Chapter Two
Delaney sat on the phone fuming. “How can that be? How can he get to keep my name? It’s mine. It’s on my birth certificate, for God’s sake.”
“The judge was firm,” her lawyer said. “Robert gets the name and the clothing company. You get the shoe and handbag business, the homes, and the warehouse.”
“I don’t care about the homes or the warehouse, I want my name back. Besides the fact that it’s the name my parents gave me, it’s my brand, Liz. It’s the name I built the lines on.”
“I know, Delaney, and if you want me to appeal the decision, I will. But I’m not going to lie to you; Robert’s got you over a barrel. Everything was in his name. The company, the licenses, the studio, and the contracts. On paper, you’re nothing more than a fashion designer who worked for Delaney Scott. You got bad legal advice.”
“I got no legal advice.” Just Robert’s. “I was a starry-eyed kid when we started Delaney Scott. I ran the creative side and Robert ran the business end. I didn’t pay attention to whose name was on what. I never thought Robert and I would break up.” Stupid me thought love was forever.
“I’m sorry, Delaney. I did everything I could do. My advice: move on, rebuild in a big way, and remember that success is the best revenge.”
After the call, Delaney went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. What she really needed was a shot or two (or three) of tequila. The last year had been like a surreal dream, watching everything in her life disintegrate. First her marriage and then her company. Maybe she hadn’t worked hard enough on the former, but the business had taken everything she had and then some. All a labor of love. From the moment she’d been accepted to Parsons School of Design, Delaney had plotted her career trajectory, never veering from her goal of being a top designer. An internship at Marc Jacobs led to a design position at Donna Karan and her future seemed to write itself.
She’d met Robert, a bright and rising content marketing manager, at Donna Karan. At their first meeting she spilled red wine on his four-thousand-dollar suit and proceeded to tell him why his campaign for Donna’s new lingerie line was all wrong. The next day he sent her a dozen red Ecuadorian roses, claiming to find pushy women hot, and she fell a little bit in love. They got married a year later and it was Robert who convinced her to leave her six-figure job at Donna Karan and go out on her own. He supported her while she worked on her designs and created her first eponymous couture line, which the trades reviewed glowingly. That’s when Robert quit his job to run the burgeoning Delaney Scott fashion company.
Two years later, they launched a ready-to-wear line, Delaney Scott Every Day. Then came the handbags and the shoes, which turned out to be a significant business on its own. And now, her only business, which came with a small team of designers and salespeople and a warehouse supervisor, who was temporarily overseeing the order shipments until Delaney could hire a fashion house manager to maintain the operation. Right now, she had to develop a new line of clothing from scratch. Unfortunately, in the last year, she hadn’t been able to focus. Her designs were flat and uninspired. Just a lot of the same old, same old.
She’d moved into the Glory Junction house full time nine months ago to take cover after the divorce and ensuing court battle and to get her joo joo back. Too many people in LA wanted to gloat over her failed marriage or use it to their advantage. The fashion industry could be very opportunistic, which was a nice way of putting it. And Glory Junction was such a pretty, happy place with its surrounding mountains, rivers, lakes, and charming downtown, a combination of the old West and an Aspen-style ski town. The area attracted some of the world’s most famous skiers, avid rock climbers, and mountain bikers. For Delaney, who wasn’t much of a sports enthusiast, the town offered unrivaled peacefulness.
Except for her immediate neighbor, who drove her nuts. Colt Garner’s family was an institution in Glory Junction. Everyone loved them. The parents had founded the family’s adventure company in the late 1970s. While Gray and Mary Garner were still a big part of the operation, for all intents and purposes their sons ran it. They were some of the nicest people—Colt being the exception—in town, so she tried to be civil to him. But the man busted on her last nerve. He treated the easement part of their driveway as if it was his alone, even though she owned it. He was rude, condescending, and sour. Oddly enough, the women around here actually swooned over him. Maybe it was the uniform, or, if she were being perfectly honest, the chiseled face, the square jawline, and the mile-wide shoulders.
Anyway, she’d taken to calling him Chief Hottie from Hell and did her best to avoid him.
Delaney sipped her tea and thought about food. Since the divorce, she’d lost six pounds and her clothes were beginning to hang off her. Maybe she’d go to the grocery store later and fill her cupboards and freezer with cookies and ice cream. When had she ever been able to do that before?
What she really needed to do was plant her ass at the drafting table and come up with a clothing design that wasn’t crap. Channel the old Delaney Scott, who had so many ideas swimming in her head she couldn’t get them on paper fast enough. And at some point—sooner rather than later—she had to hire that manager to run the handbag and shoe lines, which from now on would be her bread and butter.
It was no secret that Robert had approached some of the luminaries in the fashion world to take over as head designer of Delaney Scott. It would be interesting to see what direction the company would go in. The vindictive part of Delaney wanted to see Robert and the business bomb. The part of her that had built the company from nothing, though, didn’t want to see it damaged. It was a weird predicament having someone else control a brand with her name on it that she no longer owned.
She got up, put the cup and saucer in the dishwasher, and went upstairs to her studio, a converted bedroom with spectacular lighting and a view to die for. From the south-facing windows she could see Misty Summit, the lake, and tree-dotted hillsides. Unfortunately, her cork board lacked the same great wonders. Delaney examined yesterday’s sketches, hoping that they weren’t as bad as she’d thought.
Ugh. They were worse.
Dull evening gowns that looked like they walked down last year’s runway. Her designs had always been fresh and cutting edge. Now they looked like everything else. She sat at the table and began to sketch. Two hours later, her trash can was full.
Wandering back to the kitchen, she made herself a tuna sandwich and wound up dumping half of it down the garbage disposal. She returned to her studio and spent the rest of the day trying to conjure some magic. The best she came up with was an ugly tuxedo dress. The next time she looked outside it was nearly dark and Colt had parked his police cruiser in her spot.
For now, it didn’t matter with the Tesla charged. It was his sense of entitlement that irked her. She got that he was the police chief and had to respond quickly to accidents and crime scenes, but that didn’t give him the right to use her property as his personal parking lot. He had his own driveway and a garage.
And she was in a bad mood ... a really bad mood.
Slipping on a pair of tennis shoes, she dashed down the stairs and outside into the balmy August evening. There was a light on in Colt’s kitchen, so she made a beeline for the back door and banged on it. He came out shirtless in a pair of shorts, his brown hair slicked back, wet. Her eyes met him midchest and she immediately dropped them to stare at his bare feet. Crazy, but she found them incredibly sexy. Big, tan, and sprinkled with a dusting of dark hair.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, not all that friendly.
She jerked her gaze upward and cleared her throat. Right. This wasn’t a social call. “You parked your car in my spot.”
“It’s Friday night, Delaney. You know how many times I get called out on a Friday night? Look, I’ll pay to have an outlet installed at the top of your driveway if it means that much to you.”
She snorted. “I can afford my own damn outlet. That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
“Your presumptuousness. First you take the easement for yourself. Next, you’ll be coming for my name.”
He stood there, looking confounded. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You just seem to take for granted that because of your job you have the right to park wherever you want. My driveway is just as steep and inconvenient as yours. Why should I have to cede the convenient space to you? Especially when technically it’s my land.”
“How about for the sake of the town? Five extra minutes to get down a driveway in police time is an eternity.”
“Or maybe you’re just lazy,” she said.
He glared at her, then blew out a long breath. “Delaney, it’s been a crappy day. If you need to charge your car, I’ll move my cruiser. If not, you think we can table this for another time?”
That’s when she noticed the tightness around his eyes and his stiff jaw. Maybe he’d had to respond to a gruesome crime scene. As much as she hated to admit it, being police chief had to be a difficult job.
“Fine, you can stay where you are for now. But I don’t want this to become a habit. And for the record, my day was lousy too.” She turned to walk away.
“What happened, you lose your thread and needle?”
“Nope, I lost Delaney Scott.” She kept walking without giving him a backward glance.
Not wanting to go back to her studio, where the walls seemed to be closing in on her, Delaney decided to go to the market. She got her bag from inside the house, nosed her car down the driveway, and drove less than a mile to Glory Junction’s only strip mall, which consisted of a big chain supermarket, a Wells Fargo, and a Starbucks. Last she counted there were three in town.
Delaney grabbed a cart and was starting down the produce aisle when she bumped into Hannah Garner, who carried Delaney Scott designs in her gift shop and just so happened to be married to one of Colt’s brothers. They didn’t know each other well, but were friendly. Hannah had made it a point to make her feel welcome in the town as opposed to treating her like one of the celebrity newcomers.
“Hey, I sold one of your handbags today,” Hannah said. “I could use more inventory. This is our best summer yet.”
“That’s great. I’ll have my people send a shipment out tomorrow. You want the same merchandise as last time?” It would make it easier for her warehouse supervisor to follow the existing order, which only reminded her how badly she needed a fashion house manager who could deal directly with retailers. Sometimes she wondered if being stretched too thin contributed to her designer’s block.
“Sure. Or you can mix it up a little. Whatever you think.” Hannah gave her an assessing once-over. “You have a long day? You look tired.” She was perceptive, that was for sure.
Delaney self-consciously fluffed her hair. “It was long, but nonproductive and frustrating. You come straight from the store?”
“Yeah. I’ve got book club at my house on Monday night. I figured now would be a good time to pick up a few things since my weekends are crazy. You should come.” She gazed at Delaney expectantly.
“Uh, I doubt I’ve read the book.” Delaney liked to read but never had time anymore.
“It doesn’t matter. We mostly drink wine and talk about people,” she said, then added, “I’m joking.”
Delaney wouldn’t mind getting to know more of the residents. She’d been so caught up in her problems and trying to rebuild that she hadn’t circulated much. Even though it wouldn’t be her full-time town forever, she’d continue to use the house on weekends, and it would be nice to have a group of friends here who weren’t part of her life with Robert.
“If you’re sure it’d be okay with everyone else, I’d love to come.”
“Great. I’ll text you my address, or if Colt comes you can hop a ride with him.”
“Colt’s in your book club?” Delaney had just assumed it was all women.
“No, but he sometimes comes over to hang with Josh while we’re in the other room. How’s things going with you two?”
Delaney could feel her face heat. In the nine months she’d lived in Glory Junction, word of their ongoing battle over the easement had gotten around. The work of a small-town grapevine, she supposed. “You know about that, huh?”
“Colt mentioned something about it,” Hannah said sheepishly. “Not in a disparaging way. He just said that you two had a conflict over the road. Easements, fences, property lines, they tend to be battlegrounds in rural areas.”
“Big cities too.”
“Colt’s a good guy. He can come across as gruff, probably because he’s a cop, but he’s a big teddy bear.”
More like a mean old grizzly bear, Delaney thought to herself. “We’re sort of at an impasse. To be honest, I don’t think he likes me much right now.” Or ever. He appeared to have a stick up his ass where she was concerned.
“Eh, don’t worry. He’ll get over it.” Hannah waved her hand in the air, dismissing the thought as if it was no big deal.
“Still, it would be nice if we could get along better, since we’re stuck living next door to each other.”
“Maybe a small gesture would help. Colt sometimes plays at Old Glory ... just did the other night. You could come with us and watch him. We usually go in a big group and that might break the ice between you two.”
“Colt plays at Old Glory?” she repeated, making sure she heard Hannah right. The local watering hole and gastropub featured live music, but she had no idea that Colt performed there.
“Uh-huh. He’s really good.”
“What kind of music?” Somehow Delaney couldn’t visualize Chief Hottie from Hell crooning.
“A little bit of everything, I guess. But mostly folky, country stuff.”
“Really?” She’d have to see it to believe it. To her, Colt seemed about as creative as a white lamp shade. Of course, she hardly knew him. They only talked when they were fighting over the easement road. One time she’d watched him change the oil in his truck from her upstairs window. He seemed to know what he was doing, so perhaps there were other hidden talents.
“Yep. He plays guitar and sings. I’ll find out when he’s performing next and keep you in the loop,” Hannah said.
“Okay. So, what should I bring to book club?” It was lovely of Hannah to include her. And the timing couldn’t be better; Delaney was tired of hiding from the world and ready to socialize again.
“Just yourself,” Hannah said. “I’ve got everything else covered.”
They said good-bye and pushed their carts in opposite directions. Delaney intentionally bypassed the cookie aisle, but got two kinds of ice cream. On her way to the cash register she tossed a trashy magazine and a romance novel on top of her groceries. She could at least experience sex vicariously. At this rate, she didn’t know when she’d get back in the saddle again. Robert’s peculiar remedy to fixing their marriage had put her off being intimate with anyone. The truth was she hadn’t even dated since their breakup a year ago.
She paid at the cash register and unloaded her bags when she got home. Colt’s cruiser was still parked on the shoulder pad of their shared road. He must’ve not gotten called out. There were a few lights on in his house and she wondered if he was practicing his music. That had certainly been a revelation. Colt Garner, a troubadour.
She went up to her studio and doodled, hoping something would come to her. Nothing did. Around eleven o’clock she took a soak in the tub and went to bed with her romance novel. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning she was awakened by a siren fading in the distance. Delaney padded to the studio, peeked outside, and noted that Colt’s car was gone.
The next day passed much like the previous one. As hard as Delaney tried, she couldn’t seem to sketch anything original. She decided to walk downtown and peer inside the shop windows for inspiration. In LA, a stroll down Rodeo Drive often triggered her imagination. She’d see something—even a sculpture in a gallery—go running home and ideas would pour out of her brain like a rainstorm. Granted, Glory Junction wasn’t quite on par with Rodeo Drive as far as eye candy, but who knew what might spark something.
She changed into a pair of Delaney Scott jeans and a sleeveless lace top she’d designed for her Every Day line, and it suddenly struck her she was now a walking advertisement for someone else’s company. Weird.
Although it was hot, she decided to walk rather than drive. The town had changed a lot since she and Robert had first discovered it eight years ago. Back then, neighborhoods consisted of a hodgepodge of modest Victorians and ski-chalet style homes. Now, those homes had either been super-sized or torn down and replaced by contemporary mountain houses with lots of steel and stone and glass to take advantage of the breathtaking views.
On their first trip here—a weekend getaway so Robert could go skiing—they’d instantly adored the area. Robert, who’d always been gifted at detecting a good investment, convinced her that they should buy right away, the hope being that they would fly up on weekends and use the house as a retreat from their bustling lives in LA.
Delaney preferred the original homes with their quirky front porches and manageable square footage. But for Robert, size mattered. So they’d torn down the existing bungalow on their property and built a modern version of a Frank Lloyd Wright prairie-style home. Very large and what Robert liked to call “architecturally significant.” Delaney hadn’t thought she’d like the house with its cold, metal staircase and stark design. She was born and raised in the Midwest, in a home that was cluttered with keepsakes and clothed in hand-made braided rugs and quilted blankets. To her that’s what a house should be.
But surprisingly, when the Glory Junction home was finished she fell in love with its clean lines and the way it let the outdoors in. Larger than one person needed, the house was open and airy, yet unexpectedly cozy.
And Robert had been right about Glory Junction being a sound investment. Shortly after they’d rebuilt, the market got red hot. They hadn’t used the house as much as they had planned. Work seemed to always get in the way. But she was here now, at least for the time being.
The walk to Main Street was short, just six blocks. Tourists in shorts and bathing suits thronged the streets, filling the restaurants and shops. She watched as a family posed for a picture in a gazebo on the river walk. The place that rented inner tubes, bicycles, and surreys had a line. But not as long as the one at Oh Fudge!
She started her stroll at the east end of the street and slowly made her way up, figuring she’d make her return on the west side where the river was. Even in summer the gondolas and chairlifts ran full time with cyclists brave enough to plow down the mountains at breakneck speed. Crazy, if you asked her. The most adventurous she got was wearing a swimsuit from last season. But Glory Junction was all about taking advantage of the roaring rapids, steep mountains, and black-diamond slopes. That’s why a company like Garner Adventure did so well here.
Rita Tucker came out of the Morning Glory diner with another woman and flagged Delaney down. “I was just thinking about you today and was wondering if you’d be interested in designing the costumes for the junior theater’s production of Grease. It’s a fund-raiser for the new stage we’re building.”
Delaney didn’t know Rita well, but according to Hannah, she had her hand in just about everything in Glory Junction. That included organizing the production of an annual calendar, featuring local hunks, to raise money for the volunteer fire department.
“Uh . . . sure.” Delaney was busy building a new company, but how could she say no to helping a children’s theater?
“Great.” Rita handed Delaney a flier. “That’s got all the information about the next meeting. We’ll see you there.” And with that she walked away.
Delaney could hear the other woman saying, “You just asked Delaney Scott to sew costumes for a rinky-dink children’s play. Do you know who she is? That’s like asking Emeril Lagasse if he’d cook at the school cafeteria.”
As their voices drifted off, Delaney laughed to herself, buoyed by being considered the Emeril of fashion. She stuffed the flier in her purse and continued up the street, gazing into the windows of the hardware store, the housewares shop, and the sporting goods place. A handsome man who looked a lot like Colt came out of Glorious Gifts. Delaney assumed he was Josh Garner, Hannah’s husband, whom she hadn’t yet met. The family resemblance was uncanny, though Josh walked with a pronounced limp. She’d heard Josh, a former army ranger, nearly lost his leg in a bombing in Afghanistan.
She popped in to find Hannah busy with a customer and explored the store, which carried everything from candles and clothing to pillows and furniture. Hannah hadn’t been kidding about her inventory. Delaney’s handbags were almost gone. It said a lot about the clientele in Glory Junction. The same purses sold in Neiman Marcus, Bloomingdale’s, and Barneys New York. She’d already sent an e-mail to her warehouse people to deliver another shipment.
“See?” Hannah said, watching Delaney scope out the near empty shelf as she rang up someone buying a cheese board made from an old wine barrel.
“Yeah. Wow. I figured the winter sales were an anomaly.”
“Nope. People go nuts for them. Your clothes too.”
Delaney waited for the customer to leave and said, “They’re no longer mine, they’re Robert’s.”
She didn’t talk much about the divorce or the bitter court battle. But she didn’t want to mislead Hannah, who got a lot of sales mileage out of telling patrons that Delaney lived locally. Soon Delaney Scott couture and ready-to-wear would be designed by someone else, who most assuredly wouldn’t be living in Glory Junction.
“Oh,” Hannah said, clearly at a loss as to how to react. “Was that in the plans?”
Delaney gave a mirthless laugh. “No. Given that California is a community-property state, I knew Robert would get half. I just didn’t think he’d get the clothing business. He also got the name, Delaney Scott.”
Hannah gasped. “How can that be? You’re Delaney Scott.”
Yes, one would think it would be equitable to let a person keep her own name. “Apparently, I’m a brilliant designer but unsavvy in the ways of business. On paper Robert ran the company, so he gets to keep the name.”
“Oh, Delaney, I’m so sorry. What are you going to do?”
“Start a new clothing line and get a new name.”
“That hardly seems fair. And it’s bizarre.”
Bizarre indeed. Delaney just shrugged. A year ago, Robert had thrown her such a curveball that nothing surprised her anymore. As far as the business, her lawyers had warned her that the judge would likely side with Robert. But losing the Delaney Scott brand ... Well, that she hadn’t seen coming.
“I’m sorry, Delaney. I can’t imagine how upsetting this must be for you.”
“Success is the best revenge,” she said with a tight smile. At least according to her attorney.
“Was he ... Robert ... awful?” Hannah asked.
No one knew the real reason for her and Robert’s breakup. Most assumed he’d been cheating on her. She let them believe it because it was less humiliating than the truth.
“We just had different values.” Delaney took a pair of hand-tooled cowboy boots off the shelf, hoping to change the subject. “These are beautiful.”
“Aren’t they? A woman I grew up with makes them. She has a studio in Nugget, a town about thirty minutes away. She’s designed boots for rock stars, professional baseball players, and rodeo cowboys. In fact, you guys would love each other. One of these days, I’ll take you over there to meet her. Or do a trunk show in the store.”
Delaney examined the boots with a discerning eye. They were gorgeous, the leather supple to the touch and the tooling an intricate design that must’ve taken hours to execute. The boots were giving her all kinds of ideas and that’s exactly why she’d walked downtown in the first place. “Would you mind if I took a picture of them?”
“Not at all. My guess is Tawny would be tickled pink to know Delaney Scott shot a photograph of her boots.”
Delaney retrieved her phone from her bag, snapped a few shots, and left Hannah’s store feeling a little more optimistic. That was until she ran into Colt outside Old Glory. He bobbed his chin at her in greeting, reminding her of the jocks she went to high school with and their overinflated egos. Just for kicks she mimicked the gesture and saw one corner of his mouth kick up. He took off his aviator sunglasses, hooked them in his shirt pocket, leaned against the exterior wall of the bar, and assessed the street as if he were Lord of Glory Junction.
“Looking for criminals?” she asked, slowing down in front of him.
He just made that arrogant you’re-bothering-me expression he nearly always wore. “Shopping?”
She could’ve sworn that he sneered. “Window shopping. I needed a little exercise and it’s too nice of a Saturday to waste it indoors.”
“It is that.” He gave her a quick, efficient once-over and she wondered what he saw. A confident, put-together woman of the world or the mess that she’d become?
“I guess you’re on duty.” She motioned at his uniform.
“Yep.”
And not much of a conversationalist, she thought.
His gaze snapped past her and she saw him squint at something on the river walk as he pushed off the wall. She turned to see what had captured his attention. A man and woman were fighting. Delaney couldn’t hear them over the din of the cars and the crowds, but from their body language she could tell they were engaged in a heated argument. The woman started to walk away and the man grabbed and shoved her against the beach wall. Then he backhanded her across the face.
Colt briskly moved around Delaney, stopped traffic, and crossed the road, jogging toward the couple. The man didn’t welcome his interference, though, and what she saw next made her shout out a warning.