“Nothing, why?”
Lucy was eyeing her as if she were trying to read her mind. Juliette was glad she couldn’t.
“Any chance of you getting back together?”
“Lucy, why the inquisition?”
Lucy held up her hands and then placed them on her baby bump. “You know there’s nothing I’d love more than for you to be my sister-in-law, but you need to look out for you.”
Okay, that was a jarring turn in a different direction. Ever the romantic, Lucy usually inserted herself into the role of matchmaker.
“Don’t frown at me,” she said. Juliette hadn’t realized she’d been frowning. “What I’m trying to say is,” Lucy continued, “I think there are big things in your future.”
“Thank you? I think.”
Her friend could be cryptic sometimes, but this was another level of puzzling even for Lucy. Maybe her pregnancy had tempered Lucy’s rose-colored glasses because for once she was sounding like a realist, not a romantic. If anyone knew how discontent Juliette was, Lucy did.
“What do you mean?” Juliette asked. “What are you up to, Lucy?”
Lucy gave her the big eyes. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do.”
Lucy looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, now that you mention it, would you ever consider selling your business to me?”
“What?” The possibility had never crossed her mind. But even at first glance, it made sense. Lucy had done wonders with the Campbell Wedding Barn. Juliette had been feeding her business left and right, especially since she had grown weary of living out of a suitcase with all the travel she’d been doing for out-of-town weddings. When Lucy had opened the doors to the wedding barn, it had given Juliette the opportunity to stay closer to home. It made sense to take local jobs and steer the business to Lucy because it cut Juliette’s own expenses. The Campbell Wedding Barn had been a godsend and a win-win opportunity.
“You mentioned you’re interested in making a change,” Lucy said. “What if I made you an offer for your business and merged it with mine? I could be a full-service wedding operation—planning and venue. Would you be interested?”
Juliette blinked a couple of times. “I don’t know. This is all so unexpected. But I’m certainly willing to consider it. Although I have no idea what I would do next if I sold the business.”
Lucy snorted. “You and my brother are perfect for each other.”
Juliette felt her neck turning red. “Why? What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean. The two of you may have been apart for several years, but you’re still perfect for each other. I hope one day you two will get it together and recognize that before the other one does something stupid like marry someone else.”
Lucy’s comment made the heat that had been confined to Juliette’s neck blossom upward. “Luce, I have to be honest with you. I think Jude and I want very different things. Even if I do sell my business, I won’t go on the road with him. I hope that’s not what you’re thinking. I need more than that.”
Lucy flinched. “Oh, my gosh, no, that’s not what I was getting at, at all. If anybody understands that, you know I do.”
Lucy and Zane had been through a similar situation before they managed to make things work. Zane had landed his dream job at a top horse-breeding ranch in Ocala, Florida, when Lucy found out she was pregnant with his baby. Their main stumbling block had been that Lucy had worked hard to make the Campbell Wedding Barn the success that it was. Even so, she’d gone to Ocala with Zane to see if she could be happy there with him, maybe even start another wedding venue, but it proved not to be in the stars. In the end, it also proved not to be the be-all and end-all that Zane thought it would be. Or at least Zane ended up loving Lucy more than he loved the job and Ocala. Juliette and Jude were sort of facing a similar problem, but in reverse. Both had successful careers but were discontent and neither knew their next step. Now that Jude was home, and both of them were unencumbered by other relationships, people automatically assumed they would get back together. Even though the chemistry was still strong, they were different people than they were ten years ago. She could not plan her future around someone she used to know.
Juliette nodded. “Why don’t you put together a proposal with an offer and we’ll talk about it.”
Lucy clapped her hands like a little girl. “Sounds good. By the way, I have something for you.”
Lucy reached into her handbag, a Tori Ashford Alden design, and handed Juliette a small box. “I got you a present.”
It was a box of condoms.
A hiccup of nervous laughter escaped from Juliette’s throat. “Lucy! What in the world?”
Lucy threw her an incredulous look. “Do I really need to explain?”
“No,” Juliette blurted, holding the small box in both hands, trying to render it invisible. As if someone might look in the window and see her holding it. Stranger things had happened.
“I just don’t want you and my brother to have any happy surprises. Not that it’s not wonderful. But you two need to sort yourselves out before you give me any little nieces and nephews. But don’t wait too long, okay?”
“Lucy, it’s not like that—”
“Oh, come on, Jules. I’m not your mother. You can be real with me.”
“Lucy...”
Juliette started to explain that she was being real. That it had been a very long time since she and Jude had been that intimate. But she stopped herself. “Thanks,” she said instead. “That was very thoughtful of you. I’m going to put these in my purse now.”
Rather than thinking of how she and Jude would use Lucy’s gift, she pondered what she would do if Lucy did buy her business and she was free to do anything. The possibility hit her like a blast of cool, fresh air. It took her breath away, but was refreshing and exciting in the same instant. It was the first time in her life that she might be free to do what she wanted to do. Granted, it had been her choice to build Weddings by Juliette. That was one way to look at it. Another way to look at it was that the business had been low-hanging fruit that had virtually fallen off the branch into her hands. It had just been too good of an opportunity to walk away from. When her mother’s wedding coordinator quit out of frustration two weeks before Guinevere’s marriage to Howard, Juliette picked up the ball and saved the day. Guinevere, being Guinevere, had invited every person she had ever spoken to in her life and had regaled them with the dramatic tale of how the first wedding coordinator had heartlessly left her in the lurch, but her darling daughter had not only come to her rescue, but had delivered a wedding beyond Guinevere’s wildest dreams, coordinating an event the caliber of which the wayward planner could’ve never been capable. Of course not, Juliette mused. She had an unfair advantage since it was her mother’s fifth trip down the aisle and Juliette had been her maid of honor at four of the five weddings. She knew exactly what her mother liked and how to make wedding number five bigger and better than the last three. But to Guinevere that was a minor detail not worth divulging. Every time she told the story, it got more dramatic and dire, until she’d built Juliette up to be some sort of superhuman wedding goddess. People ate it up. Inquiries began to pour in. How much would you charge to do my wedding? My daughter is getting married and she wants a Cinderella-style wedding; could you do that? I just loved the flowers you used for Guinevere’s reception. Could you re-create them for mine?
Of course she could. She was more than happy to help and they were more than happy to pay her unheard-of fees. She had just graduated from St Andrews with a degree in management, with an eye for nonprofit work. Doing weddings had given her a temporary reprieve from having to beat the pavement to find a real job. Weddings were lucrative. Very lucrative. Sometimes she almost felt guilty charging what she did, but people were virtually throwing money at he
r...yet of course, she had to pacify all those bridezillas.
Ugh, the bridezillas. It might not be a bad business if not for the bridezillas.
Soon, everything snowballed and she didn’t have time to think about whether or not she enjoyed planning weddings. She was too busy planning them. And the silver lining was she had a valid reason to not figure out what she wanted to do with her life, because she was too busy working.
Besides, it made Guinevere so happy. Since she had provided the springboard, her mother felt entitled to take partial credit for Juliette’s success. And if it made Guinevere happy, Juliette didn’t have a problem with her mother claiming a bit of the thunder.
Juliette’s father—Guinevere’s husband—had passed away when Juliette was just starting high school. Since that time, it seemed that Guinevere was only happy when Juliette was excelling—at something. Anything. Whether it was being crowned homecoming queen, or rodeo queen, or champion barrel racer, achieving valedictorian of her senior class, being voted most likely to succeed, or winning a scholarship to St Andrews, Juliette’s accomplishments made Guinevere happy. It made Juliette happy to see her mother smile again.
But now that her mother was mostly happily married to Howard, it was finally Juliette’s time. It was time for her to stop putting others first—the brides, her mother, a job she didn’t love—and to get a life for herself. If she sold the business, she might be able to buy herself a little time to figure out what she wanted. Maybe even take a vacation. The image of lying on a white sandy beach with azure water lapping at her feet...lying next to Jude...and how they could put that box of condoms to good use popped into her head.
No! Stop! Rewind!
Thank goodness Tori chose that moment to come back into the room. “Juliette? Who designed these dresses?” She walked straight over to the dress dummies and started inspecting the seams. “These are cute and very well made.”
“I sewed them, but they’re not my designs. Zane’s mother, Dorothy, was a fabulous seamstress and used to sketch fashion designs in a little notebook she kept. A couple of months ago, the town had a memorial. Lucy and I both sew and we brought some of Dorothy’s designs to life for it.”
“She’s being modest,” Lucy said. “Dorothy’s sketches were pretty basic. Juliette came up with all of the finishes. Actually, didn’t you basically redesign the blue cocktail dress?”
“Well, I changed it up quite a bit, but these are Dorothy’s designs. I can’t take credit for them.”
“They are quite good. You had mentioned that you were in a place where you might want a change. Have you ever considered working for a fashion house? More specifically my fashion house?”
Chapter Seven
“I wish I had better news for you, Jude,” said Clive Curtis, the vice president of sales and marketing for Copenhagen Sporting Goods. “The bottom line is sales for the On-Off line have fallen off dramatically since you haven’t been able to compete. That’s why we decided to postpone the photo shoot. Thanks for understanding. I still wanted you to come in today so that we could meet face-to-face. You know, mano a mano. Because I want you to know even though others may be questioning Copenhagen’s relationship with Jude Campbell, I’m still on your side. I’m your advocate.”
Curtis paused and slurped his coffee.
“I’m not going to lie—it was a hard sell convincing the powers that be to renew your sponsorship since you’re not riding in the championship this year. I got them to entertain it on the contingency that you compete next year. I can guarantee you if you opt out next season, not only will you lose the sponsorship, but we will be forced to eighty-six the On-Off line. Like I said, I’m sorry. I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But it’s in your hands. If you look at it in a positive light you’re the one who has all the power here. You can say yes and voilà, you’ve got Copenhagen at your feet. You say no...” Curtis shrugged. “Like I said, I’m really sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry. And even less so when his attention flicked to a message that flashed on his smartphone. And what a load of bull that Copenhagen would ever be at his feet. They already had one foot out the door. Did Curtis think he was stupid?
“We’re going to need a commitment from you by the end of next week.” He said the words robotically as he replied to the text. “So unless you have any more questions... I think we’re done here.”
Jude glanced at his agent, waiting for Bob to jump in and do the negotiation thing he paid him to do, but the guy just sat there mute, drumming his fingers on the table.
“So let me get this straight,” Jude said. “You’re dropping my line if I don’t ride next year.”
Curtis didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Yeah. And the sponsorship, too. I guess that’s the long and short of it.”
The words hung between them. Bob was still mute.
“Okay,” Curtis said, setting down his phone. “To show you I’m not totally unreasonable, I think I can convince them to push off your giving us an answer until we meet at the Bull Rider Expo in Vegas, the week of the twenty-third. Maybe you’ll be feeling better by then. You know, more like yourself. I don’t want you to think we’re being hard to work with. I know you’ve got to look out for number one. You’ve got to take care of your health. We get it. We do. It’s all good. And if you’re not up for riding at the expo, we can put you at a table and have you sign autographs. Maybe sign some shirts.”
Autographs? Jude swallowed a wave of rage. The guy was acting like Jude was sitting out to nurse a cold. Not because he’d suffered three concussions over a span of three months. This would’ve been a good time for Bob to chime in, but he didn’t.
That was another relationship that needed reevaluating.
Jude understood that business was business. The bottom line was the bottom line. He had never expected anyone to hand him anything. It was a given that the sponsorship would go away if he didn’t ride next year, but he had been hoping that the On-Off line might be strong enough that they would want to continue it—hell, he’d even be willing to promote it to increase sales since its success would buy him some time.
It looked like he was going to have to come up with a plan faster than he’d realized.
Curtis stood and held out his hand. “Always a pleasure.” Jude shook it.
“Thanks for coming out here to meet with us. As I said, these things are always better handled mano a mano.”
Mano a mano. Was that his catchphrase?
Jude wondered if Curtis understood that mano a mano didn’t mean “man-to-man.” It meant “hand-to-hand,” as in hand-to-hand combat. But at this point, Jude wasn’t going to correct him.
* * *
Franklin barked at the knock on Juliette’s front door.
“Who is it, Franklin?” she asked as she dried her hands on the dishcloth. She was making chicken piccata for dinner. It was one of her go-to dishes. She loved to cook, but one of the hazards of being a workaholic and living alone was that she did not indulge in the activity enough. Inviting Jude over tonight had been a good excuse to play in the kitchen... And spend time with him.
She checked her reflection in the mirror over the console table in the foyer before opening the door.
“Franklin, sit. You’re a good boy, but you need to use your manners.”
The dog lowered his haunches to the floor and stared up at her for approval.
“Good boy,” she said as she opened the door.
“I’m glad somebody thinks so,” Jude said. He was carrying two bottles of wine—the white wine would go perfectly with the chicken piccata—and a six-pack of beer. “Oh, were you talking to the dog?”
At the sound of the word dog, Franklin broke rank and jumped up, putting his front paws on Jude’s jean-clad legs. He squatted down, setting the beer and wine on either side of him and petted the dog, who proceeded to k
iss him hello.
“Not on the lips, please,” Jude said. “The lips are reserved for someone special.”
“Oh yeah?” said Juliette. “Do I know her?”
Jude stood, smiled. “I think you do.”
For a moment, Juliette thought he might kiss her. She would’ve wagered that he was thinking about it, maybe weighing it against the no-strings, no-pressure agreement they’d made last night. She contemplated leaning in and taking the initiative—
“I wasn’t sure what would go best with dinner, so I brought both red and white. And whatever it is, it smells delicious.”
“Good. Are you hungry?” She led the way into the kitchen. He followed.
“Starving.”
“Help yourself to some cheese and fix yourself a drink. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. How did your day go?”
“Not at all as I had planned.” He opened the stainless-steel refrigerator door. “Is it okay if I stash these in here to keep them cold?” He gestured to the beer. He had set the bottles of wine on the counter.
“Knock yourself out.”
Juliette had remodeled her kitchen a year and a half ago, complete with an Electrolux refrigerator and a Viking professional-grade gas range. It was a lot of kitchen for someone who didn’t have much of a chance to cook, but even looking at it made her happy. It was her touchstone, a reminder that it would be waiting for her when she was ready.
The upside to not doing much cooking was that she had plenty of room in the refrigerator. She had stopped by the grocery store on her way home from work to pick up the provisions that she needed for dinner: boneless skinless chicken breasts, eggs, bread crumbs, butter and lemons. She had used the last of an open bottle of white wine; she had capers in the refrigerator and parsley in her herb garden. She would pair the chicken with mashed potatoes and sautéed green beans. Voilà—a delicious meal in no time.
“Wine or beer?” he asked.
“Wine, please.” She took down a pilsner glass and two wine goblets from the cabinet next to the refrigerator in case he wanted to switch to wine with dinner. She handed him the pilsner and set one wineglass next to the bottle. She had already set the table, so she placed the extra wineglass at the place she had set for Jude.
The Cowboy Who Got Away Page 10