Ohmigosh. She owned it.
Even though she and Hen had thrown an impromptu celebration after they finished the paperwork, inviting everyone up and down Main Street to stop by for cookies, coffee, and ten percent off, there was still a frisson of shock at the thought.
She. Owned. The. Store.
It was impossible. Incredible. Wonderful. Terrifying.
“Are you even listening to me?”
She blinked at Wyatt. “What?”
“You can’t afford this,” he said between gritted teeth. “What if you miss one of the payments? You’ll lose what you’ve already put into it, and destroy what little credit you’ve managed to scrape together since you left the Douchebag Drummer.”
Her chin went up. “I’ll make the payments.” She didn’t want to talk about Kenny. She could only say You were right and I was wrong so many times.
Yes, her ex had been a douchebag, and, yes, she had followed the family tradition—the female half, anyway—by staying way too long in a relationship that was going nowhere but downhill. That was over and done with, though, and just because she had made a whopper of a mistake in her choice of men didn’t mean buying the store was a terrible idea, too.
That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
Scrub went Wyatt’s hand through his hair. “You’re getting in way over your head. You don’t have the first clue how to run a business.”
“Della is going to help me. Not to mention Krista, Jenny, and the others.” The friends she had fallen into—married into, really—when she’d crossed the line into Wyoming with zero to her name but Bugsy, some clothes, and her boxes of art supplies.
He scowled. “What happened to starting small? I thought you were going to stay at the shop until Della sold it, then come back to work here while you got an online storefront up and running.”
That had been his plan, not hers. “I changed my mind.”
“Change it back.”
“No.” It was a single word, a complete sentence. But it was one of the hardest things she had ever said to him. Unable to leave it like that, she added, “Please, Wyatt. Try to understand where I’m coming from. I can do this without your support—I will if I have to. But it won’t be the same. I know I’ve let you down before, but this time it’s going to be different. You’ll see.”
“Ashley.” He sighed as some of the fight drained out of him. “Be—”
“Happy for myself?” she interrupted before he could say reasonable or logical or any of those other words he was so fond of. “I am. And I hope you will be, too, eventually. In the meantime, what would you say to making me a few mannequins? It’d be killer to have some F. Wyatt Webb originals in my window.”
“I’d say you’re pushing it.” But his scowl lacked the punch it had carried before. “Have you told Mom what you’re up to?”
“I’ll call her in a day or so. I wanted to tell you first.” And when it came to talking to their mother on the phone, she needed a dark, quiet room. Wine and chocolate would be good, too. She stepped in, gave him a hug, and said, “Love you, bro. Even when you treat me like I’m still ten years old.”
“Back then, I could take away your allowance.”
“Now the bank can do it for you.”
He winced. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.” A pause. “On second thought, do think it. Maybe knowing that you’re just a couple of missed payments away from having it all yanked away will help keep you on track.”
“I’ll keep myself on track, thank you very much.” And, yeah, the whole bank think gave her a definite twinge. Hiding that behind a saucy smile—flirting was one thing that had always come naturally, even with Wyatt—she patted his cheek, near where she had kissed. “I’m leaving before you decide to scare more babies.”
“Going back to the store?”
“That’s the idea.” It was closed to customers, but there was plenty to do. And it was all hers! Well, hers and the bank’s.
“Change of plans,” Krista announced, appearing in the doorway, carrying Abby, who was armed with a fat chocolate chip cookie and back to her usual smiling self. Popping the baby in Wyatt’s arms, she said, “You’re on kidlet duty, because Ashley and I are going out. I already called the others, and they’re going to meet us at the Rope Burn.”
He cradled the baby, looking offended. “Hang on there. Abby and I aren’t invited?”
“Nope.” Krista hooked an arm through Ashley’s and urged her toward the door. “Sorry, cowboy. Girls only. We’re going to celebrate Ashley’s big news!”
2
The kitschy cowboy bar outside of town was best known for having cheap beer, dartboards in the back, and food with silly breakup names like the Let’s Just Be Friends Spinach Dip and the I’ll Call You Burger. To Tyler Reed, though, it was the buzz of the Thursday night crowd that mattered, and the stage and speakers that were half visible through the cracked-open office door.
“Checking out the local talent?” The question came from the other side of the room, where Chase was sprawled on a thrift store reject of a couch, flipping through song notes. Wearing tight jeans, glossy black boots, and a silver-plated belt buckle the size of a paperback, the younger man looked like your typical lead singer at a small-town dive bar—the kind who would unbutton his shirt halfway through the set and let it hang open through the encore if there were enough women on the dance floor making eye contact. Supposedly the kid could hold a tune, though, and Ty figured that was good enough. Wasn’t like he had anything to prove. He just wanted to play for a crowd.
Looking beyond the stage to where the bodies stacked at the bar were a pretty good mix of blue collar and tight skirts, Ty said, “Go figure. I thought we were the talent.”
“Not the tunes, man. The babes.” Tossing his notes, Chase sprang up and came across the room to prop a shoulder on the doorframe, scanning the room like the two of them were at a stock auction. “Three Ridges might not be more than a pimple on the map, but it’s got some mighty fine fillies.”
Fillies? Ty was tempted to ask if he had ever swung a leg over anything four-legged other than a barstool. They were just playing together for the night, though; there was no point in knocking the kid down. “I’m not really in the market.”
“You married?”
“Nope. Just not looking to start something serious.”
“Who said anything about serious?” Chase shot out a bony elbow that completely missed Ty. “I’m sure you’ve had your share of road hookups, being out on tour with a band like Higgs & Hicks.” The kid was trying so hard to be cool about Ty backing him up, like it was no biggie that the owner of the ’Burn had found a real road musician to fill in when Chase’s usual guitarist decided to splurge on some gas station sushi and wound up splurging from both ends.
Ty snagged the old, mellow-noted Martin guitar he had propped nearby, and strummed a chord before saying, “Last I checked, this wasn’t the road.”
And thank Christ for that. His first year or so with the mega-successful country band had given him exactly what he had needed at the time—a break from small-town gossip and room to clear his head. By year three, though, the cracks in the band’s foundation had started wearing on him. Or, rather, the fact that A.J. Higgs had the impulse control of a flea, Brower Hicks was a drunk on a downward spiral, and their rat-faced manager, Weasley, didn’t give a crap what was going on backstage as long as they were making money. And when Ty tried to make him care, tried to go about setting things right, he got shown the door.
Which was for the best, really. It had been past time for a change.
Chase gave a restless shrug. “Sure, Three Ridges isn’t the same as being on the road, but if things get too complicated, it’s no big deal to bail. There’s always another little cow town looking for someone to sling hay and fix tractors, and there’s always another bar with pretty girls ready to throw
their panties up onstage.”
Ty figured he had been that young once. Now, though, he settled back in his chair and picked out the opening to “Home on the Range.” “What do you say we go through the set list again? I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
And he’d far rather talk music than women.
• • •
“I’ll have a Let’s Get This Party Started Cosmo,” Ashley said as she and the other four members of the Girl Zone settled around their usual high-top bar table.
“Sure thing.” The waitress poised a pen that had a miniature cowboy boot dangling off the end. “Do you want it in a light-up glass?”
“Absolutely.” Why not? They were celebrating.
“White wine for me,” Shelby said, then shot Ashley a wink. “A regular glass is fine.” With a slick manicure and a soft summer sweater, both in a deep, rich crimson that brought out the highlights in her dark hair, the big-city advertising-exec-turned-cowboy’s-wife didn’t need a glass that blinked red, white, and blue to make a statement.
Danny wrinkled her nose at them. “You two are such girls. I’ll have a Corona.”
“That’s not exactly a manly-man’s beer,” Shelby pointed out.
“Better than a cosmo. In a blinky glass, no less.”
“Tomboy,” Ashley said.
“Priss,” Danny fired back, and they grinned at each other.
The two were a study in opposites. Where Ashley flirted, Danny was no-nonsense. Where Ashley flitted, Danny kept her hiking boots firmly planted. And where Ashley rushed headlong, Danny planned everything out to the last detail. But despite their differences, they totally clicked.
“Can I get you guys something to eat?” the waitress asked. “The It’s Not You It’s Me Loaded Potato Skins are fun to share.”
“Sounds good,” Krista said from the other side of the table. “Plus a basket of fries.”
“The You Frenched My Sister You Bastard Fries?”
Jenny snorted. “With a name like that? Sold.” Although she was Krista’s identical twin, the professional photographer—and local vet’s wife—had short, dark hair and an edgier style, in tight black.
“Okay. I’ll put that order right in.”
As the waitress bopped away with a jingle of the fake roweled spurs attached to her Smurf-blue boots, Ashley said, “Is it just me, or do the names of things change like every week around here?”
“It’s not you,” Danny confirmed. “I think they do it to keep us on our toes.”
“That, and it’s good branding.” Shelby tapped the drink menu. “You’re having relationship problems? Head down to the Rope Burn and order whatever fits your mood. The Kick Him To The Curb Wings, maybe. Not having problems with your relationship? You can feel all superior when you put in your order, because you and your sweetie would never say something like, ‘Let’s just be friends’ or ‘I love you, but I’m not in love with you.’ Single? Order a Come And Get Me Wrap and stick the flagged toothpick behind your ear, and everyone knows you’re looking for love. It’s brilliant, really.” And Shelby knew a few things about branding and market presence.
“Besides,” Krista added. “Since we just spent an extra minute or two talking about the menu, I’d say it’s mission accomplished.”
“Here are your drinks!” their waitress announced, arriving with a spur-jingle that somehow carried over the crowd noise. She offloaded the wine and beer, and then set Ashley’s tall glass in front of her and pushed the button on the bottom to activate the LED embedded in the stem, making red, white, and blue stripes move up and down.
As the waitress said something about being back in a minute with their food and jingle-jangled off, Shelby raised her wine, which looked classy and grown-up in its traditional housing. “To Ashley. Congratulations on being the new owner of Another Fyne Thing!”
Danny held up her beer. “To being your own boss!”
Jenny added her glass to the group salute. “To loving what you do.”
Krista raised hers. “To taking a leap of faith!”
“Hear, hear!” The four of them clinked, then looked expectantly at Ashley.
Who sat there, holding her blinky glass as she fought back a sudden wave of emotion. “I . . . You guys . . . Wow. I can’t breathe.”
Sometimes when she was out with her friends, it was hard not to feel like the little sister, even when Wyatt was miles away. The others were so educated, so accomplished, each of them a business owner in her own right. Now, suddenly, they were looking at her like she had done something important. Something they understood, even admired.
“So don’t breathe,” Jenny advised. “Drink.” That got another round of “Hear, hear!” and the five of them clinked and drank.
The first slug of cosmo tingled going down; the second spread a warm glow that eased the pressure in Ashley’s lungs and let the air back in. With it came some of the positive vibes she had been practicing. Della believes in you. The customers love you. The window displays rock. You can totally do this.
And she could. She would. Starting now.
“Speaking of the store,” she said, setting down her blinky glass, “I could use some brainstorming help.” Considering how many times she had helped the others spitball ideas for their businesses—everything from new theme weeks for Krista’s dude ranch or Danny’s adventure trekking business, to slogans and photo shoot locations for Shelby and Jenny—she got a buzz out of it being her turn.
Eyes lighting, Shelby beckoned. “Bring it on.”
“The second payment is due in forty-five days, and it’s going to be tight.” She had already filled them in on the financing. “The window display contest that Mayor Tepitt is running during the Midsummer Parade has a big cash prize, but it’s right before the money is due, and there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”
“I’d bet on it,” Danny said, lifting her beer. “Your windows rock. The way you linked the Easter egg one to a whole-town scavenger hunt? Genius.”
Jenny nodded. “I think my favorite was the one you did for the equinox, with the mannequins acting out how the sun, moon, and earth are aligned, with winter colors on one side and spring on the other.”
“That would be your favorite.” Krista rolled her eyes. “Geek.”
“Says the rodeo princess.”
“Anyway,” Ashley put in, raising her voice a little to interrupt before the twins got going, “Bakery Betty could give me a run for my money, especially if she does free samples again. I mean, really. Who doesn’t vote for brownie bites?”
“Bakery Betty?” Shelby asked, amused. “Do you call her that to her face?”
“Sometimes, especially when Fish and Chips Betty is there.” Ashley took a look around—you never knew who might be sitting a couple of tables down—and lowered her voice to confide, “When she took over the restaurant, I guess the Main Streeters agreed that Fish and Chips was better than calling her Clam Strips Betty.”
“Much better,” Jenny agreed. “Do you have a nickname?”
“Nope. I’m the only Ashley, and Feed Store Billy says I’m still too new. I’m working on them, though. One of these days, I’ll be Fyne Ashley, maybe, or Vintage Ashley, and you can say you knew me when.”
Krista’s laugh bubbled up. “Until you started at the shop, I had no idea that downtown Three Ridges was its own little world, with everybody up in each other’s business. And to think, you got claustrophobic at the dude ranch, with so many people coming and going all the time. Seems to me this is just another version of the fishbowl.”
“Maybe, but it’s my version. And at the end of the day, I can lock my customers out. You have to live with yours.”
Jenny lifted her glass. “To finding what’s right for ourselves, rather than letting other people tell us how it’s going to be.”
“Amen,” Ashley said, and clinked. “So, here’s the
deal. I want to run a couple of special events at the store as a way to get customers through the door, and hopefully put product in their hands while they’re there. Which is where I could use some help. I was thinking of holding a sale and letting people spin a roulette wheel right at checkout to ‘win’ an extra discount. Or maybe having a fashion show. Or what about a handyman auction? Highest bidder gets stuff fixed around their house. I figure there aren’t enough eligible bachelors in Three Ridges for a sexier sort of auction, though that would tie in better with vintage clothing.”
Shelby whipped out her phone. “Hang on. Let me jot down a few notes.”
“What about a costume contest?” Krista suggested. “You know, sixties and seventies, that sort of thing. You could charge twenty bucks per entry, less if they buy everything from the store.”
But Shelby shook her head. “You don’t want the store to become a Halloween go-to, especially after Della did all that work for the Drama Club and helped out with the haunted house. Branding-wise, you need to focus on how you can make hip, trendy combinations with vintage clothes. That’s the message you’re trying to get out to your customers, right?”
“That’s exactly what I’m going for!” Ashley grinned, feeling suddenly like she was surrounded by a warm glow of friendship. Or was that that the cosmo? Probably a little of both.
“So no costumes.” Shelby hummed, tapping her lower lip. “But a contest isn’t a bad idea. Or the fashion show. You’ll want to make sure it stays really down-to-earth, though. None of that Fashion Week stuff of sending a model down the runway in a couple of Band-Aids and a skirt made out of twist ties.”
“Dang it, there went my signature piece.”
They bounced ideas back and forth for the next twenty minutes, through another round of drinks, and pretty soon Ashley decided she should totally claim the night as a business expense, because they were getting more planning done over drinks than she had in the past three weeks of sitting up late at night, moving numbers around on her laptop, and seesawing between I can totally do this and Eeek!
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