Never Tell. Karen Young
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for an eraser. She carefully removed the neckline she’d sketched in a minute ago. Third try and it was still wrong, totally wrong, she thought with disgust. She sat for a minute, then took up her pencil again and drew a few more lines to see if a mandarin collar would work. She knew before she’d made half-a-dozen lines that it was wrong, too. With a muttered curse, she flung the pencil in a nearby tray, ripped the sheet from her sketch pad and crumpled it in both hands. It hit Jason in the chest, dead center, when he appeared at the door.
“What is the matter with you?” he demanded, wading through a sea of balled-up paper on the floor. “You’ve been in here scribbling and muttering to yourself all morning. Take a break. Make yourself a cup of tea. Chill out.”
“Tea won’t help,” she growled, and shoved back off her stool. Looking around, she found the photographs of the client whose jacket she was designing. “Look at her,” she said, thrusting the prints at him. “I’ve tried boxy, I’ve tried slightly nipped at the waist, I’ve tried classic blazer, but nothing seems right. She’s expecting something nice, something flattering, and everything I’ve dreamed up looks like something she could have found on Harwin Street.”
“Natalie Rodrigue,” Jason said, studying a photo. “It’s not the jacket, sugar, it’s the client. Coco Chanel couldn’t design a jacket to make the woman look good.” He sat on her stool and crossed his legs. “It doesn’t matter what you come up with, she’s gonna be so proud to wear an original Erica Stewart that she’ll think it’s gorgeous. She’ll think she’s gorgeous.”
Erica studied another photo. “Maybe no collar at all…” Then, with a curse, she flung it away. “I hate the fabric she chose, anyway. I wanted her to pick the flat black silk, but she wants brocade. It’ll make her look as big as…as—”
“As she is?”
She gave a short laugh. “I guess that’s the problem.” She bent down and began gathering up wads of paper. “One of these days, I’m going to be brutally honest with a client and just say flat out, ‘Spend your money on a piece of jewelry instead of a jacket that will do nothing to flatter you. At least you can pass diamonds on to your grandchildren.’”
“Okay, sugar, spit it out. What is wrong with you? And don’t bother telling me it’s nothing. I haven’t seen you so agitated since we were negotiating for this building and the landlord forced a five-year lease on us.”
“Because there was no guarantee we’d be in business that long and we’d both mortgaged most of our assets.”
“Considerable for you, but peanuts for me.”
“Which you had to borrow from your mother, God bless her.”
“Off the subject, Erica. What’s bugging you today? And don’t give me that garbage about the creative process being stressful. You usually turn out jackets and quilts at the same pace as a rabbit giving birth. For which I’m thankful, as it’s the source of our bread and butter, but you don’t usually have a face like a thundercloud and you don’t usually have any difficulty making a client look elegant.”
She chose to interpret that as an insult. “Well, if my work is the next thing to assembly-line trash,” she muttered, “maybe I should look for another line of work.”
He actually turned pale. “My God, don’t even joke like that, Erica. And you know that’s not what I meant.” Leaving the stool, he caught her by the arm and led her to a small couch set against the wall. After urging her down, he took a seat facing her. “Now, tell Daddy Jason all about it. When I left the shop last night, you were in a huddle with Michael Carlton.” He stopped abruptly. “Oh, Jesus. Have you lost all your money? Is that it? Has that goof-ball blown your nest egg and you’re penniless?”
“No, but that reminds me, Jason. Did you realize you failed to lock up when you left the shop last night?”
He frowned. “Did I? Let me think…Oh, now I remember. When I was closing out the register, I had another one of those crazy calls from the idiot who lives in the apartment next door to mine complaining again about my dog barking. I guess I forgot. Shit!” He smacked himself on the forehead. “I’m the idiot, aren’t I? Why, did something happen? Is that what’s wrong?”
“Michael hasn’t mismanaged anything, and fortunately nothing happened when you left the door unlocked…unless—”
“Unless what?” As his eyebrows went up, the telephone rang. “Wait, hold that thought.” Rising, he moved across the room and, with his back to her, answered the phone, then stood listening. After a minute, he turned with a gleam in his eye, raised his hand and pointed his index finger at Erica as if it were a gun barrel. “Yeah, good to hear from you, Hunter. Sure, she’s right here.”
Erica sprang off the couch as soon as she realized it was Hunter on the phone. Shaking her head and flapping her hands wildly, she mouthed, “I’m not here.” She’d spent a long and sleepless night and Hunter was the reason. Nine years and she had avoided any attempt by a man to get close enough for intimacy. But she’d been almost seduced by their conversation in the bar, then rocked to her core by that kiss. She’d been so rattled that when she got in her car, she started making plans to call him first thing and cancel their date. So, why hadn’t she?
To block her escape, Jason casually stepped in front of her, still chatting with Hunter. “So she tells me. And your timing’s perfect. You interrupted the lecture she was giving me for failing to lock up last night. But I swear, I thought I locked the damn door.”
He paused to listen, ignoring the motion Erica made to slice his throat. “Horseback riding, you say? No, she didn’t mention it. But it sounds like fun to me.” With his shoulder propped on the door frame, he crossed his ankles. “Nothing like country air and a horseback ride to clear away the smog and renew the spirit, I always say.”
The only time Jason had ever been on a horse was when he’d modeled Western gear at the Houston Rodeo. Rolling her eyes, Erica reached over and took the phone from him. “Hello.”
“Hi, it’s Hunter.”
Even braced for it, her tummy took a tumble at the sound of his voice. “Hi.” She glanced over and met Jason’s wickedly dancing eyes and instantly turned her back on him. “How are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
“I’m fine. Busy.”
“Yeah, I guessed that. Okay, I’ll be quick. I realized after I left last night that I don’t know where you live. We can be at the ranch by eight if we leave early enough on Sunday morning, but I need your address. Are you an early riser or one of those types that sleeps in on the weekend?”
“You didn’t forget it’s next weekend, not this Sunday?”
“Not unless I can talk you into changing your mind.”
“Maybe I will at that,” she said, bending over to pick up a wad of paper on the floor. “Actually, Hunter, I’ve been thinking—”
“Don’t.” He paused, then went on before she could speak. “Don’t think of reasons not to come…just this once. If it turns out that you don’t like Lady—”
“It’s not that I won’t like your horses, Hunter. I just have so much on my plate at the moment that I don’t think it’s a good time to do…this.”
“You work hard. Give yourself a break. I guarantee when you get back home, you’ll thank me.” Then he seemed to run out of words, finishing with simply “I wish you’d come, Erica.”
Was that uncertainty in his voice? A plea? She’d pegged him from the start as a supremely confident male. He’d definitely seemed in command last night. But whatever it was she heard in his voice now, it weakened her resolve more than flashy charm or blatant flirtation ever could.
“Well…okay. But I’ll need to get back at a reasonable hour.” She gave him her address.
“In