Need You Page 6

  “It’s not that it isn’t fun, it’s just different,” Karen said. “Sometimes it feels a little too corporate. When you were here it never did.”

  “That’s just because the design side was upended when I left. Robert’s always been about the business part of the company, counting beans. It’ll be better when Olivia is there, more balance.” Delaney loved the employees—many who had been there from the beginning—and she would hate to see them unhappy.

  “Hopefully . . .” Karen said, though something in her voice sounded doubtful. “So what are you working on? Or is it a big secret?”

  If Karen only knew. “I’m still playing with some ideas ... not exactly a secret, but nothing I’m ready to talk about yet.”

  “We’re all waiting, knowing it’ll blow us away.”

  It would certainly do that. Nothing like a blank sketch pad to set the fashion world on fire.

  “Thanks,” Delaney said. “I appreciate your vote of confidence. Don’t be a stranger.” She wished she could lure Karen away to run her company, but at the rate she was going, Delaney wouldn’t have one.

  As soon as she got off the phone with Karen, Delaney called her real estate agent in Los Angeles. She wanted to sell the Beverly Hills house. While the huge Mediterranean-style mansion was beautiful, Delaney didn’t need that much square footage. She needed the money more, at least until she got investors, which would be extraordinarily difficult without a line of clothing to show them.

  By the end of the day, she’d listed her house but still hadn’t come up with any new designs worth keeping. She quit trying and got ready for book club at Hannah’s house, slipping into a pair of white linen pants and a Delaney Scott navy tee. When the simple cotton shirts first hit the market people went nuts. They were the most slimming tees out there and came in every color of the rainbow. Tying a silk scarf around her neck, she decided to add some chunky jewelry and finished the outfit with a pair of strappy sandals from her summer collection.

  She hoped she wasn’t overdressed for the gathering. Shorts, tank tops, and yoga pants were typically the clothing of choice for summers in Glory Junction. In winter, jeans, fleeces, and snow boots. Not exactly Paris or Milan, yet perfectly suited for the recreational, outdoorsy feel of the town.

  She applied mascara and lip gloss, grabbed her keys, purse, a bottle of rosé, and headed out. She noticed that Colt wasn’t home yet, unless he’d parked his patrol car in the garage, which she doubted, given his hypervigilance to speedy response times. At least they’d sort of dealt with the parking situation, though Delaney had every intention of using the space when she wanted to. She wouldn’t fool herself into thinking that having a beer with the guy had made them friends, but at least it had been a step toward civility.

  Hannah’s home, a charming Victorian that reminded Delaney of a dollhouse, turned out to be closer than she thought. Unlike her street, which had seen a lot of teardowns and rebuilds, Hannah’s block harkened back to the town’s Gold Rush roots with rows of colorful cottages, complete with gingerbread, front porches, and dormer windows.

  Delaney parked, stuffed the wine in her purse, and took the brick walkway and stairs up to Hannah’s front porch. Before she could knock, a brunette opened the door.

  “Hi, I’m Deb. You must be Delaney.”

  Deb ushered her in, took the wine, and pointed Delaney to the living room where a group of five women sat around a coffee table, eating and drinking. Hannah got up to make the introductions and a chorus of voices welcomed Delaney. She found a place on the floor and sat cross legged next to someone named Carrie Jo, who was telling the group about how she was on the third day of a juice cleanse and hadn’t lost a pound.

  “I thought Colt talked you out of the cleanse and you two were running together,” Hannah said, and Delaney’s ears perked up, wondering if Carrie Jo was Colt’s girlfriend.

  “I read somewhere that only twenty percent of losing weight is due to exercise. The rest is diet,” Carrie Jo said, and sipped her wine, which Delaney doubted was part of the cleanse.

  “Carrie Jo’s right,” said another woman. Delaney thought her name was Amanda. “After Leo was born I didn’t lose the weight until I joined Weight Watchers, even working out two hours a day.”

  Deb came in, carrying two glasses of wine, and handed one to Delaney.

  “You can’t live on juice alone, Carrie Jo.” Hannah refilled her glass from an icy pitcher filled with what looked like lemonade or Tom Collins mix.

  “Well, it’s either that or get my stomach stapled.”

  “Oh God, do they even do that anymore?” Deb asked as she gracefully got down on the floor without spilling a drop of her wine. Impressive.

  “Could we talk about something other than weight loss?” Rita, one of the few people at the gathering Delaney recognized, stuffed a quarter of a sandwich in her mouth.

  “Why?” Deb asked. “Then we’ll have to talk about the book, which I still haven’t read.”

  A man holding a gorgeous floral arrangement came into the room and in unison everyone shouted, “Foster!”

  “Sorry I’m late. My last client discovered she was allergic to Asiatic lilies”—he held up the vase—“and had me do a completely new arrangement. So you get this one, Hannah.”

  “Yay!” She got up and took the vase from him and set it on an antique end table, taking a moment to admire the yellow and orange flowers.

  Foster plopped down next to Deb, tugged her wineglass out of her hand, and drained it.

  “Uh, you’re welcome.” She stood up, disappeared inside the kitchen, and returned a few minutes later with a bottle of chardonnay, Delaney’s rosé, and an extra glass for Foster. “Carrie Jo was just telling us about her cleanse.”

  “The Master Cleanse Lemonade Diet?” Foster asked. “I did that one and lost twenty pounds in ten days.”

  Carrie Jo’s eyes grew big. “You did not!”

  “I did. You want the diet?”

  “Hell yes, I want it. E-mail it to me.”

  Rita growled something in annoyance and Hannah deftly changed the subject to the junior theater’s production of Grease. Delaney reasoned that Rita had never had to diet in her life. She was thin as a rail.

  “Rita said you’re doing the costumes, Delaney.”

  Everyone turned to look at her. Like most artists, she preferred sitting on the sidelines, not being the center of attention.

  She cleared her throat. “I am.”

  “Seriously?” Foster said, and made a face. “I wouldn’t go to too much trouble if I were you.”

  Deb buried her face in Foster’s shoulder and smothered a laugh.

  “I’ll have you know it’s going to be an excellent production,” Rita huffed. “Probably our best yet.”

  “That’s not saying much,” Foster mumbled under his breath.

  “What did you say, Foster?”

  “I asked if you brought in Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

  Rita narrowed her eyes. “I don’t even know who that is.”

  “Uh . . . Hamilton? Won a Pulitzer Prize, not to mention a bazillion Tony Awards.”

  Rita waved her hand at Foster in dismissal. Both he and Hannah dissolved in hysterics, until even Rita laughed. Delaney was quickly getting the impression that Rita didn’t know a thing about theater and had probably volunteered because no one else did.

  “The kids try their best,” Hannah said, and turned to Delaney. “It’s so nice of you to do the costumes.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” Why not? It would be her small contribution.

  Foster leaned into her and whispered, “Liar.”

  They’d never met before tonight, but she liked him already.

  “Foster, are you posing for my calendar this year?” Rita wanted to know. “I got all four Garner brothers signed on.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

  “You should have Delaney help you,” Hannah suggested. “I bet she’s done all kinds of model photo shoots.”

  “I’d
be happy to help.” She had seen last year’s calendar and it was a hoot. A lot of beefcake in this small town, but Glory Junction attracted world-class athletes, so she wasn’t surprised. “It’s to raise money for the volunteer fire department, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rita said. “I shoot it myself.”

  The calendar definitely had an amateurish, goofy feel to it, but that was part of the charm.

  “Are you planning to live here full time, Delaney?” Carrie Jo asked, and again all eyes turned to her.

  “For a few months.” As soon as she figured out what she was doing, she’d return to LA, buy a condo in Santa Monica or Venice, and find new office space. Her shoe and accessory designers were temporarily in the warehouse she’d won in the divorce in downtown LA’s garment district. Since it was no longer filled with clothes, there was plenty of studio space.

  “Are you and Colt still fighting over parking?” Deb asked.

  It appeared that everyone in Glory Junction knew about her and Colt’s disagreement, which was embarrassing, to say the least.

  “We’ve worked it out,” she said.

  “Don’t let him jerk you around,” Carrie Jo said. “The man can be stubborn and pushy.”

  Delaney couldn’t help herself, and asked, “Are you two a couple?”

  “Colt and me?” Carrie Jo hooted. “Eww, no. That would be like incest.”

  Delaney felt herself breathe. She didn’t know why she was relieved, but she was.

  After book club she drove the short distance home, turned up the drive and, of course, Colt’s stupid cruiser sat in her space. She could’ve sworn that the police car mocked her—neener, neener, neener—as she gingerly took the sharp grade up to the garage.

  Chapter Five

  “Pond is in your office and he doesn’t look happy,” Carrie Jo told Colt as he came through the door Tuesday morning.

  It wasn’t even nine yet. On Monday, the mayor had been in Sacramento for a meeting and Colt missed him as much as a bad case of food poisoning.

  “What does he want?”

  “Beats me.”

  Whatever it was it couldn’t be good, otherwise he would’ve just used the phone. Colt went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, Carrie Jo trailing after him.

  “Go in there and get it over with,” she said.

  Colt pinned her with a look. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready.” He leaned against the counter, sipping his morning caffeine.

  Carrie Jo shook her head. “Do you want to fight or do you want to win? Because taking your sweet-ass time is bound to piss him off.”

  “Do I look like I care?”

  “You’re an obstinate man.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. All Garners were. You didn’t make it up the mountain, ski the roughest courses, ride the biggest rapids, or jump off the tallest cliffs without being obstinate. Although he’d prefer to call it determination.

  “What’s your point?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “My point is, this”—she pointed at his languid position—“is childish. Go in there and meet him head on.” She punctuated her pep talk with a jab to his shoulder and walked out of the kitchen.

  He finished the rest of his coffee and ambled into his office like he didn’t have a care in the world. Childish or not, Colt didn’t want the mayor to think he could push him around. There had to be some autonomy as police chief, otherwise there’d be no checks and balances.

  “It’s about time,” Carter Pond said, pointedly gazing at his watch.

  “I didn’t realize we had an appointment.”

  “I’m the mayor, I don’t need one.”

  Colt moved around his desk and sank into his chair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Mayor?”

  “Because of your little stunt on the river walk Saturday, we’re getting sued.”

  “What stunt would that be?”

  “The spectacle you made with the couple from Southern California.”

  “You mean the guy who socked me in the stomach after smacking his wife around?” Colt hadn’t known where they were from.

  “They claim that wasn’t the case ... that you rushed in like a cowboy, caused a scene, and used unnecessary force.”

  “And you’re willing to take their word over mine?” Not that he was surprised, but it still stung to be second-guessed by Pond, again.

  “What I’m not willing to do is cost this city money because you can’t restrain yourself.”

  The SOB looked so self-satisfied that Colt wanted to throw a fist in his face. See? I can restrain myself, he almost said. Otherwise you’d be flat on your ass right now.

  “I want you to talk to Benjamin and work this out,” the mayor continued. “I don’t care if you have to apologize to the couple or offer them something complimentary from your family’s company. Just make this go away.”

  Pond rose from his seat and stormed out of the office.

  Colt shook his head, then picked up the phone and called the city attorney. “Hey, Ben.”

  “I tried to talk him off the ledge,” Ben said, clearly anticipating the call. For the last fifteen years Benjamin Schuster had represented Glory Junction in everything from public sidewalk slip and falls to accusations of sexual harassment. Before that, he was the city attorney for Berkeley but decided that he wanted to raise his family in a small town, away from crime and smog. “He’s adamant about making nice with these people.”

  “Do you know what kind of precedent that sets? The man sucker punched me after knocking his wife around. How do I explain to my officers that we now have to let tourists beat us up so we don’t get sued?”

  Benjamin let out an audible sigh. “Let me work on it, see what I can do.”

  “What the hell is wrong with him, Ben? I’ve dealt with some prickly council people in my time, but we’ve never had a mayor like this.”

  “He’s different, that’s for sure. But we both serve at his whim, so let’s keep our cool. I’m talking with the couple’s attorney later today and will call you.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. You know me, I wouldn’t ever use unnecessary force.”

  “I know,” Ben said. “Hold tight.”

  “Thanks.”

  Not five minutes after hanging up, Colt got called out on a six-car pileup on the outskirts of town. It was a mess. Paramedics triaging at the scene because so many were injured. And firefighters using the Jaws of Life to cut open cars smashed beyond recognition to rescue motorists and their passengers.

  “A trucker fell asleep at the wheel and veered into oncoming traffic,” one of the first-responding officers told Colt during a briefing.

  Colt had suspected something like that. The semi now sat on its side in the middle of the highway. The driver appeared uninjured but was being taken to Sierra General to be checked out. A couple of kids had been fitted with neck braces and were being carried by stretchers. Colt threaded his way through the chaos, trying to keep out of the medics’ way.

  He didn’t recognize any of the victims, but given how many cars were involved, some had to be local. A little girl was standing off to the side, unattended, crying, while her mother was being worked on. Colt went to the child and picked her up.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. Your mom’s gonna be fine.” The woman looked alert and was talking, so Colt didn’t think it was too much of a stretch.

  The girl wrapped her arms around Colt’s neck and hung on for dear life. He went looking for a firefighter or one of his officers to see about calling a relative or the girl’s father.

  “The husband is on his way,” one of the paramedics told him.

  He tried to put the girl down but she wouldn’t let go. That was okay. He kept her with him until her father showed up and gave the man time to check in with his wife, who was being loaded into one of the ambulances.

  His officers, along with Colt’s help, eventually got traffic moving through the area again, diverting it to one lane. Though cars moved at a snail’s pace,
it was better than nothing. Someone tooted his horn and Colt looked up to find his brother Josh waving.

  “You need any help?” he called from his truck.

  “I think we’ve got it under control. Just waiting for some more tow trucks.”

  The ambulances had left for the hospital and the crew was in cleanup mode, getting vehicles and strewn debris off the roadway. A crew had already started on moving the semi.

  “All right. See you later, then.” Josh pulled away.

  Colt didn’t get back to the station until later in the day, and was starved when he finally did. After scrounging through the staff refrigerator with no luck, he decided to grab something at the Morning Glory diner, which stayed open all day. Deb was waiting tables and led him to a booth in the back. The restaurant looked like a throwback to the 1950s. Red pleather and chrome bar stools, black and white checked floor, and Formica tabletops. The owner, Felix, couldn’t keep a cook to save his life, but the tuna melts and olallieberry pie were consistently solid. They must’ve been Felix’s personal recipes. Colt knew the diner’s owner mostly from the slopes; he was a champion snowboarder.

  “Just you, Chief?” Deb sat on the bench across from him.

  “Yep.” He ordered an egg salad sandwich and a side of steak fries.

  “Were you out at the accident? I heard it was awful.”

  “Yeah, pretty nasty, but no fatalities.” At least not yet. Two people—a driver and his eighty-year-old passenger—were in critical condition.

  “Horrible.” She scanned the front of the restaurant to make sure no one else had come in and needed seating. It was late in the day, so the place was quiet. “I met your neighbor, the fashion designer, Monday. I didn’t think I would like her, but it wound up I did.”

  “Why didn’t you think you’d like her?”

  Deb had grown up in Glory Junction and was Hannah’s best friend. Since middle school, she’d had a thing for Win, but as far as Colt could tell, that wasn’t going anywhere. Win was too busy playing the field.

  “I thought she would be snooty, being a big designer and all. Plus, I wanted to be loyal to you as far as the parking situation. But she’s nice ... not stuck up at all, even though one of her dresses cost more than my car.”