Chapter Eight
The day was perfect. Sunny and warm with a soft breeze coming off the river. Delaney had never been to this particular spot on the water but it was gorgeous. Tall pines for as far as the eye could see. Cattails and grasses of various species, heights, and colors covered the riverbanks. And everything smelled so fresh and green.
Exhilarating is how she would describe riding in the raft with Colt. He navigated with wicked dexterity that seemed effortless and made her feel extremely safe. She knew he’d been rafting and leading tours since a teenager. Delaney had never been outdoorsy or athletic, or even the slightest bit adventurous, but the outing had been so much fun she’d be tempted to try other activities. Especially with Colt as her guide.
“You enjoy that?” Colt helped her out of the raft, got her onto dry land, then dragged the boat in.
“Amazing.” She couldn’t stop grinning.
He gave her a quick inspection. “I should’ve told you to bring a set of dry clothes.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine in the sun.” She’d read on the Internet not to wear cotton because it took too long to dry. The only thing she had that was even remotely appropriate was exercise clothes.
“Well, I need to change.” Colt grabbed a bag from the truck and headed for a tree. “I’ll be right back to load everything up. Don’t try to look.”
He said it so dryly that at first Delaney didn’t realize he was joking. Colt was sort of an enigma. It was difficult to tell when he was being playful or flippant. He returned a few minutes later in a T-shirt and a pair of worn, faded cargo shorts. They’d definitely seen better days, but on him . . . yum.
“So, you get any design inspiration from the trip?” Colt asked, and she forced her face up to meet his eyes, instead of his chest, its own kind of inspiration.
“Uh, I don’t know yet.” She didn’t think so. Still, it had been a wonderful respite from sitting in her studio, frustrated.
“I’m pretty optimistic something will come from it,” he said with a touch of arrogance. Men always thought they could fix everything. Yet, Delaney wasn’t annoyed. His heart was in the right place and it had been so sweet of him to take her out on his day off.
“I can’t believe it took me this long to try river rafting,” she told him. “Had I known how much fun it is, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”
“Next up, waterskiing.”
She tilted her head back to look up at him and see if he was teasing. “You want to go waterskiing today?”
“Nah. But we could go next Sunday.”
“Uh, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that.” Although the idea of spending another day with him appealed to her. “What else you got?”
He thought about it for a few seconds. “Maybe just a hike.”
She could do that. “Nothing too strenuous, right?”
“Nope. We could just do something scenic. Maybe bring your sketch pad.”
“You do realize I’m a fashion designer, not a pleinairist, right?”
He slung his wet clothes over the opened driver’s door, dragged the raft closer, and hefted it into the bed of his truck. She helped him gather up the paddles and load the rest of the equipment. Then they both sat on Colt’s tailgate in the sun, silently listening to the birds sing and the river flow. The sounds were peaceful, and she found their lack of conversation oddly companionable for two people who hardly knew each other. As time lapsed, Colt’s stomach growled.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Yeah, you?”
Delaney wished she’d thought to pack a picnic lunch. “A little bit.”
He eyed her still wet clothes. “Want to go home and change and then grab something?”
“Sounds good.” She wanted to take him somewhere nice as a thank-you. One thing she knew about Colt from the short time they’d lived next to each other was that he didn’t get many days off. It had been mighty generous of him to give up his Sunday to her.
They got in his truck and he took the winding road back to the highway. She managed to get in and out of her house in under thirty minutes—just enough time to change and put on a little makeup. He still had on the cargo shorts and tee when she found him sitting on his porch, talking on the phone. Something about a gig at Old Glory.
“You’re planning to play?” she asked when he hung up.
He nonchalantly lifted his shoulders. “Boden needed someone to fill in. You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” The compliment delighted her. Compared to him, she was overdressed in a white fit-and-flare dress from her summer Every Day collection. In LA, she could eat a hotdog at Pink’s in the dress and not stand out. In Glory Junction, it looked like she was trying too hard. But she’d wanted to be—and feel—attractive. For Colt. For herself.
He stood up and wiped the back of his shorts with his hands. “So, where do you want to go?”
“I want to take you somewhere nice ... a token of appreciation for taking me rafting. Any suggestions?”
He thought about it a little. “The Four Seasons has a good restaurant.”
“Perfect,” she said, and expected him to go inside to change.
Instead, he led the way to his truck and helped her in to the passenger seat. It made no difference to her. While the shorts had seen better days, Colt wore them better than most men did designer suits.
He drove them up the mountain, passing two of the smaller resorts. “I heard somewhere that you don’t ski. That true?”
“Yep.” She laughed at the look he gave her. She knew that most people moved here for the skiing.
“Hannah doesn’t ski either.”
Delaney hadn’t known that about her friend. “But Josh does, right?” With his injured leg she didn’t know if he could.
“All Garners do, have since we were old enough to walk. How come you don’t?”
“It wasn’t something my family did. Too expensive, I guess. And when I got older and could afford it . . .” She trailed off because she realized she didn’t know why she’d never learned. “I suppose I never had the time.”
“You should add it to your list of new things to try.” He pulled in to the ornate gated entrance of Winter Bowl and followed the signs to the hotel.
“I hope we can get in without a reservation.”
“It won’t be a problem.” He pulled up to the entryway of the mammoth lodge, which looked more like expensive apartments than a hotel, helped her out, and tossed his keys to one of the valets, saying something she couldn’t hear. It appeared as if they knew each other.
He put his hand at the small of her back and guided her inside the lobby to the restaurant. She’d eaten here a few times before with Robert, yet the views out the huge picture windows never ceased to amaze her. The sun shimmered off the blue green waters of Lake Paiute, thousands of towering pines stacked up the mountainside, and the lush peaks of the Sierra Nevada rolled out like a life-size mural. The snowless ski runs now played host to daredevil mountain bikers, who took the lifts up and traversed down the rugged trails.
“Good afternoon, Chief,” the maître d’ greeted them. “Will you be dining with us this afternoon?”
Colt nodded. “Could we have a window table?”
The maître d’ scanned the half-full restaurant, grabbed two menus, and showed them to their seats, a spot with one of the best views in the house. In the distance, Delaney could see a group of paddleboarders on the lake—another thing she’d never tried—and boats of various sizes. She thought about the town’s motto: “Welcome to Glory Junction, where life is always glorious.” Sitting across from a man who was as outrageously sublime as the great outdoors, she’d have to agree.
“This okay?” he asked.
“Are you kidding? It’s better than okay. You come here a lot?” He seemed to be more than familiar with the hotel and she doubted he got a lot of police calls here.
“My family does a fair amount of business with the resort. We refer them and they refer us. It works out well for everyone.”
It had never occurred to her before, but an adventure company offered luxury experiences the same way the Four Seasons did. The same way she did with her clothing.
“How about you? You come here a lot?”
“Not a lot, but I’ve been a few times before. We used to stay here when we were building the house.”
“They say a construction project can kill a marriage.” He let the sentence hang, but it was evident he was fishing for the reason she and Robert had broken up.
“It wasn’t what killed ours.”
“No?” He raised his brows in question.
She’d never told anyone about her ex’s unacceptable proposal and she wasn’t about to tell Colt Garner. “We grew apart.” A hundred percent true. Robert had accused her of losing interest in him and she hadn’t been able to refute his charges. They’d become more business partners than soul mates. “What about you? Were you ever married?”
“Nope. Never got there.”
“Do you date?”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Why? You interested?” He was teasing, of course, but it didn’t stop her face from heating.
“Just curious, since you seem to work constantly.”
“There’s that,” he said. “And it’s a little difficult given the nature of my job.”
“Why?” Was he afraid he’d date someone who turned out to be a criminal and then have to lock her up?
“Like with that Facebook photo, my private life is up for public scrutiny. It’s easier to see women outside town.”
Reading between the lines, it sounded like the police chief was only interested in hookups. “So you’re a serial dater,” she asked. The notion that he was a player disappointed her. Why did men have a problem with monogamy? Or was she being sensitive because of Robert?
Before he could answer, a server came to take their drink orders. Delaney got an iced tea and Colt a beer. He seemed to know a lot about local craft brews.
When the server left, he said, “I’m not a serial dater. How about you?”
“Me?” The question caught her off guard. “I’m not a dater at all.”
“Still not over Robert?”
That’s the thing. She was totally over Robert, but he’d left her wounded and unsure of herself. “It’s more that I’m overwhelmed trying to get a new collection off the ground.” Trying to start completely from scratch.
“You’ll do it,” he said with confidence.
That took her aback. “Why are you so sure?”
His eyes moved over her dress, the action so intimate it felt like a caress. “You make that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t pay a lot of attention to women’s clothing, to any clothing for that matter. But that dress ... well, let’s just say you could enslave the entire male population with it. Maybe that wasn’t your intention when you designed it, but you’re good. Incredibly talented.”
She’d had the top fashion critics in the world praise her designs, but none of their reviews thrilled her the way Colt’s just had. “Thank you.”
“It’s just the truth. Of course, you’re what makes the dress.” His eyes lit on her again and suddenly her tongue became tied like a pretzel. When had grouchy, demanding Colt gotten so deft at giving compliments?
Luckily, the waiter came with their drinks and took their orders, relieving her of having to respond. Because there were no words for how good he’d made her feel.
“What’s going on with the mayor?” she asked when it got too quiet at the table.
“Last I checked, he was still an asshole.” He quickly scanned the room. “I shouldn’t have said that. Totally unprofessional.”
“Hey, it’s just the two of us. And I already thought he was an asshole.”
“It must be nice not having a boss,” he said, amused. “As far as Pond and me, the city council put him in his place. I doubt he’ll give me any more problems.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “You’re a good chief.”
“Thanks.”
The server brought their meals, they ate, talked, and when it came time to pay the bill, Colt grabbed it.
“I wouldn’t have suggested going out if I’d known you were going to pay. Come on, Colt, let me get this. It’s the least I can do.”
Despite her protests, he handed his credit card to the waiter.
“Are you one of those guys who can’t let a woman pay for him?”
“Nope. Are you one of those women who can’t let a man pay for her?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to decide if he was just playing with her. “Fine,” she said. “But next time it’s my turn.” And she hoped there would be a next time because maybe she enjoyed outdoor activities after all. Or maybe she just enjoyed her neighbor.
Colt drove them home, and when he left her at her door she again was sad to lose his company. He’d been attentive and funny and unbelievably sweet.
She trudged upstairs, changed into a baggy pair of shorts and T-shirt, and entered her studio, hoping to summon some of those creative juices Colt said she would get from her day communing with nature. He had funny ideas about inspiration. But at this point she was willing to try anything.
She sat down to draw and checked her voice mail instead. Two furious messages from Robert. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten the memo that she was no longer talking to him. That’s what she paid her lawyer to do, since calling him herself had accomplished nothing other than to raise her blood pressure.
She erased both messages and began to doodle on her sketch pad to see where it would take her. The other day, she’d visualized a dress that she hadn’t been able to put to paper. She tried drawing it. The first attempt she balled up and threw in the trash.
Focus, you need to focus.
Her second attempt was only slightly better. That too went in the garbage. She got up, walked to the window, and stared out at Colt’s house. His police cruiser was still parked on the easement road and his truck sat at the top of his steep driveway. She wondered what he was doing, then forced herself to go back to her drafting table, where over the next ninety minutes she drew a house and two stick figures. A shrink would have a heyday with that one.
She thumbed through a few fashion magazines, read a profile on Olivia Lowell that made her want to puke, and grabbed a bottle of water from the minifridge. For the next twenty minutes, she traced the bottom of the bottle, drawing dozens of circles like a crazy person.
Enough! You’re not leaving this room until you have at least one good design, she told herself.
Pencil to paper, she began sketching. First a woman’s body, then she gave her a flirty little dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. She added patterns, nipped in the waist, and embellished the flounce at the bottom. She emphasized the lines in black ink and shaded the folds using marker in a bold apricot. She filled in the pattern with colored pencils, holding her breath.
Finally, everything was working.
By the time she finished, the dress was sexy, fun, and had that indefinable special quality that put it above the rest. Perhaps Colt’s nature theory had actually unlocked her inhibitions, because the design was awesome. She’d done it.
“Will you look at that,” she said proudly, holding the drawing to the light for a closer inspection. Phenomenal ... and a complete replica of what she’d worn to the restaurant with Colt. The only difference was the color and pattern.
Crap, crap, crap!
She laid her head on the drafting table and pounded her fists on the laminate surface. What the hell was wrong with her? She turned to the window, wanting to jump out. Unfortunately, the second story wasn’t high enough to do anything besides break her legs.
Not leaving this room. One original design.
Delaney got up and paced. Just one original design, she repeated over and over again.
She sat back down and absently drew her croquis. A man with broad shoulders, wide chest, muscled arms, flat belly, and narrow hips. Hmm, I wonder who that looks like? Clearly, her thoughts were on Colt, not design. But okay, she’d go with it. She’d designed plenty of men’s clothing in the past.
For the next couple of hours, she let her mind take her wherever it wanted. She didn’t question herself or even stop to think about what she was doing. She just sketched. Half the time she didn’t even look at the drawing. Her hand moved of its own volition, sweeping across the page in bold strokes. Shading here, outlining there, and letting her pencil mark the final touches. At long last, she looked down at the pad to see what she’d accomplished.
A fairly good likeness of Colt’s face, complete with Ray-Bans, stared back at her. That, and a pair of cargo shorts. Cargo shorts. Wouldn’t her instructors at Parsons be proud? It turned out that nature hadn’t been her muse today, but Colt had.
She studied the drawing for a while and all she could do was laugh. Cargo shorts, for the love of God. She’d been designing couture since her eighteenth birthday. At least she now could officially leave her studio, having met the goal of one original design. Even if it was a dopey pair of cargo shorts.
Just about to go downstairs for a snack, she changed direction and on a lark headed to the room’s walk-in closet and sifted through her fabric samples. A cotton-synthetic blend in a navy blue cried out to her. The material would dry quicker than pure cotton and still be rugged enough to stand up to a beating. She played with it between her fingers, tugging it this way and that, liking the way the fabric gave. There was just enough yardage, too.
She tilted her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Tossing the fabric onto her cutting table, Delaney went to the computer. Normally, she’d send the hand sketch, a technical sketch, and a measurement chart to one of her pattern makers. But for this project she was just screwing around.
A couple of hours later, using professional software, she had what she needed. She could only guess Colt’s measurements. But having been in the business as long as she had, Delaney had a good eye. And frankly, she’d spent enough time looking at Colt to get it close to perfect.
She cut and sewed well into the night, using low lighting so Colt wouldn’t complain about the glare. It had been so long since she’d actually sat at a sewing machine that she feared she’d forgotten how to thread one. But like riding a bike, her memory took over and she got lost in the work.
By bedtime she had a pair of shorts that were light enough for wicking water, tough enough for weathering a rough rock climb, and as handsome as the man who would be wearing them. She hoped.