The bartender set down Finn’s beer, and Finn slid his credit card to him, then nodded. The bartender took the card to start a tab.
Mitch sipped his scotch and ran his tongue around his teeth. Finn wasn’t sure if he was succeeding, but he couldn’t stop now.
“There’s another thing I have that no firm in the world has.”
“What’s that?”
Finn looked at his beer, then at Mitch. He was going for it. “I want to prove to Bethany Fanelli that I’m good at what I do. Frankly, sir, I want to marry her. If I get my way, we’ll be coming over to the house that I’m going to build for you, and if I screw anything up, I’ll hear about it for the rest of my life. Plus, let’s face it, she’ll make me throw in some freebies.”
Mitch threw back his massive bulldog head and laughed.
Touchdown!
“Ha! I like the sound of that!” Mitch squinted at Finn and leaned closer. “You flew out here today, all the way from Colorada?”
“Yes.”
“To talk me into hiring you?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you know where I’d be?”
“I told Val I had to tell you something about Bethany. I might have made it sound somewhat devastating.”
“I’ve got to hand it to you, kid—you’re determined. Too bad you didn’t play college ball. You woulda been a credit to any squad.”
“Like I said, I wasn’t fast enough, big enough, and my arm wasn’t good enough.”
“Their loss.” The older man looked at Finn, appraising. “You want to marry Beth . . . again, isn’t that right?”
Finn was in the middle of taking a sip of beer and he coughed. “Yes. Yes, sir.”
“Why do you call her Bethany?”
Mitch was full of surprises. Finn hadn’t seen this one coming. “When I first met her, I asked her what her full name was. She told me. I thought it was prettier and more feminine than Beth, and I’ve always called her that because she’s so . . .” He cleared his throat. “Beautiful.” This was getting uncomfortable.
“She know you want to marry her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ve proposed?”
“Not in so many words. But I told her I want to marry her.”
Mitch scowled, which employed all his wrinkles. “Son. You had the chutzpah to fly across the country, lie to my assistant, and badger me to hire you, and you haven’t gotten down on one knee?”
“It’s . . . complicated.”
“It’s not. I know you’ve got guts.” He swiveled back to his scotch. “Put ’em to use.” He drained his glass. “You’ve got the job.”
Finn couldn’t help himself. He glowed. He felt like he was ten years old; he grinned like a spastic chimp, grabbed Mitch’s meaty paw and shook it hard, twice. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”
“Now get outta here and take care of that other matter.”
“Yes, sir!”
Finn settled his tab—including Mitch’s dinner, whatever it happened to be—and glided out of the restaurant. Even with the brace, he felt like Gene Kelly and Frank Lloyd Wright rolled into one.
Jack Cormier looked more scrumptious than a hot beignet when he showed up at Aspen Creek on Thursday evening, just in time for a Harris cocktail hour. He wore a pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up and khakis, but he wore the hell out of them. He’d called earlier, of course. Jack was like that, Beth mused. Thoughtful. Handsome. Intelligent. Charming.
And nothing compared to Finn.
But that was beside the point, now, wasn’t it? She missed Finn just because she’d grown used to being with him. It didn’t mean she wanted to marry him. She might even have been mistaken about being in love with him. It could have been some kind of sex haze.
Jack phoned to say he had news about her clothing line and wanted to talk in person. For their guest, Harris invented a cocktail he called the Zephyr, named after the New Orleans minor league baseball team. It resembled the famous Hurricane, but with less “Mardi Gras booziness,” according to Harris.
Everyone was there for Beth’s meeting—proof they were family. Amanda, Grady, Harris, and even Jacqueline sat around the big table on the patio. Tiki torches and citronella candles provided soft, flattering light as the evening sun faded. Zephyrs, water, wine, and beer were at the ready, as well as Harris’s usual “thrown together” gourmet appetizers. He made two bacon-centric offerings for Beth: bacon-wrapped scallops and bacon strips wearing a maple glaze.
“It’s my distinct pleasure,” Jack Cormier began, in his endorphin-rich accent, “to inform you, Miss Bethany Fanelli, that the prestigious international equestrian retailer Kingfisher Saddlery has made an offer for your clothing line.”
“Kingfisher!” Amanda said.
“You’re kidding!” Bethany squealed.
“I take it this is good?” Grady asked.
“They supply equestrian teams all over the world,” Amanda told her husband. “They’re the real deal. This is really good news.”
“Get out your tap shoes, Francis!” Harris raised his glass.
Jack continued, “Now, I don’t pretend I can negotiate your contract. We’ll let the lawyers handle that. But I’m happy to be the bearer of good news. And . . .” He removed a letter from his back pocket, “Here’s what they’re thinking in terms of compensation.” He slid the folded paper to Beth.
She opened it and thought she might collapse. The figure was generous.
“Oh!” Beth exclaimed. “Jack, thank you! I can’t believe this! Kingfisher!” Beth jumped up and pretty much accosted Jack. He set his Zephyr down just in time to prevent spillage.
“To Kingfisher and Beth’s future and extravagant success,” Grady said, raising his glass.
“Hear, hear,” the table said, clinking glasses.
Beth sat down, woozy. She was flushed and felt like she’d just won a Wellington grand prix. This was amazing. She could tell her father she was a success. She could start putting the horse rescue together for real. Jack’s news was excruciatingly fortunate. She should be doing cartwheels across the pool.
And yet, she wished Finn were there. Because the wonderful news wasn’t quite as wonderful without him.
“For our last Friday together, let’s do something super-girly—a spa afternoon,” Amanda said as she stood in Beth’s bedroom doorway. Beth was at the mirror, wrangling her hair into a ponytail.
“You hate girly.”
“But you like it. And we can still ride this morning.”
“As long as Harris doesn’t come. I can’t get a facial next to a man with better skin.”
Amanda laughed. “No problem. It’ll be just us. See you at breakfast.”
Buffed, waxed, mani-pedi-ed, massaged, made-up, and fed, Amanda and Beth giggled as Amanda drove them back to Aspen Creek. The women splurged at the Remède Spa in the St. Regis Aspen Resort. Neither had ever been so extravagantly pampered. From the waterfall baths to the steam caves to the oxygen lounge, everything was sublime, hushed, and elegant. Beth felt like a six- or seven-figure show horse being prepped for the World Equestrian Games. Or one of those Japanese cows that become Kobe beef. She was so relaxed, she could barely pour herself into Amanda’s Subaru.
While they had a late lunch of locally sourced ingredients, Amanda said, “I hope this doesn’t undo all that aromatherapy and deep-tissue massage, but how are you feeling about Finn?”
Beth looked at her friend. The question didn’t add stress; it made her feel even meltier. “Good. I’m feeling good about Finn. I haven’t talked to him in more than a week, and I regret doing the drive-by. I’m getting over him.”
“Oh.” Amanda sounded surprised. Beth wasn’t sure she liked that. “So . . . what about the stained-glass window in the cottage?”
“Oh, that,” Beth said, trying to sound as though she’d for
gotten. As though she hadn’t held it every day and contemplated the razed house, the land, and the man who linked them. As though she could hide her feelings from Amanda, who was looking through her. “The window I can’t stop thinking about? I’m thinking of keeping it.”
“Are you going to see him before you leave this weekend?”
Sometimes Beth hated how her friend shot from the hip. She chewed a sliver of locally raised cantaloupe. “I hadn’t planned on it. Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about that, too. It might be easier to just leave. But I miss him. And I think about us, getting back together. I think about it a lot and what it would take.”
“And . . . ?”
“And sometimes I’m all over it, and other times I’m not. I wish he would’ve contacted me. But not even a text.”
“You told him not to call you.”
“If he really loved me, wouldn’t he call?”
“He respects your wishes,” Amanda said. “And since when have you played games and said no when you meant yes?”
“Yeah,” Beth said, flaking her salmon—which wasn’t local unless the Pacific counted as nearby—with her fork. “I know. The land was over-the-top generous, and when he told me about it and I thought it was simply a gift, I would’ve done anything to be with him. Not because he gave me something so expensive, but because it was for the horse rescue. But then the wrecked house kind of wrecked the gift for me. It’s like . . . blood money, or guilt money. You know what I mean?”
“I think so,” Amanda said, looking cool as she sipped her purified, cucumber-enhanced water.
“It’s hard for me to separate the two. And it’s hard for me to figure out what I want.”
“People make mistakes.”
“Is it a mistake to go back with him?”
“Last year at this time, you know how I was. I loved Grady but wasn’t ready to admit it. I was afraid I’d be wrong, and I had to get my career back. I finally figured out I wanted a life with him and the girls, and everything else sorted itself out. Your life is changing rapidly right now. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the Kingfisher deal and the land mean you can focus on the rescue. No more horse shows ever unless you want to compete now and then—or you come to watch me.” She gave Beth a cockeyed smirk. “Your life is opening up. This is a huge opportunity.”
“I should be ecstatic,” Beth said, sounding several thousand miles from ecstatic.
“That tells you something.”
“Blerg! I’m such a cliché! I have all this good fortune, but it doesn’t mean anything unless I have someone to share it with.”
“Cliché away, Beth. They’re clichés because they’re based in truth. Which is another cliché. Can you forgive him? Do you want to be with him, knowing what you know? Have you grown?”
“How do I know?”
“How do you know if a horse is ready to move up a level? You train higher and make an educated guess.”
“Then . . . overall, yes. Mostly. I think.” Beth sipped the complimentary champagne.
“You know what to do. Move up.”
“And if I crash because the fences were too big and the horse was over faced?”
“Then you’ll know you were wrong.”
Amanda finished her complimentary champagne and changed the subject. “When you live here, if you decide to live in Ptarmigan, let’s do this every summer.”
“Discuss the sad state of my love life?”
“Come to Remède. Have I become girly? I believe I could spend the rest of my life here. Grady could visit now and then.”
“You’d miss the Olympics.”
“Oh. Right. Never mind.”
Beth thought about Amanda’s words and how she’d much prefer showing a horse over higher jumps and risking a crash than taking a chance with Finn. But her life was opening up. These goddamn new horizons were scary.
I have to remember—I’m that girl who jumped at the chance to ride the exuberant horse—and jump clean. The trainer who gave her students confidence to jump a big fence for the first time. I can do this, too. It may work; it may not. It’s life.
And life is messy.
18
Let’s dress for dinner,” Amanda said to Beth once they were back in the house. “We look so good, it’s a shame to waste it.”
Grady came out of his office to see who was home. He whistled. “Honey, you look great in jeans. You look great in anything. You look impossibly great right now.” He gave Amanda a smoldering once-over. “Really great. Beth, we have to go,” he said as he took Amanda’s hand and started to pull her toward their bedroom.
Amanda laughed. “Hold up there, cowboy.”
“Sorry,” Grady said. “But I’m helpless. I mean, look at her.”
“I know!” Beth said. “We’re stunning.”
“All right, Vogel. I’ll dress for my last Friday dinner at chez Brunswick.”
“Dressing for dinner?” Harris said, gliding to the foyer from the kitchen. “Splendid! Are we going black tie, or—” He stopped, gasped loudly, and put his hands over his heart. “You didn’t! You . . . spa harlots! You went to Remède, and not only didn’t take me, you didn’t even tell me!”
“We needed girl time alone,” Amanda said. “You can come next time, I promise.”
Harris closed his eyes and thrust his palm at them. “You two are dead to me. Dress for dinner all you like, you may not get any.” He opened his eyes and looked them over as though they were filets he might buy. “Hmm . . . you do look good. Amanda, your skin hasn’t looked that dewy since your wedding day. Next time I get to go. And, yes, let’s dress for dinner.” He glared at Grady, who wore an ancient T-shirt. “Class this joint up.”
“Absolutely,” Amanda said, grinning.
Finn hadn’t been this nervous since . . . his wedding day. While Amanda took Bethany off to be pummeled, he had been at the barn for hours. With Ellis and Harris’s help, he got everything ready.
Ellis bathed Brooke and Mingo and braided long white satin ribbons into Brooke’s black forelock and mane. Finn dragged the ring, making the footing even and grooved. It was tricky, driving the tractor with his brace, but he managed the same way he managed to drive his car, which he’d parked behind the barn so Bethany wouldn’t see it. Harris helped him carry the rectangular cardboard box, which was about the size of an ottoman, into the ring, setting it near the roll top jump.
Finn showered and brushed his teeth in the bathroom in the tack room and put on jeans, a white shirt, and black jacket, He filled a plastic grain bucket with ice and water, plunged a bottle of champagne into it, and hid it and two champagne flutes behind the roll top. Then he sat on a tack trunk in the tack room and fidgeted with his lapels.
Do or die, McNabb.
He thought of Mitch and made a note to send him a picture if all this went as planned. If it didn’t—then he’d think of Mitch as he drank scotch alone later that night.
The barn phone rang. Ellis answered. This was part of the plan, since cell reception wasn’t great in the barn.
Ellis ran into the tack room. “They’ll be here in five minutes!”
Finn said, “Thanks.” He limped into the bathroom so Beth wouldn’t see him even if she looked in the tack room as she walked by.
The ruse was, Amanda had told Bethany that another package had come for Finn, presumably something he’d purchased online while high on pain meds—and suffering from the accompanying amnesia. The imaginary delivery guy had left the large box at the barn. Amanda predicted the box would be entertaining to open, and Bethany agreed.
Apparently everything had gone as planned. Finn heard the women’s voices getting closer, then heard Amanda say, “Maybe it’s a pony. We’ll check the box for air holes.” He heard Bethany laugh, then caught a glimpse of her as he peeked out. Bethany wore that killer blue dress she’d had on at Melissa and
Nick’s wedding. He waited until he was sure they were in the jump ring, then joined Ellis in the doorway to the tack room, where he could hear Amanda and Bethany. He held a pair of scissors. His mouth was as dry as the sand in the ring.
“I forgot scissors,” Amanda said. “I’ll get some from the tack room.”
“Hurry up,” Bethany said. “I hate wearing heels in this footing. My pedicured toes are getting all sandy and gritty.”
“It’ll be over soon!” Amanda called. She jogged in her heels down the barn aisle to Finn. “She’s all yours,” she whispered, grinning and squeezing his arm. “Good luck.”
He couldn’t even reply. He met her eyes, nodded, and cleared his throat. Taking a deep breath, he tugged on his lapels and limped as purposefully as he could to the ring.
Bethany was looking at the box as Finn silently crossed toward her. “Amanda?” She lifted her head, saw him, and her eyes went round. Her mouth opened and she gasped, just a little. “There’s a strange man in the ring. He has a limp.”
Finn grinned. She was in a good mood.
“Finn,” she said, all suspicion. “What is this? And before you answer, please remember trust has been an issue between us.”
“I’m hoping to fix that. Here,” he said, handing her the scissors.
He saw her smile form against her will. “A weapon! Thank you. What is this?” She nodded at the box.
“Open it.” Her snarkitude put him at ease. She looked at him, her hair glistening in a shaft of light from the setting sun. Her eyes were clear and he found it impossible not to stare.
He cleared his throat. Get it together, McNabb. “But first, I want you to know that I’m building Uncle Mitch’s house.”
She smiled, and he could tell she was genuinely pleased for him. “Congratulations!”
He nodded. “It took some doing, but he gave me the project. And . . . he told me to get off my ass where you’re concerned.”
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