Jumped Page 5

  Evening came. After the trail ride, Beth groomed Brooke lavishly, rinsed her, then washed her mane and tail and put conditioner on her hooves. She then indulged in what she considered to be her girliest habit, a pedicure. She did them herself to save money, and she had come to appreciate how they made her stop and sit for an hour. She chose a color that would make her feel confident, a sparkly concord-grape purple. She showered in the bathroom of her room in what she jokingly called Stately Wayne Manor, Grady’s log home, where all six guest rooms had their own full bathrooms. It was better than any hotel in town, and in Aspen, that was saying something. She applied more makeup than usual—another nod to girliness—but she needed the boost. She pulled on her favorite black cocktail dress, which she’d bought after the divorce, so it had no memories of Finn clinging to it like stale cigarette smoke. Checking her reflection in the mirror, she smiled. She looked damn good.

  “Get over here, darling,” Harris said when he saw her. He was in the large, chef’s wet-dream kitchen, arranging fresh blossoms on a tray of foie gras. He studied her, squinting. “Turn, please,” he said, miming a circle with one hand. She obliged. “Very nice. I have nothing to add.”

  “Wow,” Beth said. “I must look great.”

  “You do.” He smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Finn’s a goner.”

  “I didn’t—”

  He cut her off. “Yes, you did, at least a little. You thought about what he’d think. And he will rue the day he divorced you. The cad is going to be miserable tonight, as all sorts of fantasies run through his head and he can’t do a thing about any of them.”

  “I don’t care what he thinks.”

  “Whatever you say, princess.” His face, always quick to smirk, was sober. He met Beth’s eyes with his astounding light-blue ones. “You’re going to be fine. You’re better off without him.”

  “Well, duh. I know that.”

  “Have fun tonight . . .”

  “I will. I appreciate the pep talks, but you don’t need to.”

  Harris, undaunted, added, “I know you’re fine. But sometimes a girl needs a little support, and I’m not talking push-up.”

  Beth smiled and then laughed. “Harris, you’re Victoria’s Secret for my emotions.”

  “Just one of my many talents—but I prefer Agent Provocateur,” he said, and resumed arranging the flowers.

  Finn fingered a tie he had draped over one of the hotel hangers, and then let it go. Too formal. He’d go tieless. A good white shirt, jeans, and a black jacket. Good enough. He palmed some product and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Best to look cosmopolitan with this crowd. He’d try to look like he belonged, play the game, and spend time with Bethany.

  He drove his Audi from the Hotel Jerome. As he approached Aspen Creek, a dull ache took root just behind his eyes. The driveway was a long affair, a snaking thing that led steadily uphill to the house. When he saw the house, his headache cleared. Beautiful structures could do that.

  It was one of the best log homes Finn had ever seen, and since moving to the area, he had seen a few. He had never designed or built one—yet—and they intrigued him. He knew it would be large, but he didn’t expect it to be so elegant. The exposed logs were the color of honey tinged with amber and somehow made the house look simultaneously cozy, rustic, and sophisticated. The roofline held a series of gables that echoed the Rockies. The windows were large, and he could imagine how inviting the house must look at night when golden light spilled out of them. With snow to reflect the light and add contrast, it would be spectacular. The proportions were impressively balanced. Whoever designed it knew their stuff. He itched to see the inside.

  Guests were to take the path to the back patio, where the cocktail party was hitting its stride. Lanterns lit the route, and although Finn wanted to go through the house, he figured he could get a tour later. He mounted the patio stairs and scanned the gathering, telling himself he was on the lookout for Kristen although he was really searching for Bethany. The large patio held comfortable furniture arranged in conversation clusters. There was a pool long enough to swim laps and an outdoor kitchen made of the same red native Colorado stone as the flagstones.

  Finn found Bethany and stopped just to stare for a moment. She stood in profile, talking and holding a drink. She wore this sexy little black dress that showed off her legs, which deserved to be seen and seen often. She looked great. She turned her head away from him and her hair blanketed her back. It was nothing short of alluring.

  He tugged the lapels of his jacket and walked over to greet Amanda. As he hugged his hostess, he noticed Kristen out of the corner of his eye. She was talking to a man and laughing almost constantly. Maybe she’d found a new target and he’d be off the hook. He got a club soda and lime. A server clad in black stopped so Finn could pluck an hors d’oeuvre—something wrapped in bacon—from a silver tray. He meandered over to Melissa and said hello, hugging her and chatting. Someone clapped him on the shoulder. It was Nick, the groom.

  “Look who’s here! Phil Mickelson!” All those who had been golfing earlier turned toward Nick and Finn. Several golfers ambled over. Nick put a beefy arm around Finn. “This guy tore up the course today. He was on fire. What’d you have, five birdies? You must’ve shot a seventy in the end.”

  Finn shrugged. “I got lucky.”

  “Lucky? You annihilated the ball.”

  “It flies farther up here,” Finn said.

  “Yeah. But in the wrong direction, at least for me.” It was Grady, who had joined the group. “You were a machine.”

  “I had a good day. Doesn’t happen often.” Finn looked over Nick’s rock of a shoulder to find Bethany. She was looking in his general direction, but not at him. He wanted her to look at him. Ridiculously, he wanted her to hear how well he’d done on the course. The duffers went on a while longer; they liked talking about golf almost as much as playing. Finn didn’t love golf—it was fine—but he’d played today to be polite. He itched to say hello to Bethany. As soon as he could get away from the golf chatter, he slipped out of the companionable fray.

  It took no effort to turn up next to her. He could smell that shampoo again. “Hey,” he said.

  She turned to him and smiled. “Hi! How are you?”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat. “How are you? You look nice.” It was the understatement of the century, but it was the best he could do. His brain was busy processing the shampoo scent.

  “Thanks.”

  “Your feet better today?” He looked at her purple toes. “Ouch. They’re bruised!”

  “Very funny.”

  Finn was as comfortable at a party as a hermit. He could converse and be charming, but he disliked the fake smiles and pointless babble. He much preferred to talk with one person and get to know them. And at this party, he wanted to further reacquaint himself with his former wife.

  “Say,” he said after they had talked some more about her toes. “Would you mind giving me a tour? I’d like to see the interior layout.” It was a perfect excuse to spend time with her, away from the masses. And Kristen.

  Bethany lifted her chin an inch. She was deciding whether or not to give him a tour.

  “Look, if it’s a problem, never mind,” he said, and took a step away from her.

  “It’s not a problem.” Those gray eyes lit up a little. “Not a problem at all.”

  “I’d appreciate it.” He was trying to make this interaction as smooth as newly sanded wood.

  Bethany turned on her heel and started walking away from him. “This way.” He couldn’t help but notice the half moons of her strong calves flexing as she walked in front of him.

  She threw open a slider that led into the house. “There’s the kitchen,” she said breezily, pointing to her left. She didn’t pause, but kept pounding through on the broad pine board floors. Finn wondered if she was putting new holes in the floor, she
was hammering so hard with the pointy heels of her shoes. He had to push himself to keep up.

  “Dining room,” she pointed out a room off the kitchen with a large, rough-hewn table and large windows. “This is the living room,” she continued, raising both arms without slowing down a bit.

  “You got a bus to catch?” Finn asked, lengthening his stride to keep up. She was a good foot shorter than he was, but she was walking as fast as a trotting horse.

  “There’s Amanda and Grady’s room, up where the piano is.” She pointed up a flight of stairs to a grand piano and double doors with a scene from an aspen forest carved into them. She kept up her punishing pace.

  This was getting absurd. “Bethany!” he said. She didn’t stop. This was no way to examine a building. “Bethany!” he said, louder.

  He jogged to close the distance between them. When he was next to her, he said, “Bethany, slow down.”

  They were in a hallway off the foyer that ran parallel to the front of the house. As she turned, his momentum carried him right into her. He wanted to flirt because of the unexpected physical contact, but he did the gentlemanly thing and grabbed her arms to steady her. To his surprise and delight, she was grinning madly. She was power walking on purpose. Her competitive streak was as strong as ever.

  “What gives? By the way, I think we ditched whoever was following us somewhere back by the piano.”

  Bethany exhaled a laugh. “Whatsa matter? Can’t keep up? And, uh, you can let go now.”

  Finn let go of her arms. Which were firm and soft at once. “Sorry.”

  “S’okay.” She looked around and shrugged. “Here’s the hallway.”

  “This house is amazing,” Finn said. “Even when viewed at Mach one. You trying to get a run in?”

  She dipped her head, which he found endearing. “Just funnin’ ya.”

  He did his one-corner smile. “Yeah, okay, but can we slow it down to a jog? I’m not aging as well as you. And it’s hard to take in the architectural details when they blur by.”

  “Now that we’re alone . . .” Bethany began.

  “Yeees?” Finn’s brain switched gears from architecture appreciation to Bethany appreciation.

  Bethany chewed the inside of her lip, one of her “tells.” She was uncomfortable about something, and Finn hoped it wasn’t him. Or if it was him, that it was because she wanted to jump him right there in the hallway.

  She inhaled. “How did you and Melissa become such good friends that you got invited to the wedding? No offense, but it’s weird that you’re here. I was wondering about it today.”

  He licked his lips. Bethany still cut to the chase faster than anyone he knew. “I told you. I built their house. You get to know owners pretty well, and she and I had been acquaintances first.”

  “Is this code for you dated her?”

  He laughed. Melissa was great, but he’d never been interested in her. In truth, he hadn’t been interested—not really—in anyone since the divorce. “No. No code. We never dated. You can ask her.”

  “So you were on the crew that built her house and you became buddies? Because you hung out after work?”

  “That’s what you think?” He laughed. “I designed her house, then oversaw the construction.”

  Bethany’s eyes, which were the color of an overcast sky above the ocean, widened considerably. Her mouth opened, too. He had shocked her with his success. Why so surprised? A frisson of anger bloomed in his center and adrenaline surged into his arms. In a second he’d gone from wanting her to wanting to bean her.

  “Then you’re . . .”

  “An architect. Imagine that. Despite everything, including your father.”

  She stared at the runner in the hallway. She rubbed the back of her neck, another sure sign she was uncomfortable. She looked at him and spoke quietly. “Congratulations. That’s great for you.”

  He waited for an acerbic addition to bring up the rear, but none came. He met her gaze. “Thanks.” Then he nodded—the flash flood of anger had evaporated—and looked at the framed watercolor of an alpine landscape on the wall next to him.

  “Do you work for a firm? I don’t even know where you live,” she said.

  “I have my own firm. You know how I am with authority.” He smiled at her, trying to ease the tension that charged the air between them like electricity in a thundercloud.

  “Right.” The corners of her mouth twitched up. She had forgiven him, at least temporarily.

  “I’m here, actually. But I travel some for work.”

  “Aspen?”

  “Just outside. I’m renting a house.”

  “But you stayed at the hotel for the wedding.”

  “It was more convenient to stay in town. I’m almost an hour away, up a mountain.”

  “And you travel? Like, to Branson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You like it?”

  “Branson? Nah. It’s like Vegas for kids.”

  She smiled. “I meant the work.”

  He nodded. “I do. I really do. It’s very satisfying.”

  “That’s great, Finn.” She smiled, but it never lived up to its potential. It was fueled by sadness, and he wasn’t sure why. Although it bothered him that she had asked if he’d dated Melissa—or was it the tone of voice she’d used that bothered him?—he decided to let this particular sleeping dog snore away with its paws twitching, because he liked the course the conversation had taken.

  “I moved here recently, from Ohio. Like, two weeks ago. I really like doing houses, and if I could make a name for myself out here with clients who have the resources to build their dream homes, no holds barred . . . I could do pretty well doing what I love. So I got licensed in Colorado.” Did you hear that, Bethany? I could do pretty well.

  Bethany was looking at him, but he couldn’t read her face. She sighed. “Yeah. That would be great for you.” She sounded like a lobotomy patient. She raised her arm, back in tour-guide mode. “Anyhow, um, so these are bedrooms, along this hall. Grady’s trophy room is just down there—you should see it—it’s round, and some of Amanda’s trophies and ribbons are there now. It’s where Amanda broke Grady’s Emmy, and he’ll never get it fixed because it happened like, a minute after they first met. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “It’s round?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Cool, huh?”

  “May I see it?”

  “Sure.”

  She led him down the hall. The glass shelves were lit so that they glowed. A skylight kept the room from feeling like a silo.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “So much metal in here? I know. Makes you sick.”

  She gestured toward the living room, from whence they had come. “I’m going back out.” She graced him with another sad smile and said, “Don’t steal any vases.” And left. He watched her retreating form in that killer black dress and wondered—as he had a zillion times before—how they had come apart so quickly and so completely.

  4

  Finn was an architect. Finn was an architect. Finn was an architect with his own architecture firm.

  Beth almost body slammed Harris as she barreled onto the patio thinking about Finn.

  He held his full flute above his head and reflexively put his tanned, manicured hand on her shoulder. “Whoa, girl—don’t spill the bubbly!”

  “Sorry. But he’s an architect!”

  “Finn?”

  She nodded. Harris took her hand and led her to the bar. “Don’t mind me,” he said to the bartender as he grabbed an open bottle of Perrier-Jouët and a champagne flute. He led Beth to a couch on the edge of the patio, sat her down, set his own flute on a small table, filled hers, and handed it to her. He sat next to her. “Sip.”

  She did. It was cold and citrusy and made her think of Dom Perignon’s supposed quote, “I am drinking the star
s.” Then she filled Harris in on Finn’s professional accomplishments. “And from the looks of his tux last night, he’s doing quite well in the architecture game, but he wants to do better. He just moved here.”

  Harris said, “Not to add insult to injury, but that shirt and jacket he’s wearing tonight are yummy.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to have become an architect! He was supposed to have stayed on the construction crew and then gone out drinking every night after work with the rest of the losers and never had a rewarding romantic relationship and been miserable for the rest of his life. And gotten fat. And had a comb-over and boils! He wasn’t supposed to be so . . . successful. Or so apparently happy.” She sipped again.

  “I’m sorry, my little gloomy Gladys. But why do you care so much? You have nothing to do with him, the same way Coco Chanel had nothing to do with overaccessorizing. Why does it matter?”

  “Because. Because I . . . I guess I hoped he . . .” She crinkled her nose because it was tingling and she was not about to cry.

  “You would have preferred he be a tad more devastated and preferably emotionally paralyzed because you’re no longer wed? Because if he couldn’t go on without you, it would have been proof of how much he loved you?”

  There was Harris’s insight again, sharp as a farrier’s hoof knife. She nodded. “He became what he’s always wanted to be, with his own business. He got over me and our divorce like it never happened. He’s fine with everything. He doesn’t mind one bit that we’re not together anymore. Worse, he’s been thriving since I’ve been out of his life. It’s like I was this big cement block he was chained to.

  “And what have I done since we split? Here’s what I’ve done. I quit the one thing I’m good at. I stopped teaching kids and taking them to horse shows. I’m still showing, but I’m not Amanda—I enjoy it, but I don’t have her drive, or her talent, for that matter. I could give a rat’s ass about the Olympics, and it’s all she’s ever wanted. I still have some students, but only to pay the bills. It’s okay, but I don’t love it. I used to love it; it used to define who I was. But I don’t anymore. I tried working for my father—that was a disaster. When I got interested in clothing design, I got a job at Banana Republic. I lasted about a week because I told the customers the truth about how they looked in the clothes.”