The Careless Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  “Is he going to help you?”

  “No. There’s nothing he can do.” She turned away from the window and gave him a brief but sweet smile. “I’m on my own.”

  Jesus. As a kid that smile made his knees wobble, turned his bones to jelly. Why is it happening now? “Okay, so let me ask you this. What was your end-goal with this fashion show? You get great reviews, buyers go nuts over your dresses, and then what?”

  “Brass ring? Jack Abrams Couture offers me a contract, and I get to design my own line of wedding gowns.”

  “Can you get his attention by making dresses for high profile bides?”

  After she gave it some thought, the pain and confusion cleared. “I mean, yes, I definitely can.” A moment longer, and she seemed a little surprised. “All I really need is the right kind of visibility.”

  Now we’re talking. “Don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but there’s this meme going around.”

  “Fin’s thing?”

  “Yeah, that one. It’s brought a lot of attention on us. Making dresses for the bride of The World’s Worst Boyfriend would kick up all the noise again, only this time it’ll shine it on you. Maybe you could launch your business that way.”

  With a thoughtful look, she nodded. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it does make sense.”

  “So, maybe there’s an opportunity here.”

  “Maybe.” And there it was, that smile that lit a fuse from the back of his neck all the way down to the soles of his feet.

  “I’m thinking, with the attention we’re still getting from the meme, it might drive some more custom orders your way.” He saw the alarm in her expression. “You’d only make them for high profile brides, and only until you got that contract you want.”

  She turned away from him, gathering her wet hair and twisting it into a bun, before letting it drop down her back. “My renter’s insurance doesn’t cover the loss of my dresses. They said I would’ve needed to take out a commercial policy for that. And there’s no way Luc’s going to pay for new materials.” She let out a defeated breath. “Which means there’s no way to fix my dresses in time for April’s show. And I really don’t want to go back to designing for someone else, so…I think you’re right. This might be the only direction to take right now that makes sense with my long-term plans.” She smoothed her hands down her stomach. “Look at me. Standing in my kitchen with Gray Bowie.”

  With that invitation, he took in the gentle slope of her shoulders, the sexy curve of her waist and flare of her hips. He’d seen countless women over his lifetime, but no one stirred his blood like this one.

  After a moment, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and turned to him. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do this.”

  He was happy beyond reason that he could help her. And—not a small part of it—get to know her again.

  I’m a sucker for this woman.

  “Great,” he said. “Then pack up. We’ll head out in the morning. Don’t worry about the dresses. Amelia will get them shipped home.”

  “Home?”

  “Calamity. Isn’t that where you’d make the dresses?”

  “Okay, that’s not happening. The only way I’m going back is if you cart my dead, bleached bones there in a wheel barrow.”

  “Thanks for the ride.” Knox hauled her tote off the floorboard and opened the truck’s door. Her fight or flight instinct had been raging since he’d picked her up at her house in Maui that morning. It had lasted across the Pacific Ocean and reduced her to a bundle of throbbing nerves on the drive from the local airport.

  It had less to do with coming back here than with sitting in such close quarters with Gray Bowie. She supposed everybody had a unique scent, but Gray’s did something to her on a cellular level. It triggered that same sense of exhilaration she’d get from reaching the summit on a hike, when she’d gulp in all the fresh, cold air and take in the panorama of jagged gray peaks capped with glistening snow and endless Wyoming blue sky.

  He was every good memory she had of home.

  Brushing up against his tanned forearm, thick with muscles and covered in black ink, and listening to his deep rumble of a voice drove her back to the days when she was the girl in the trailer, and he was the boy whose presence chased the shadows and scary noises away.

  Just as she got out of the truck, the engine cut off. She shot him a look of warning. “What’re you doing?”

  Gray got out and shoved his keys in the pocket of his jeans. “Going in with you.”

  A car whizzed by, and every muscle in Knox’s body tightened. Her soul turned into a pill bug, curling into its protective shell, even while her middle finger shot up. But, of course, it was just someone traveling on the highway, heading into Grand Teton National Park.

  No one had his head out the window, hands cupping his mouth as he barked like a dog at her.

  So this is how it’s going to be, huh? The minute she hits Calamity, she reverts to the same pissed-off girl who’d flipped the bird to her tormentors. Seven years might’ve gone by, but her body obviously didn’t understand the passage of time.

  She soothed herself with the certain belief that everyone had grown up. Most had probably even moved away. “No need. I’ll just settle in and catch up with you later.”

  The late afternoon sun glinted off the trailer. As a little girl, she’d loved the safety and comfort of her cozy home. Loved the wide-open meadow surrounding it, the scent of sun-warmed sage drifting in through open windows. The tall grasses shushing in the breeze had soothed her, and the sight of a bear or moose wandering across the land had thrilled her.

  “Place’s been empty a while. I’ll just check it out.” The soles of his boots crunched on the dry grass.

  “Even squatters don’t want to live there.” She’d meant it as a joke, but she heard the bitterness in her tone. Her perspective had changed in fifth grade, when Sean Devane had pierced her bubble with his comment. You don’t even have skirting around it. How poor are you?

  The jab had stayed with her forever. Which was strange since, at the time, she hadn’t even known what skirting was. It was more his genuine shock—like, she was that poor?

  Was anyone that poor?

  Of course, now, looking back, she totally sided with her mom. Who the hell cared about skirting?

  Gray watched her carefully. “You don’t need to stay here, you know.”

  The concern in his tone did two things to her. One, it made her sink down into it, as comforting as lolling around on a hammock on a warm summer day. Gray had always been her soft place to fall. But, at the same time, it made her bristle. Because the days of being his pity project were over. “My only income this past year came from bartending at The Rusty Scupper, so I don’t have a lot saved, and I don’t want to spend my insurance money on a hotel when I can just stay here.”

  “Don’t forget about the deposits from Callie and Delilah.”

  “That money will go for very expensive fabric and crystals and seed pearls. Not for living expenses.” And, honestly, she didn’t have the energy to keep explaining things to him. She just felt so…depleted. “Thank you for setting this up for me, but…don’t you have a surfing competition to get to?”

  “I do.” He said it with that lazy grin that made all the girls swoon. “But I’m good on time.”

  Right. The Bowie private jet meant he could head for California whenever he wanted.

  “And I’m not leaving until I introduce you to the brides, and we get things set up.”

  “Okay.” His time management wasn’t her concern. “How about I settle in, then come meet you at the ranch?”

  He glanced around the property. “How’re you going to get there?”

  The weight of disappointment squeezed out a big exhalation. “Excellent point.” Her mom was on the road for the next couple months. So, no wheels. “If you give me two minutes, I’ll drop off my bag and get this place aired out. I want to do a quick inventory, see what supplies I’ll need.” She sta
rted for the trailer. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  With a curt nod, he pulled out his phone and leaned against the truck. He swiped the screen, reading intently.

  Another truck roared past. This time she ignored it. See that? Progress. Until Sean’s comment when she was nine, she’d never noticed that she lived in a trailer on Highway 191. Growing up on the other side of the national park boundary, just twenty minutes outside the town center of Calamity, she’d thought she’d lived in heaven.

  She and her mom had spent most of their time outdoors, so someone pointing out that she didn’t live in a mansion like the billionaires or a ranch-style house in a neighborhood like the business owners or even a huge apartment complex like the seasonal workers, flipped on a light she could never shut off.

  She dragged her suitcase across the knee-high prairie grass, dread building like soot on her lungs, making it harder to breathe with each step. She did not want to go in there. Her mom, a seasonal worker herself, spent April through August working on a dude ranch and November through March on ski patrol at the Jackson Hole Resort. In what her mom called the freedom months—September and October—she hit the art festival trail around the country selling her giant found art sculptures. Which meant she was rarely home.

  It would’ve been more pleasant to go inside if her mom had been around, but…buckle up, babe. We’re going in.

  With both hands, she dragged the suitcase up the metal stairs. A cool mountain breeze brought in the scents of pine and sage, rustling up memories from her childhood. Good ones. Running through the woods, jumping into the lake. Her, Robert and Gray, wild and free.

  She glanced back at the man who’d been there for her—when her boyfriend had not— expecting to see him buried in his text messages. Instead he watched her, one foot braced against the tire, knee bent, face turned toward her. Everything in her just sort of crashed because, even when she didn’t want him to, he was still there for her. Still caring. With a grateful smile, she held up a finger. One minute.

  Inserting the key into the rusty lock, she turned it and pushed the door open. Gah. The closed windows had trapped the summer heat, but it still smelled like cinnamon from the scented pine cones her mom kept in a basket by the electric fireplace. Before hitting the road in her camper, her mom had obviously cleaned, so Knox didn’t see a single crumb or mug on the kitchen counters. So, that’s nice.

  Leaving the door open, she stepped into the living area and set her suitcase down. With her mom’s lifestyle, Knox had spent a lot of time alone in here. After school in the winter, she’d boil water in a saucer and make a packet of hot chocolate, and then sit with her legs crossed under the coffee table while she did her homework with the television on. Mostly, her mind would wander, and she’d wind up spending more hours on her sketchbook than her school work.

  Through the open door of her bedroom, she caught sight of the white quilt she’d made from scraps of fabric. Lace, tulle, organza, everything bridal she could get her hands on from the fabric shops in Jackson County.

  She’d taken such care with the delicate material and had been distraught when Robert’s belt buckle had torn it. The sharpness of that memory delivered a stab of anxiety.

  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 Three

  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 tr
uck. “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.”