A Heart's Design

by Natalee Cooper

  He did mind, but it wasn’t her fault he was grouchy. It also wasn’t her fault they’d barely had a chance to talk earlier that morning. “Are you enjoying the gala?”

  She shrugged a bare shoulder and took a sip from the fluted glass she held. “It’s a little too crowded for this girl.”

  “How long are you staying in town?”

  “Depends on Simon and the new contract he signed a few hours ago.” She gifted him a half-smile and a wink.

  “What contract?”

  She laughed, the sound deeper than he remembered.

  “Right. It’s hush-hush. Can’t wait for the big announcement.”

  “Makes it more exciting.” He grinned at his old friend then nodded toward the party. “Speaking of your brother, we should go find him and plan for lunch in the next day or two. I’d love to catch up and hear all about the business.”

  “Yeah, sure.” But she only lifted her glass and drained its contents. “Your proposal to the city for the Old Theatre restoration was fantastic. I can see the headlines now: ‘Jase Cutter, Scraping the Downtrodden from the Jaws of Depravity.’”

  He laughed. “Hardly. Though, like I mentioned to you and Simon this morning, this community needs something to tie them together after the last blow the economy took. And with Weston Designs onboard, the restoration will exceed expectations.”

  She straightened the pendant on her necklace, the teardrop stone resting several inches below her neckline. “Simon’s designs are brilliant. I told him he’d be foolish not to put in a bid.”

  Jase tipped his head in agreement but glanced to the door, his eyes burning from his lack of sleep.

  “You know, now with the contract being official, we’ll get a chance to spend some time together. It’s been what, two years since we saw each other last? Even longer since Berkeley.” She reached out and straightened his collar, her fingers lingering a moment on the stiff fabric.

  He caught a hint of something stronger than champagne and decidedly not floral in the air between them, and his eyes narrowed as he took in her slightly unfocused gaze.

  “Seeing you earlier today reminded me of all our late-night chats by the campus fountain,” she continued. “I miss those. The college days before Seattle job offers, real estate gambles, and eight figures.”

  “Yeah, those were good times.” He watched her confident, playful smile falter as if she fought to keep it there. During their time at Berkeley, he’d been able to read her like a flashing neon sign. It wasn’t so easy now. “A lot has changed since graduation. Like the rumor there might be an engagement party in your future?” He nodded toward her left hand.

  She lifted her empty glass, but without flair. “Yes, that. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “My mistake.”

  “I noticed you still haven’t settled down.” A pout pulled at her red lips as she set her glass on the railing. “Taking that California Bachelor title to heart, I see.”

  “Something like that.”

  She dipped her head, her lashes framing eyes full of questions that looked too much like needs. Drawing back a step, he glanced at his jacket and motioned toward the door but stopped when her hand covered his. When he’d chosen Simon for the restoration, he’d looked forward to reconnecting with Natasha, but the woman in front of him was a blurry version of his old friend. She no longer had her spark—that driven, full of amusement, take-life-by-the-horns spark she’d practically glowed with in college.

  “Do you ever wonder about that night? What would have happened if I’d stayed and not taken that job with my brother in Washington?”

  He remembered the gist of it. The night he’d let her kiss him as she’d said her good-byes. “That was a long time ago. I guess a lot has changed since then, hasn’t it.”

  “Has it?”

  There was no coldness where their hands touched. But also, no warmth. Just memories. “We should go back in to the party.”

  “We both felt something that night, Jase.”

  Despite the open balcony, the space seemed to close him in, and he almost begged for one of her playful shoulder bumps, or sarcastic jabs to show she was messing with him. “Nat—”

  “Don’t. Don’t keep me out like you did back then.”

  He pulled his hand free, flexing his fingers like they could release the tension coiling around his spine. “I never kept you out. You were one of my closest friends.”

  “Friends. Right. Because you wouldn’t allow me any closer.” But regret buried the bitterness in her words. “You threw yourself in to school, investments, that next big adventure…never letting anyone in. Yet, that night at the airport, for that one moment, you did.”

  He glanced to the distant water, its deep blue hard to decipher from the darkness creeping over it, unlike the truth in her words. “What do you want from me?”

  The alcohol on her breath bristled against his nose as she looked up, and he barely jerked his head in time to avoid her kiss as she leaned in. He wiped her lipstick off his cheek with the back of his fist.

  Embarrassment fought hurt in her eyes, but he didn’t apologize, even as guilt for causing her pain bruised him. “Listen, I’m sorry. About tonight, and the past, but I can’t…”

  Her arms folded across her middle as she sniffed, but, to his surprise, her eyes were dry, and that worried him more than tears. He reached out to touch her arm but let his hand drop.

  Her chest rose, her lips disappearing in a thin, shaky line, charging the air before she spoke. “So, that’s it?”

  “Can we not just be friends?”

  Natasha pushed her hair over one shoulder, the lift to her chin contradicting the tears that finally pooled in the corners of her eyes. But with one last sniff everything in her changed, as if her features were a blunt cut sculpture—all hard lines and sharp edges.

  “Funny, you playing the friend-role with your colorful reputation.”

  Her complete one-eighty had him stepping back. “My what?” He rubbed again at his cheek. “I hope that’s the alcohol speaking, because the girl I knew in college would never have used the media or rumors as a reference for my morals.”

  She wiped at a single, fallen tear like she hadn’t heard him. “You’re still just as broken now as you were then. You try and hide it, but I can see right through you.”

  A stab in his chest mocked the childhood rhyme of sticks and stones, but he ignored it, focusing on his future with her and Simon as he grabbed his jacket. “This restoration is a big deal. Please don’t make me regret my decision in hiring Weston Designs.”

  Rising to her full height, she held her arms stiff at her sides. “Like you’d replace us.”

  “Your brother’s concepts for the theatre are amazing, and he may be the most qualified, but he isn’t irreplaceable.” He kept a tight leash on his words as a knot clawed its way up his throat. “Contract or not.”

  One sleek eyebrow cocked, but he only matched her gesture. And then, in a streak of pink, she was gone, her tall heels clicking on the stone tile.

  Jase’s head hurt from the train wreck of the last fifteen minutes. He shook out his jacket, trying to undo the damage his fist had done to the expensive material, and tried to understand what just happened. So much for reconnecting with an old friend. One who’d always been strong, always been there—never judging, never pushing lines…

  As he pulled his jacket on, he actually considered choosing a different firm. A local architect would make the mayor happy.

  And the people.

  He laughed without humor. The legal hassle wasn’t worth it, not with a signed contract, despite what he’d said. And the project needed Simon’s expertise.

  Steeling himself for another hour of photo ops and trivial conversation, he walked back into the gala—and right into a woman. The jolt caused him to almost lose his balance, and his hands shot out to her waist, trying to steady them both as her fingers grabbed at his arms.

  “I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”


  He cut off her apology. “It was my fault.”

  A flush burned the curves of her cheeks. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I was looking for a friend when I should have been looking right in front of me.” She let out a shaky laugh and took a step back. Or tried to.

  Dropping his hands from her waist, embarrassment flushed his own skin. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

  She brushed back a few dark strands of hair escaping her updo, and he was surprised by the strong desire to stop her, liking the way they framed her face around the heat still lingering there.

  Instead, he gave his head a subtle shake. “Have we…met?”

  “No. Well, sort of. I mean, not officially, but…”

  Something about her was different. Maybe it was the way she fidgeted with the bracelet on her wrist, telling him he made her nervous. Maybe it was that she wasn’t creeping into his space, or batting thick, ridiculously long lashes. Or, maybe because there was no alcohol on her breath or glaring expectations…

  Jase racked his brain to place her. “Are you Dreschler’s daughter?”

  “Richard Blakeley’s.”

  “Oh.” He mentally shuffled through his acquaintances but came up empty.

  “I’m an architect, I mean, Madison. My name is Madison. Blakeley.”

  And there was that blush again—the one that matched her dress. Both looked good on her. She held out a hand, her curved lips accentuating the humor in her gaffe.

  Refreshing.

  He wondered if he’d seen her work before but let the question slip away as their hands met. “Nice to meet you, Madison Blakeley. Jase Cutter.”

  “I know.”

  She winced, and he couldn’t keep the grin from tugging at his lips.

  “I should probably stop talking now.”

  His laughter spilled out. “Please don’t.” The lightness in his chest was like a balm to the disaster he’d just come from, and more sounded good. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “My friend was supposed to be doing that, but I think he got cornered by the mayor.”

  “Ah, good old Marty.”

  “Exactly.”

  He grinned for the first time that night—a genuine grin.

  She stepped closer to allow a group to pass behind them, yet he felt the opposite of claustrophobic.

  “Are you sure we haven’t met?”

  She smiled, but some of the light left her eyes. “Positive. Though I did put in a bid—”

  “Mr. Cutter, might I have a moment of your time?”

  He turned to the intruder. A press badge hung from a lanyard around the guy’s neck, a local news station’s logo printed on it.

  “I only have a few questions about tonight’s gala,” the reporter said. “I'm sure the lady won't mind.”

  She stepped back. “Of course not.”

  Jase opened his mouth to tell the reporter to take off but thought better of taunting the media. He turned to Madison and lowered his voice. “I guess being uncharitable at a charity gala is probably bad karma, right?”

  “Most definitely.” She mimicked his half-whisper, the light in her eyes dancing.

  Those eyes.

  He cleared his throat and touched the knot of his tie. “How does it look? Am I good?”

  “Here.”

  He leaned in as she reached up and straightened the striped silk. The subtle fragrance of her perfume pulled him a notch closer—a scent of blossoms laced in a spice he couldn’t place. He swallowed.

  She tucked his collar in place then smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “There.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  With a deep reluctance that surprised him, he turned toward the reporter. “You’ve got two minutes.”

  A cameraman stepped up beside him, his recording equipment gleaming under the lights. “Let’s set up right here. We’ll shoot from this angle.”

  He took his place and, on cue, answered questions about the gala’s success and how much money he thought the night would bring in. Jase kept his answers short, hoping the reporter would move on to the next big donor so he could return his attention to Madison and learn more about her architecture company. But he should have known the glint in the reporter’s eye wasn’t a trick of the light.

  “Can you comment on the Old Theatre restoration and the rumors you’re considering an out-of-state architect? I understood, as did the fine people of this community, that your promise to use local businesses with this project would extend to every aspect of the job.”

  He didn’t flinch, not at the veiled accusation or the trap, and only wondered where the venomous reporter got his information. “I purchased the Old Theatre because it holds a special spot in the hearts of the citizens, as well as someone I respect very much. My promise to have it restored to reflect the great presence in our city that it once was hasn’t changed. The community and its businesses will be very much a part of this project and the surrounding shopping district.”

  Every stiff angle in the reporter’s stance reeked of daring. “Well-spoken, but there’s still the question of which architectural firm you will choose for the restoration.”

  The cameraman adjusted his hold on the lens and shifted his weight. Red recording lights blinked mercilessly as if mocking the situation. The gathering crowd didn't help. He needed to choose his words wisely, but when a familiar shade of pink filled his peripheral, his heart froze solid.

  “Oh, I didn't know you were making the announcement!” Natasha slipped her arm around his and gave the camera a dazzling smile. “Weston Designs is thrilled to be a part of the Old Theatre restoration. My brother Simon and I look forward to working alongside Mr. Cutter and this quaint little community.”

  Jase could only stare at those cherry lips twisted up in a satisfied smile. He stood rigid as she leaned in and spoke close to his ear.

  “Just making things more exciting.” Even for the growing whispers, her words were as clear as the fluted crystal in her hand.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted Madison just in time to see a guy with brown surfer hair hand her a drink and pull her away from the crowd. He swallowed back a grain of remorse and did his best to answer the Pandora’s box of questions the reporter threw at him.

  “Yes, Weston Designs is more than qualified for the job. Simon has worked on several restorations over his twelve years in the business. The theatre will be in good hands.”

  Giving the crowd and camera a half-bow, half-wave, he untangled his arm from Natasha’s grasp, pushed through the onlookers, and headed for the exit, too aware that his subconscious sought a certain scarlet gown.

  As he approached the double doors leading to the lobby, something hard beneath his foot brought him to a stop. Under the toe of his Italian loafer was a silver bracelet with a single charm. The same delicate chain the refreshing architect had twisted around her wrist in all her nerves.

  He ran his thumb over the charm before placing it in his pocket, and a small glimmer of anticipation eased his tight frown into the ghost of a smile. For all of Natasha’s storm brewing, tonight held one bright spot.

  Chapter Two

  Jase jolted awake and gasped for breath. Beads of sweat cooled against his forehead where the ceiling fan stirred the air above him, and bedsheets clung to his clammy body. He sat up straight, pushing the sateen fabric off his tensed limbs. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran shaky hands over his face, wiping away the moisture. But when scenes from his nightmare—reels of images stripped of any fiction—unfolded behind his lids, he quickly opened them wide again.

  A tug on his lamp string flooded the room with soft light. For eleven years, he’d shut his old nightmares away.

  Eleven.

  Years.

  Yet, for the past three nights, the floodgates had stood open, ushering guilt, his old companion, to crash through his conscience unfettered.

  He glanced at the long, white envelope next to his phone, a single piece of mail from Ida
ho—the object responsible for opening the door to his past he wasn’t ready to face. But he knew he needed to answer it.

  Only, answering means…

  He cradled his head in his hands against the weight of a sleepless night of fighting mental demons as they crowded on his shoulders. But the last weight, the heaviest of the chains straining against the cavity of his chest, terrified him most. Because it breathed he’d hid long enough. That his family’s legacy deserved better.

  With unsteady fingers, he took the envelope from the tabletop and concentrated on the smooth texture. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes then carefully pulled out the folded paper, focusing on the name at the bottom.

  William Henry.

  The halting curves of the rancher's handwriting formed words short and to the point—all business.

  That's William.

  But between the man’s request to meet in person and stating it was a private, time-sensitive, family matter, he sensed a plea for help. A plea he couldn’t ignore any longer.

  Jase dug his palms into his eyelids as practiced words tumbled from his mouth in a rough whisper, “Dig deep. Get centered.”

  His breathing slowed as he grasped for that place in his mind where there were no distractions, no heavy loads drowning him, only the pounding rhythm of his old college baseball mantra repeating in his head.

  The tick of a wall clock eventually replaced the hallowed words, and he opened his eyes, more in control. Light filtered in through the blinds, a sign the sun had made its first appearance for the morning.

  Checking his phone for the time, he rubbed a smudge from the screen, only to flinch when his alarm pierced the stillness. Penny was most likely on her way to the office, but the thought of starting his day sounded as appealing as reliving his nightmare. Tugging joggers on over his boxers, he dialed her number then rolled his neck before putting the phone to his ear. His assistant answered on the third ring.

  “Morning, Penny.”

  “You know, hot pink really isn’t your color.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just looking at this picture of you and Natasha from the gala. Sounds like the night was eventful.”