Page 8 of Need You
“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 ofGrease. 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.”
