The Bride Wore Denim

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Sometimes money makes people very upset, because it’s so important,” Harper said. “It takes time to work things out.”

  “Why is everyone freaked out about money all the time?”

  “Skylar, you know why.” Cole admonished her gently.

  “I know the ranch needs it. Everybody needs it. But so what? My parents are always telling me life is about doing things the best I can. Maybe you guys should stop worrying about money and work with what’s here.”

  Good Lord, had the child aged ten years up on that mountain? Harper couldn’t reconcile the wisdom, idealistically naïve as it was, with the usually pouty fourteen-year-old who’d run away from home.

  “Maybe you’re a little bit right, sweetheart,” she said. “But it really is more complicated than that. It’s not only about money. It’s about obligations and agreements grown-ups have to meet. We can’t always live the way we want to.”

  “Like the agreement you made with that lady in Chicago?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Seems like ever since you told me about her, she’s been telling you how to be a painter. But you said nobody could tell us how to make our art. That the kind of artist we are comes from inside. Is your deal with that lady about money?”

  Once again Harper wanted to be furious at the child. But her words slammed home like bullets with pinpoint accuracy.

  “That’s not quite fair,” Cole said.

  Skylar set her fevered little jaw. “But you care about money, too. You want the old ranch back. I know because Dad and Grandpa know. Everybody does. But I think who cares if you buy it back? It’s here. You have it. We used it. Just stay on the ranch and it’s yours.”

  If she hadn’t been stricken herself, Harper would have laughed at the traumatized shock on Cole’s face. Skylar was possessed by some kind of holy fire of righteousness, and the weaker her voice got, the more pointed her arguments became.

  “What if I told you you’ve given me a lot to think about?” she asked.

  “Whatever. You probably won’t.”

  Ah, good. There was still a familiar Skylar in there.

  “I will.”

  “You know, it was cool having you teach us. You get it. You should keep teaching people. Plus, you could paint here some more. I bet if you brought that bossy old bat here, she’d want a thousand paintings of the views.”

  “Skylar!” This time Harper did cover her mouth to hold in laughter. “She’s not a bossy old bat.”

  “I don’t know.” Cole’s eyes shone with fun for the first time since their angry argument. “Maybe she is. A bossy bat in sheep’s clothing.”

  Harper wasn’t amused by him—he knew better than Skylar. But her brain and her heart were on fire with an agitation she couldn’t name. Some idea, some truth just beyond where she could wrap her mind around it, drained her of energy to waste on any more anger with Cole.

  “Everybody’s worried all the time.” Skylar’s voice was nothing but a whispered scratch now.

  “It’s all right,” Harper soothed. “You need to rest that voice. You got a lot off your chest.”

  “I wasn’t getting it off my chest for me. It’s because grown-ups can be too stupid to live sometimes. They worry, worry, worry. My mom worries about me. You worry about money. Even a kid learns fast there will never be enough money. But you could do a hundred different things on this ranch besides what you do. Sell your paintings here. Or let people go fishing in the stream. Or raise sheep or something.”

  “Or look for oil,” Cole said quietly.

  “Or talk to the wind power people . . . ” Harper murmured.

  Clarity struck like a thunderbolt from the Good Lord Himself—and out of the mouths of runaway babes. The answers were obvious. One whole big package of solution stared her in the face as solid and real as Wolf Paw Peak. It would take more concentrated effort in the next few days than she’d given anything but a painting in her life. And it would take all her diplomatic skill and salesmanship. But she knew it would work. Harper literally leaped so quickly from the chair that it crashed to the floor.

  “What the . . . Harpo?” Cole cried out in alarm.

  She planted a kiss through her mask onto Skylar’s forehead. She straightened and spun toward Cole. “Go home,” she said. “I’m going to Chicago. Don’t wait for me or worry about me or follow me.”

  She might be certain, but she wasn’t going to promise anyone anything until it happened. She’d let adversity steamroller her for six weeks now without using her brain. It was time to change that. If everyone thought she was so much like her father, then she’d by gosh show them all how right they were.

  “Harper, stop,” Cole said. “How are you going to get to the airport?”

  “Let me worry about that. Skylar? Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you more than you’ll ever know. Now swear to me you won’t speak again unless you have to answer a question for a doctor or nurse. Your poor voice did its job and then some. I love you, kiddo. See you soon.”

  She righted the chair and shot Cole a warning look to stay put as she picked up her purse and jacket and headed for the door.

  Still he caught her out in the hall. “Come on, Harpo, don’t leave like this. I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking. I . . . Hell! That crazy kid completely blew me away in there. We need to talk—”

  Harper held up her hand. “She’s not crazy. She’s a genius. And I’m not angry at you anymore. I don’t think. But I definitely will be if you follow me. I don’t want your help with this one.”

  It killed her to ignore his look of desolation, but she couldn’t afford to get soft and mushy—which she’d surely do if she gave him one more second. Instead, she practically jogged down the hall toward the elevator.

  “SO YOU’LL DO it?” Harper asked Mia as they pulled up to the terminal at Jackson Hole International. “You’re okay with this for sure?”

  “I am totally okay. I’ll make the follow-up call tomorrow.”

  “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been. I spent all that time hearing Cole tell me he was gathering information, and arguing with every single piece of it he got, that I never did my own. Like a dang hound dog sitting on a tack, too ornery to get up.”

  Mia laughed. “One of Dad’s favorite sayings.”

  “Laura Nestrud at Wind Power Solutions. She’s awesome. Be nice to her.” Harper smiled.

  “Go.” Mia pointed toward the entry door to the terminal. “I’ll use my mix of bedside charm and bitch on her. Promise.”

  “Great.”

  Harper hesitated before opening the door. Impulsively she reached across the console and hugged Mia with all her strength. “Thank you. I’m scared to death—this is a lot in a few days. But I’ll be back Tuesday or Wednesday. I’ll call.”

  “Go get ’er, Harpo.”

  Mia hadn’t called her that in fifteen years.

  CECELIA’S PARTY WAS a huge success. Harper, who’d returned on time, and her newest unveiled painting were even greater successes, and after all the guests had gone, Cecelia herself was beyond ecstatic. It was personally and professionally satisfying and, more importantly, it was deviously helpful to her plan, Harper thought, as she waited for Cecelia to bring late night coffee into her parlor where Harper had asked to meet.

  When it arrived, the hot, cream-drenched Columbian brew shored up the nerves jangling in Harper’s stomach. “Thank you for staying up with me,” she began. “I know it’s late.”

  “It’s fine. Harper, dear, I’m concerned that you’re still upset about our conversation the other day.”

  “No, you said all is forgiven.”

  “I said there was nothing to forgive.” She cocked her head and smiled. “We both had stressful mornings at the same time.”

  “I was a bit rude,” Harper said.

  “I prefer forthright.” Cecelia laughed. “With the exception of your talent, of which I have none, you remind me of myself. I’m vain enough to like that. Plus, I got my way and you came back anyway. H
ow could I be angry?”

  “Don’t tell me I can’t bribe somebody with the best of them. And that’s really why I’m here. I have another . . . forthright . . . proposal.”

  “Oh?”

  Harper reached into the pocket of the shimmery black oversweater she’d worn and pulled out a set of four pictures. “This is Double Diamond Ranch. It’s a part of my family’s fifty-thousand acre Paradise Ranch, and it’s the place where I’d like to set up a community arts guild, an education facility for arts training, and a studio. Our little town and the surrounding counties are facing the possibility of having all school arts programs cut. I want to make sure there’s something to take their place. And you can help.”

  Half an hour later Cecelia sat back in her chair and released a gently whistling breath.

  “And that’s it?” she asked.

  “It is a lot. Goodness I’m asking for the moon.”

  “It’s a rough proposal. It would take some more in-depth planning.”

  “I have no doubt of that. I suspect lawyers and business planners will need to be involved.”

  “I’m sure they have those people in Wyoming. Perfectly fine lawyers willing to work with mine.”

  “Oh, Cecelia, really? You’d consider this? Letting us move my base of operation for you to Wyoming and using my stipend to fund the center?”

  “Don’t you know by now that I’m not in this for the money, I’m in it for the pure vanity?”

  “Not even a little true,” Harper said.

  Cecelia shook her head as if seeing a wonder for the first time. “Helping fund an arts guild. In Wyoming. Named after me? I couldn’t get any more egotistical.”

  “Art classes. Guest artists. Retreats. Event hosting. It wouldn’t be about ego.”

  “Well I’m in, at least as far as checking out the ranch and talking to planners.”

  Harper had hoped she’d have the tact to talk Cecelia into this plan. She hadn’t foreseen such enthusiasm, even from art-obsessed Cecelia Markham.

  “You are much too good to be true.”

  “One stipulation. Your stipend doesn’t get touched. Let’s keep the guild separate and see what we can come up with for financing. When do you want to leave? Wednesday you said?”

  Her final generous offer was almost one kindness too many to absorb at the end of such a long, emotional day. Harper covered her face with her hands and started to weep for joy.

  THREE DAYS LATER, she stepped off a commuter plane for the fourth time in five days. She raised her chin toward the sky and drew in healthy lungfuls of sweet Wyoming air. Her air. The air she wanted to breathe forever. She’d been catching the fever for weeks, and it had finally caught hold. She was terminal. She’d be here, as Cole said, until they buried her. He’d been right and so had Skylar—Harper belonged here, in jeans and boots. Her skirts and bohemian dress code had been a disguise for a woman who didn’t believe in herself and had tried to create a persona.

  Her head still spun with all the people who had brought the true Harper back to life. Skylar with her endless spout of idealistic-kid wisdom: grown-ups are sometimes too stupid to live; there are a hundred things you could do with this ranch; the bossy bat’s been telling you what kind of artist to be.

  Betty Hodges with her predictions of doom—that it might be the last time for the art competition.

  And Cole with his unintentional reminder that she’d never stopped whining about the oil drilling she really didn’t want long enough to do something about it.

  No longer. If this was going to be home, it was going to be home on her terms. And she had Skylar to thank for reminding her with that verbal sledgehammer to the head that she had the brains and the right to name those terms.

  She’d named them all right. People were scurrying all over to meet them.

  The last step of her hurricane-strength plan was all that remained. It hinged on the prayer that all of Cole Wainwright’s romantic compliments and declarations of love had come honestly from his heart and weren’t just pretty cowboy poetry. Because he was the biggest reason of all she was coming home to stay.

  His spate of texts made her fairly confident.

  Harpo—Please. Call me or you know I’ll hound you.

  Harpo—Remember, I’ve been known to show up without warning.

  Harpo—Three time’s the charm. Please talk to me.

  She’d texted back one mean, misleading message. “Don’t come. I won’t be here.”

  It was cruel to make a cowboy beg—but it was also cuter than heck.

  “My word, this is beautiful.” Cecelia stepped out of the plane behind her.

  “I promise you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  They walked through the door at Rosecroft forty minutes later. Without greeting or preamble, Mia grabbed her into a bear hug, letting her go only to pass her to Grace who was the last triplet to take her turn at home. Finally, Grandma Sadie got in the last huge squeeze.

  “Thank heavens you’re back,” Mia said. “We’ve had to manufacture disasters for Cole to stay and handle around here. He was bound and determined to haul his jumpy ass off to find you.”

  “I know. He’s texted countless times. But he doesn’t know I’m here?”

  “I don’t think so. And there’s other news. Mom is coming home day after tomorrow. Skylar came home yesterday, although she has no voice and looks terrible.”

  “She’ll be fine.” Harper’s heart swelled at the thought of the teen. “I have absolutely no doubt.”

  “And the reps from Wyoming Wind will be here with their report in two hours.”

  “Are we crazy?” Harper asked.

  “Certifiable,” Grace said. “But since it includes every one of us Crockett women, if we end up being committed, we’ll have a very happy rubber room at the asylum.”

  Harper laughed. With a deep breath she took in her sisters, standing united for the first time in their lives. “Before we spring this on poor Mr. Wainwright, I need to tell you all how much I love you. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “We’ve never had a plan to rally behind,” Grace said. “This includes us all and gives Paradise Ranch the potential to be reborn. We’ve been waiting for this and didn’t know it.”

  “Then let’s get underway. I want to start by introducing my wonderful friend Cecelia Markham.”

  SHE THOUGHT SHE’D prepared herself for seeing Cole again. It had only been three days, for crying out loud. But when he stood in the doorway, his cheeks slapped red from the wind and his hair sexily mussed from his hat, Harper’s pulse started a conga beat that led the rest of her vital parts off on a wild line dance, as if she hadn’t seen in him a year.

  He stepped slowly into the room, rolling the brim of his Stetson with his long deft fingers. She swallowed, remembering exactly how deft they could be.

  “Harpo?” His uncertain surprise gave away nothing about what he felt after their strained, strange parting three days earlier. “What are you doing here?”

  Nervousness added its beat to the crazy rhythm of her heart. “Turns out I live here. And I came to find you.”

  “Funny thing,” he said, still without expression. “I’ve been looking for you for three days.”

  “I know.” She took one step toward him. “I’m sorry, Cole. I’ve been working on something, and I really wanted to surprise you. Forgive me?”

  “I don’t know.” He let a lazy smile slip onto his lips. “Maybe. But since you ignored almost all my messages. I get to talk first. Then I’ll decide.”

  “In front of everybody?”

  “You brought them to the party.”

  She looked around and caught winks and thumbs-up from every woman who flanked her. “Fair enough.”

  “I thought hard about what you said—nobody should have to give up everything in a relationship, but I did ask you to do exactly that. I’ve been so focused on “my” ranch that I forgot to think about what it is that makes someplace home. Home is where the love is. Here’s my idea. W
hat if I give up the Double Diamond, and you give up half the year in Chicago?

  “Cole . . . Give up your land? You can’t.”

  Her plan had him buying back the Double Diamond for a pittance and leasing the house and its immediate yard to Cecelia for the arts guild.

  “Yes, I can. I want to take my savings—which, as you know, is nearly enough for the down payment—and invest it here in Paradise. Jump start it. Get it going full strength again so it can be run by you girls and the Thorsons even when we’re gone. I’ll summer in Chicago with you. You winter with me here.”

  “But your legacy—this will destroy it. At least for a while. What about your dad?”

  “Turns out, he wanted the old dream because I did. He thought he’d disappointed me. I don’t need the Double Diamond name. It’s just a name. I’ll build a new legacy.”

  She was blown away. All the time she thought she’d been solving the problem—he’d been planning his own changes.

  “So? What do you say?” he asked. “Can we start there?”

  “Nah,” she said, biting her lip at the utter shock in his eyes. “I say let’s stay here year ’round?”

  “Damn, Harper. I can’t keep up.” He smiled, still confused.

  “I’m coming back to Paradise Ranch, and I have a plan, too. But what I still need before it will work is a full partner. Someone who can be here every day with me to, you know, see to the care of the place. If you’re interested, you’d be the only candidate I’d interview for the position.”

  Suspicion burned in his eyes.

  “There are five women surrounding me like the warriors of Amazon. What’s the catch?”

  “The catch is, that my full partner, aka you, hears what my new business model is, and is okay with it. If he’s not, I’ll discuss other options because my heart is set on him being part of this.”

  Cole shook his head, cast a glance at each watching woman and then grabbed Harper into a feet-off-the-floor hug and a twirl.

  “I accept.”

  “You don’t know the idea yet.”

  “Raise pink pandas and sell ’em. I’m all in if you’re the boss lady.”

  “Not the boss. Just the opinionated partner. I want to turn Paradise green. My one and only executive decision will be no oil. It’s not a political statement, it’s our philosophical one. It was Skylar who said we should focus on what’s already here. I want to make this a unique old-fashioned, modern ranch. I have other ideas, too, but they can be discussed later. As can the finances. Your offer is generous, Cole. Maybe too generous.”