“Tell me about the meeting,” she said.
He grimaced as he opened the bottle of wine with the waiter’s corkscrew Juliette had fished out of the utensil drawer. Pretty deft for a cowboy, she thought as she watched him coax the cork out of the bottle.
“In a minute. First, tell me something good. Anything that’s good.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t bode well for his day.
“Something good? Let me see... Remember Tabatha, the bride you saw the other day at the wedding barn?”
“The one with purple shoes and road rage?”
“Yes, that’s the one,” she laughed. “I had a friend of mine re-dye the shoes and Tabatha couldn’t have been happier. She actually hugged me when she saw them.”
“And you say your job isn’t fulfilling.”
“It does have its moments. Oh, but something else interesting came up today. Lucy talked to me about possibly buying Weddings by Juliette.”
Jude’s eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, she wants to merge it with the Campbell Wedding Barn, which is actually a really good idea. She is going to get a proposal together and we’re going to meet within the week to see what we can come up with.”
“You’re really serious about getting out of the business then?”
“Serious as a final markdown sale at Bloomingdale’s.”
“That sounds very serious. But I’ll have to take your word for it. Well, good, if you are unemployed, you’ll have to come on the road with me.”
“Here we go again,” Juliette said, keeping her voice light. “Does that mean you made a decision today?”
Jude shook his head. “It was a weird day. It’s a good thing you didn’t come with me. They postponed the photo shoot until after I commit to another year on the circuit.”
“Yikes,” Juliette said. “Does that mean the clothing line is contingent on your riding, too?”
“It looks like that’s the way it’s shaking down. My agent is pressuring me to go one more season. The guy barely said a word in the meeting, but he had big opinions as soon as we left.”
“It sounds like he doesn’t have your best interest at heart, Jude,” she said as she turned the chicken breasts. “Surely, he knows about the dangers of multiple concussions?”
Jude shrugged again. “He thinks he does. He says champions don’t get hurt. That’s why they get the big bucks.”
“I know it’s been a long time,” she said. “But I hope I still know you well enough to believe you are going to do the right thing—the healthy thing.”
Jude shrugged.
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to consider. I would be giving up a lot to retire early. You know, financial plans included me riding at least one more year.”
“Yeah, but if you get hurt again, it might be even more costly.”
She could read his energy, feel him bristle, virtually see the walls go up. To lighten the mood, she changed tactics.
“If you could do anything in the world, if money didn’t matter, what would you do?” she asked. “I’ve been thinking a lot about that myself. I mean, if Lucy buys my business, it’ll be a nice nest egg. It won’t be enough for me to retire at twenty-eight, but it will be capital for something else.”
She took plates from the table and started dishing up the meal.
“I just realized,” Jude said, “I don’t even know what you studied at that fancy college you went to. I remember when we were in high school, you always wanted to work with kids.”
His smile put her at ease. He was more like himself again.
“You have a good memory. I studied management, with an emphasis in nonprofit. I always thought I would work for some sort of children’s charity after graduation. Or maybe something for displaced women and children. And here I am, the bridezilla’s handmaiden. Isn’t it funny the places that life leads you?”
She set the plates on the table as he refilled her wineglass and poured some for himself.
“I always admired that about you. Your soft spot for kids—not the bridezilla’s handmaiden bit.”
They laughed and clinked wineglasses.
“In fact, I think a little bit of your good influence must’ve rubbed off on me. The thing that rankles me the most about losing the On-Off line if I don’t go another season is that the kids’ charity won’t get the proceeds from the sales of my line anymore. In the grand scheme of things, what I contribute is probably like a bucket of water out of the ocean, but it’s something.”
He shrugged and took a bite of the chicken. “This is delicious. When did you become a good cook?”
“You know, just because Copenhagen pulls out of the deal, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t start your own thing.”
“My own ‘thing’? That sounds official.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Actually, I’ve had this thought of starting a bull riding school. A place where all kids who are interested can learn and no one is turned away because they can’t afford it. My dad was never supportive—financially or emotionally. You know how he was. He could be such a tight-ass. He’d made up his mind that since he hadn’t been able to make bull riding work, he didn’t want me to outshine him. Remember how I had to sneak around to get any kind of experience at all? He sure as hell wasn’t going to pay for lessons. You would’ve thought I was dealing drugs or something the way I had to hide it from him. But he was hell-bent on keeping me from it.”
Jude had a far-off look in his eye.
“Maybe he was concerned about your safety?” Juliette offered. “It’s a pretty rough sport.”
Juliette knew that wasn’t altogether true. Donovan Campbell had been a hard-edged, hard-to-know man who seemed to love the bottle more than he loved his own son. She had witnessed Mr. Campbell and Jude coming to verbal blows more often than she wanted to remember. The two clashed, but until that last night—the night that changed everything—he hadn’t been physically abusive. But that night Donovan Campbell had nearly beaten Jude to a bloody pulp.
When Juliette got word of what had happened, she’d found Jude at the cabin. It was the first place she’d looked. She’d known instinctively that she would find him there. It was the night before she was supposed to leave for St Andrews. Emotions had been running high. Jude had been working for his father, keeping the books for the Triple C Ranch, because Donovan had been determined to find a place in the family business for his spirited son. The family business had come natural to Ethan, but Jude had often told her that the thought of spending his life at the Triple C had made him feel as fenced in as the horses they bred.
On the afternoon of Juliette’s last night in Celebration, Don had discovered that Jude had made a mistake in the ledger. His dyslexia had caused him to transpose two numbers, recording an entry that should have been $1,925 as $9,125. By inadvertently transposing those two numbers, checks had bounced and it had cost Mr. Campbell a lot of money to fix the error. He took the cost out on Jude’s hide.
When Juliette found Jude at the cabin, he was a bloody mess. She’d nursed his wounds, cleaning them and bandaging them up and holding him until he was himself again.
Or so she’d thought.
One minute Jude had been sobbing on her shoulder and the next minute he was proposing marriage. He wanted to elope.
Let’s go, he’d said. Let’s get out of town and leave all of this behind. We’ll get married and we’ll make a life for ourselves somewhere else. Juliette, I love you. Please say you’ll be my wife.
She’d loved him. Of course she’d loved him, but running away with him would’ve meant giving up St Andrews, giving up her scholarship—giving up the life that Guinevere had so painstakingly orchestrated for her. If she ran away what would become of her mother, who was already heartbroken over losing her husband?
Juliette had
n’t meant for him to take her refusal as a final, terminating no. She’d tried to make him understand she was just saying not right now, but Jude had freaked. They’d fought. He’d left the cabin. She’d left for Scotland the next day. They hadn’t even said goodbye.
They hadn’t talked much her first semester abroad. Only once or twice. International calls were expensive. He’d left home to go on the road, entering every competition for which he could scrounge up money. But while she was away at college that first term, the most important thing she’d learned was that she didn’t want to live without him.
The next time she saw him, three months later, it was Christmas. Her gift to him was going to be that she was giving up St Andrews so that they could start their life together. It was supposed to be a surprise.
She’d been willing to give up everything to be with him, but he’d come home engaged to someone else. Juliette had left before Jude even knew she was at home.
Juliette blinked away the thought. He hadn’t married the girl he’d brought home. He’d admitted she’d been a rebound. That she hadn’t been her. But still—
She suddenly realized no matter how hurt she’d been or how she’d tried to shut Jude out, she’d never stopped loving him.
“My dad would get such satisfaction if he could see me now,” Jude said.
“Well, yeah, you’re the reigning world champion.”
“I am the lame duck world champion, one concussion away from permanent brain damage and I don’t even get to defend my title this year. I can almost hear him calling me a loser from beyond the grave.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Juliette reached across the table and put her hand on Jude’s. “You know there’s no shame in retiring now. Jude, you don’t have anything to prove to anyone. If anything, I would think that you should be pretty darn proud of yourself.”
Jude turned his hand over so that they were palm to palm. He ran his thumb along the side of her hand. The feeling of his skin on hers—even if it was just their hands touching—sent tingles of longing sparking through her. There was something so sensual about it, that him touching her so innocently was so sexy.
“My dad died three months later. The last thing he said to me was, ‘You’re a disappointment. You’re never going to amount to anything.’ I guess that’s why I can’t be happy until I prove him wrong.”
“Jude—”
Franklin started barking at the sound of the front door opening. It startled them out of their reverie.
“Hel-luuu! Juliette?” Guinevere’s voice rang out. “Are you at home?”
The sound of something rolling on the hardwood floor preceded Guinevere’s appearance in the kitchen.
“There you are.” Gripping the handle of an oversize suitcase, Guinevere stiffened and raised her chin, literally looking down her nose at Jude. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had company.” Her voice was flat.
Jude stood. Juliette knew it was out of respect for her mother, but something about the scene took her back to high school and the days of Guinevere walking in at inopportune moments. Her mother had never cared for Jude and catching them together in what might suggest a compromising situation always made matters tense. Even though this “compromising situation” was only an innocent dinner.
“Mother, Jude’s truck is in the driveway,” Juliette said. “How could you miss it?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.” She sighed. “Hello, Jude. I heard you were back in town.”
“Mother,” Juliette admonished, embarrassed by the derisive tone of her mother’s voice.
Guinevere’s expression suggested she smelled something foul. Some things never changed.
“Hello, Mrs. Albright. It’s nice to see you.”
Guinevere sniffed. “Did I interrupt your dinner?”
“We were just finishing,” Juliette said. “What’s with the suitcase? Are you going somewhere?”
“I’m leaving Howard.”
“What?” Juliette asked. Jude seemed to freeze in place.
“You heard me. I’ve had it. I am leaving that man.”
Juliette hadn’t been home to talk her mother off the ledge with husbands two, three and four. Or to hold her hand through the legitimate hard times. But Howard seemed so different. He seemed good for her. Her mother and Howard never had any of the red flags that Juliette used to identify in some of her clients—that she had seen with Guinevere and her middle three marriages that happened between her father and Howard. Those red flags suggested that the marriage might have a difficult time. While Guinevere wasn’t a piece of cake to live with, she and Howard seemed to balance each other—they seemed good for each other and they seemed to adore each other.
Whatever had happened was all probably a big misunderstanding, but she wasn’t going to ask for details in front of Jude. She would let her mother stay here tonight, let her cool off and then help her figure things out tomorrow.
Even though Guinevere could be a handful, one of the best pieces of advice her mother had ever given her was to not make big decisions when you were hungry, tired or overheated.
“I’ll go,” said Jude. “It sounds like you two have a lot to talk about. Thanks for dinner.”
“No, don’t go,” Juliette said.
Guinevere tutted. “Juliette, dear, if Jude says he needs to go, let him go.”
“Mom, he wasn’t going to leave until you appeared.”
When Juliette was in high school, her mother had staunchly maintained that Juliette was too young to get serious about a boy. She needed to see the world—meet a prince. Guinevere had insisted that Juliette was destined to marry a prince and she didn’t mean that figuratively. She meant an actual prince, as in the William and Harry variety. She claimed to have sent Juliette’s photo to Prince Harry, though her mother never would say exactly where she’d sent it. She let her mother have her fantasy. It’d kept her off the scent of Juliette falling head over heels for Jude. He may not have been a prince by Guinevere’s standards, but he’d ruled the kingdom of Juliette’s heart.
Juliette pushed to her feet. “Mom, why don’t you go ahead and unpack? I made some extra chicken and potatoes. Help yourself to it. Take a bath and relax. Jude and I are going out for a while. I will be back later.”
“Where are you going?” Guinevere put her hands on her hips.
Juliette mirrored her stance. “Mom, you’re at my house. You don’t get to ask the questions. I’ll see you later.”
She motioned with her head for Jude to follow and grabbed her purse and sweater off the console table in the foyer before they stepped out into the chilly October night.
When the two stepped outside, Jude said, “Hey, if you need to stay—”
“Absolutely not. I think she could use some time by herself. Let’s go to your cabin.”
“Okay, I’m certainly not going to challenge that,” Jude said, smiling as he opened his truck door for her and helped her inside.
Chapter Eight
Jude entered the dark cabin first. He flicked on the light and held the door so that Juliette could enter.
The place was a small, functional studio with a living area that doubled as a bedroom. It also had a kitchenette and bathroom. He hadn’t counted on having company tonight. Everything lay exactly as he’d left it when he left this morning. The morning paper was askew on the wooden table, next to a scattering of coins he’d taken out of his pocket and a coffee cup he’d intended to wash when he got home. A small couch and coffee table sat along one wall and a bed pushed into the opposite corner took up most of the living space. He’d made the bed when he’d gotten up.
Making his bed was a habit. While he was on the road, he lived in a trailer that he pulled along behind his truck because it was more economical than staying in hotels. He didn’t have the advantage of maid service. So he had gotten
used to making his own bed.
He’d sold the trailer the day before he’d come home. The small cash infusion would allow him to pay his property tax and keep the land afloat until he figured out what he was going to do next.
Juliette turned in a tight circle, looking at everything. “Wow. I haven’t been in here since—”
She clamped her mouth shut as if she suddenly remembered the last time they were there.
He remembered.
The sweet and salty memory of the last time they’d been here together made his heart race and his blood course. The fact that they were here together again made every cell in his body dance.
“It’s been a long time,” she finally said. She was still wearing the sweater she’d grabbed on the way out of her house and clutching the handle of her purse like it was a lifeline.
He nodded. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea that they’d come here. But it was too late now.
The events that had transpired that long-ago night hung between them like a ghost they couldn’t exorcise until they talked about it.
“Do you want to take off your sweater?” he offered. “You can put your purse down, too. I promise I won’t steal it. It’s a safe neighborhood.”
He had a habit of using humor to lighten a tense mood. Some people accused him of never taking anything seriously, but he never meant any harm.
“I know this neighborhood well,” she said.
“I know you do. But you don’t come around here much anymore, do you?”
“Neither do you.”
He shrugged and nodded at the same time.
“I think we need to finish talking about what we were discussing before my mother interrupted.”
She set her purse on the table and slid out of her sweater.
“Let’s sit down.” He motioned to the couch, and then walked to the fridge, where he grabbed two beers and popped the tops. “I didn’t know we would be here tonight or I would’ve gotten you some wine.”
The Cowboy Who Got Away Page 11