by Stacy Finz
“Win. Yep, single.”
“I’m getting a place in Glory Junction,” Karen said.
The Garner brothers were certainly eye candy and enough to entice even a hard-core city woman to move to Timbuktu. At least on the weekends.
“Let’s roll,” Delaney announced, and left the dressing room, only to encounter several reporters and photographers milling around the hallway. A few flashes went off and Delaney immediately slipped into her game face. Big smile, lots of feigned confidence.
“Thanks, Ms. Scott.”
“You’re welcome, Todd. You all get some food?” She’d had Rachel from Tart Me Up set up a feast in one of the back rooms. Lord knew the models wouldn’t eat any of it, just copious amounts of Diet Coke.
A few members of the media nodded and a reporter she recognized from Vogue asked, “Will you be available for interviews after the show?”
“Of course.” She glanced at her watch. “Time to move out.”
Karen relayed the message to the male models’ dressing room on her headset. They were starting the show with the adventure line and ending with the couture collection. Delaney followed Karen to the back of the stage where the models began to line up. They’d be able to stay there and watch the show on short-circuit TV while tending to any mishaps, including wardrobe malfunctions.
The director motioned for the lights to go down, except for a single dramatic spotlight that shined on the first model. Delaney could hear a hush fall over the crowd. Then the music went on and shards of colored light strobed across the stage. Pictures of ski slopes, mountains, rivers, and lakes flashed in the background. Even from the back, Delaney could feel the energy in the room. Granted, she’d packed the audience with locals who probably had never been to a high-end fashion show like this. Still, the mood was electrifying. She couldn’t see Colt in the audience; the cameras focused on stage. She wished she could see the expression on his face. He’d been so instrumental in the line and helping her reclaim her creativity. In a lot of ways, he’d had more faith in her design ability than she’d had in herself.
“We’re moving into the ready-to-wear,” Karen whispered in her ear, and suddenly the music switched from Townes Van Zandt’s “My Proud Mountains” to Rascal Flatts’s “She’d Be California,” signaling the change in program.
“What do you think so far?” she whispered back.
Karen peeked behind the curtain, which Delaney had been too anxious to do. “I think we’ve got a hit.”
They just had to make it through the rest of the show without any snafus. Of course, the press would have the final word. If they liked what they saw—fingers crossed—the money would come pouring in. The next ten minutes went so fast Delaney forgot to breathe. By the time her couture collection strutted up and down the runway, she was ready to hyperventilate. Next thing she knew she was hoisted up on stage to take her bow to a standing ovation. Someone whistled and she looked down to see Colt smiling up at her. His face was so reassuring, so proud, that she considered doing a swan dive right into his arms.
After the lights went on she was inundated by reporters and then VIPs who’d been flown in for the show, losing track of Colt, though her eyes constantly searched for him. It wasn’t until the after-party that she saw him again. The entire Garner clan came and she immediately reached for Colt’s hand, forgetting herself. He took it, raised her knuckles to his lips, and kissed them.
“You killed it!”
Her heart soared because she really had, and because it was the first time all day she’d had time to spend with him. “I missed you,” and I love you, she almost started to say.
“Yeah?” He scanned the room and found his family shamelessly staring. “We have an audience.”
“Is that so terrible? Don’t you think it’s time to take us public?”
“I’m going to get us something to eat,” he said, and dropped her hand.
Apparently that was as big a commitment as she was going to get. A plate of food from the buffet line. Why couldn’t he trust her? Instead of letting it ruin her night, Delaney decided that she’d give him time to see that she wasn’t Lisa. That they could have something together, even with her design career.
She planned to talk to him about it when they got home. But that never happened. Her lawyer had been trying to get a hold of her all day with a dire message. The ruling had come in and she needed to do damage control.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It had been three days since Delaney had left for LA and all Colt had received was one lousy text. He got it—she had major problems. But it felt like shades of Lisa all over again. This was the way it started. Girl has career crisis, finds man to latch on to, then dumps him as soon as she resolves her professional problems.
It wasn’t like he didn’t have his own job issues to focus on. It had been a while since he’d talked to Ben and hadn’t heard a word more on the subject. For all he knew Pond had been cleared and Colt’s pink slip was in the mail. Still, all he could think about was Delaney.
The judge had issued a clarification, ruling that Delaney had to take “Delaney Scott” off all her existing merchandise, which would cost her a fortune. So much so that it put her company at risk until she could get capital. Luckily, investors had been impressed with her new designs, but she had to stop the bleeding before anyone would commit.
He knew she had a lot of meetings set up and planned to squeeze in house hunting. To his mind that meant she’d move back to Los Angeles. It made sense. She’d been away from the business end of her company for nearly a year. He suspected that this was a wake-up call to return to the mother ship.
“I lost six pounds.” Carrie Jo came into his office and he blinked up at her.
“Yeah? Weight Watchers?”
“No diet, really. I cut my portions and have been walking in the evenings.”
“You look good, Carrie Jo.” She’d always been hot to him with or without the extra pounds.
She sprawled out on his sofa. “You in here feeling sorry for yourself?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Colt, I’ve known you since before you could drive. And for the record: I don’t think Delaney is anything like Lisa.”
“Who said she was?”
She snorted. “You’re like one of Lisa’s bad songs. One woman does you wrong and you think they’re all alike.”
“You saw that fashion show. Did you happen to notice the Who’s Who list of people sitting in the audience? I don’t exactly fit in with that crowd.”
“No, you don’t. And the little I know of Delaney, neither does she. She needs those people for her business, which doesn’t necessarily make her one of them. From what I can tell, she fits in to this little town just fine. Her clothes may be better than the rest of ours, but there’s nothing about her that’s pretentious or snobby.”
“Her company is based in Los Angeles.”
“So? You’ll both have to commute. Have phone sex. Or Skype sex. With technology the possibilities are endless.”
He shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“It’ll work if you want it to work, if you make it work, which means letting go of what Lisa did to you.”
Colt didn’t know if he could do that. She’d just walked away without so much as a phone call, not only taking a piece of his heart with her but eviscerating his trust. How do you let that go?
Josh popped his head into Colt’s office. “I looked for your gatekeeper but I see she’s in here.”
Carrie Jo got up from the couch, squeezed by Josh, and cleared her throat. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“I don’t need no stinkin’ appointment.” He came in and took her place on the sofa. The love seat got more use than Colt’s couch at home.
“What’s up?” Colt asked, noticing that his brother’s limp was barely noticeable. That last surgery may have done the trick.
“We missed you for Sunday dinner at Mom’s.”
“I had stuff to catc
h up on.”
Josh gave him a hard look. “You hear from Delaney?”
Colt hitched his shoulders. “I got a text from her Saturday night.” And a missed call Sunday, which he never heard ring. “She’s busy.”
“I would imagine she is. Hannah says this could cost her millions.”
“Yep.” Colt nodded his head.
“But you think she’s running away, like Lisa did?”
“Ah, jeez. I just got an earful from Carrie Jo. Enough, already. It’s not like we were a couple. Whatever she wants to do is fine.”
“Ah, that’s bullshit, Colt. We can all see that you care about her.”
He more than cared about her. This time he didn’t know if a rash of cave diving, BASE jumping, and extreme skiing would fix the damage she could do.
“We truck in two different worlds,” he said. “I knew that from the get-go, so it’s nothing like Lisa. Don’t you have a tour to guide, paperwork to do?”
Josh gave him another one of his penetrating army ranger stares. “You can lie to yourself all you want but you’re not fooling me. I almost lost Hannah because of stupid pride. If Delaney is important to you, which I know she is, man up and make it happen.”
Josh got to his feet and walked out. Good! Colt was tired of everyone telling him how to run his life. The clock on the wall said lunchtime and that’s the only advice he had use for. He hauled his ass out of his chair and walked over to Old Glory for a burger.
The usual crowd was there, including Rita, who avoided eye contact with him. That couldn’t be good. Colt took a seat at the bar. Boden came out from the kitchen and took his order. At least he had the decency not to ask Colt about Delaney, too caught up with the good-looking brunette filling out a job application.
Halfway through his burger “Crazy about You” came over the sound system. Just what Colt needed. Boden stopped talking to the brunette, opened a panel behind the bar, and the music suddenly changed to a Bruce Springsteen song. A couple of patrons grumbled. Colt bobbed his head at Boden and left without finishing his meal, his mind made up.
After returning to the office, he got on his computer, then went into Jack’s office to ask if he’d cover him. Colt needed a few personal days. The next morning, he got in his truck and drove to Portland.
It took ten hours, but he made it in time to get to the Moda Center before the show opened. Tickets were sold out. He wandered to the back of the stadium, hoping to find a roadie or someone who had access to the talent. Eventually, he latched on to a security guard, whom he showed his police badge to. Pretty unethical, but it got him in the door.
He wandered the bowels of the center, looking for someone who seemed important enough to get him where he wanted to go. A couple of gaffers taped cords to the stage and he managed to get their attention.
“You know Gordon Richards?” he asked, and one of them grunted in the affirmative but kept his eyes on his task. “Can you get him a message for me?” Once again, Colt flashed his badge. That got the guy’s attention.
“Gordon’s busy.” The other one wasn’t impressed. “Show starts in an hour, so unless you’ve got a warrant . . .”
“You want me to pull Lisa Laredo out and make a scene during the show?” he bluffed. “Tell Gordon that Colt Garner is here. That it concerns Ms. Laredo’s future.”
The stagehand got up and stood in Colt’s face. “You know how many whack jobs have used that line in the past? Look, buddy, in ten seconds I’ll have you thrown out on your head. Why don’t you save yourself the embarrassment?”
“Colt?”
Colt’s head jerked up, remembering that voice as if it were yesterday. She looked good, Lisa did. Thinner than he liked, but beautiful.
“You want me to call security?” the stagehand said, showing no surprise that the number-one country act in America was standing next to an empty stage in an empty room in a pair of faded jeans and a college sweatshirt.
“No, he’s a friend.”
A friend? That was a good one.
“Did you come to see the show?” she asked him, a hesitance in her voice.
“I came to talk to you.”
“You could’ve just called.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other and Colt could tell she was nervous.
“Like I did all those other times when you first left?” She hadn’t even had the decency to tell him where he stood.
“Colt . . . there’s someone else now.”
“Seriously, you think I’m here to get you back?” He laughed. “You want to do this now or in private? Makes no difference to me. I’d like to get on the road before traffic.”
She shuffled again, clearly contemplating what to do. It would be a little strange for her to call security after she’d told the gaffers he was a friend. “Come with me.”
He followed her through a private hallway to a dressing room. The cloying smell from all the flowers gave him a headache. And under the good lighting he could see worry lines around Lisa’s eyes and brackets around her mouth. Stardom had made her road-weary.
She sat at her dressing table and motioned for him to take one of the chairs. He preferred to stand but sat anyway so as not to tower over her. Someone knocked and she curtly told whoever was on the other side of the door to come back later. She seemed so brittle, like she could snap at any minute, and he wondered if she’d always been that way and he’d failed to see it.
Clearing her throat, she leaned forward in her seat. “How much do you want?”
He jolted at her bluntness, having expected her to play the woe-is-me card. “I want an explanation. I want an apology.” Colt had also wanted to ask if she had ever loved him. But oddly, standing here, seeing her now, it didn’t matter to him anymore because he felt nothing for her. Not even a stirring of nostalgia.
She glanced at her watch. “My hair and makeup people will be here soon. Name your price, Colt.”
“You mean to shut me up? There’s no price. Why’d you do it, Lisa? Why’d you steal my song?”
“You gave it to me.” She actually had the gall to say it with a straight face.
“I wrote it for you. There’s a difference.”
A tear ran down the side of her face and she swiped it with the back of her hand. “I was desperate, okay? ‘Lonesome Night’ went platinum and I was finally a star ... everything I had worked for. You don’t know what that’s like, Colt. Arenas filled to capacity with adoring fans. All the music executives, who before wouldn’t give me the time of day, kissed my ass. Musicians I idolized wanted to collaborate. The fame—there’s nothing like it. But I was going to lose it all, be relegated to a one-hit wonder without another hit. And ‘Crazy about You’ . . . Well, it was perfect for me.”
“Did it ever occur to you that you could’ve asked me if you could perform it and give me a writer’s credit? As the singer, you still would’ve gotten the glory.”
“You were so angry with me, Colt. You would’ve said no just to spite me.”
He was ashamed to admit it, but she was probably right. “So you took it and claimed it was your song?”
More tears ran down her face and a sob escaped her. “It’s nominated for a CMA. If you out me now it’ll ruin me. I’ll never work in Nashville again.”
He stared at her, finding it hard to fathom how she could steal from the person who loved her to get adoration from people she didn’t even know. People who would drop her like a hot potato if she didn’t get enough radio play. He tried to hate her, he really did. But all he could summon for her was pity.
“I’m not going to out you,” he finally said, and realized that what he’d needed was to face her. Look her in the eye when she told him what he’d known all along. “You’ll have to live with the lie while the people who care for me know the truth. At least give your next royalty earnings to charity.”
With that he walked out of her dressing room, out of the arena, into the parking lot, feeling a cool blast of evening air and infinitely lighter than when he’d gotten
there.
* * *
The condo was a short sale, which meant Delaney could get it for a steal. At least for Venice Beach, where real estate cost a bundle, especially a home set on the beach. It had endless windows of white-water views, twenty-four-hour concierge service, a master closet as large as Hannah’s shop, and was less than seventeen miles from her warehouse. Karen had a lead on an office building that could serve as corporate headquarters and studio space only a few minutes away.
Walking through the modern apartment, appreciating the gleaming hardwood floors, she took a moment to exhale. After back-to-back emergency meetings over the last four days it looked as if the publicity from the fashion show may have saved her ass as far as the court’s appalling clarification. Her marketing people were confident she could simply change the labels on her Delaney Scott shoes and handbags and still keep the same price points as long as the consumer knew she was the designer. Of course, the labor involved would be a major financial hit. The whole fiasco had convinced her it was time to move into the role of running her business.
Hiding out in Glory Junction, leisurely working on her designs, had been a luxury she simply could no longer afford. It was time to focus. Time to name her company and time to come back to the real world.
“For this price, it won’t stay on the market long.” The real estate agent’s voice echoed across the empty living room.
Delaney nodded, knowing the truth of that statement. “I’d like to at least sleep on it.” And call Colt. She needed to tell him what was going on.
When she reached him that afternoon from her hotel room it was on his cell and she could hear road noise in the background. “Where are you?”
“Driving home from Portland.”
“Oregon? What were you doing there?”
“Long story,” he said. “How’s it going in LA? Will you be able to recuperate from the setback?”
“I think so, as long as the investor money comes through. I looked at a condo today.”
He was quiet, then finally said, “Yeah, I figured you’d do that. Are you even coming back?” She heard the tension in his voice, but they’d talked about this. She’d always been upfront about returning to Los Angeles.