anything.
Passion. That was the difference between them. Knox’s career meant everything to her. She loved designing and making gowns, loved the materials, the beads and crystals, the feel of the seed pearls in her fingers, the smell of fabric freshly unrolled off the bolt.
Maybe things had come too easily to him, but Gray didn’t have passion for anything. That was sad. He’d never know the extreme ends of the emotional spectrum.
Then again, maybe that’s a good thing…he’d never experience the crushing disappointment of failure.
Nah. It was passion that would get her back on the right path. Passion that would make her dreams come true.
Gray Bowie was just a ship carrying her to the next port on this dark stretch of night.
With the windows open and the warm mountain air whipping Knox’s hair around her face, it took Gray back—way back—to all the times they’d hung out together.
He’d craved that time alone with her, even when he’d known it was wrong. He’d had no business hanging out with his best friend’s girlfriend.
Not when he’d loved her so fucking hard.
It sucked that, after all these years, being with her stirred it all up. Enough time had passed, he should be over it. Maybe it was muscle memory. The habit of wanting her.
“What’re all these cars doing here?” She unbuckled before he’d even hit the brakes.
“We’re just getting the place cleaned up.” He slowed, parking haphazardly at the side of the bunkhouse.
“You move fast.”
“Well, I’ve got a plane to catch.” He hauled out her suitcase and caught up with her. “You can use one of our trucks while you’re here. Get your own groceries, whatever you need.”
She stopped on the patch of grass and turned to him, put a warm hand on his arm. “Thank you.”
The thrill of it scuttled down his spine. What are you, fourteen? No, he was a grown man, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d topple back into that hellhole of wanting a woman he couldn’t have. He gave a taut nod and continued on.
“It looks exactly the same,” she said.
Fifty years ago, back when this had been a working ranch, the cowhands had lived here. But neither his dad nor his uncle had had any interest in ranching, so Gray and his brothers had turned it into a hangout. They’d had the best parties in the large, renovated rectangular building. Over time, they’d covered the entire façade with reflective road and animal crossing signs.
Climbing the porch steps, he breathed in the familiar smell of wood and the musty cushio
ns from the hand-hewn rockers his uncle had made. “Come on in.” He held the door open, following behind with her suitcase.
Zach, his most recent hire, had rounded up some dress forms and sewing machines. In the kitchen, a crew unpacked overfilled grocery sacks. Music came from somewhere down the long hallway that led to what were once dormitory-style bedrooms. Several years ago, they’d knocked down walls to create master bedroom suites.
She swept a hand down the back of a dress form. “How could you possibly get supplies like this so quickly?”
“We have connections.”
“Okay, hang on. A team, connections, marketing?” She fingered some bright blue nylon. “You have fabric swatches in the bunkhouse. Gray, what’s going on here?”
“I dabble in some clothing lines.”
“You dabble?”
“Long story. Let me introduce you to everyone.” He started off towards the long dining room table.
“Gray.”
Her serious tone stopped him.
“Is there a business already going on in here?”
“No. We run ours remotely or out of our homes. I’m sure Zach just brought some stuff with him. We’re in the middle of launching a new line.”
“A new line?” Her expression said, What in the world are you talking about?
He didn’t like to talk about it. It was just something he and his friends did together, but he supposed he should fill her in. “Okay, well, a couple years ago, we had an idea for a better snowboard, so we designed it and sold it. Thought we were pretty badass, until we saw the sales report. It was pretty dismal. So, one day, we were sitting around the fire, shooting the shit, talking about marketing and how we could boost sales, and it struck me that what really sells are the things people need to buy new every season. Like socks and gloves and board shorts. Shit like that.”
“You and your friends sat around a campfire talking about marketing?”
“You givin’ me shade?” He smiled, when what he really felt was frustration. This is why I don’t talk about it. People didn’t take him seriously. They had one idea about him and didn’t want to see him any other way. “Let me introduce you to my Creative Director.”
