Cowboys of the Flint Hills: The Graces: Books 7-9

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Sunlight streamed brightly through the window as Lydia’s eyes fluttered open and a demon took an icepick to her forehead. Groaning, she rolled to her side and pulled the pillow over her head. The motion only increased the relentless pounding.

The inside of her mouth felt like sawdust. Stomach? A little queasy. All the reasons why Lydia rarely drank came crashing back with vicious force. How much had she drunk last night? She groaned as the throbbing in her head surged. Even with the pillow covering her, it was too bright in here. She slipped a hand underneath and covered her eyes, sighing with relief.

The relief was short-lived, as someone began to knock insistently on her bedroom door. “Lyds?”

Cassie.

“I’m still sleeping,” she groaned, a new round of pounding right behind her eyeballs taking her breath away.

The door creaked. “It’s eleven. Are you gonna sleep the day away?”

Ugh. “Yes,” she whined, rolling over and turning her back to the door. She could do whatever she wanted. After all, she was on vacation. Permanent vacation. “Go ’way.”

Cassie’s chuckles filled the room. “Somebody’s hungover,” she called out in a sing-song voice, moving through the room and yanking open the curtains.

Even through the pillow, Lydia could sense light flooding the room. “Hey, stop that.”

Her sister laughed mercilessly. “Ohmygod. You really were drunk last night.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She just wanted her head to stop screaming at her.

Cassie yanked off the covers, still laughing. “Nope, nope, nope. You’re gonna hear it. Sit up.”

There was no winning this battle. Once Cassie got it in her head to do something, that was it. With a heavy sigh, she removed the pillow and sat up, squeezing her eyes against the blazing sunlight and the accompanying wave of nausea that roiled through her.

“Here. This will help.” Cassie held out a glass of fizzy water and two pills.

Lydia accepted the offering, grimacing at the flavor, but grateful for the water. And the ibuprofen.

Cassie sat on the bed, smirking. “They’ll kick in shortly. Chores are done, and Pops is checking on livestock. He said don’t wait lunch for him.”

“I never want to eat again.”

“That bad, huh?” Cassie shook her head sympathetically, laughter sparkling in her eyes. “Why don’t you take a hot shower, and I’ll meet you downstairs with some strong coffee and pancakes. It won’t be mama’s breakfast, but it should help.” She stood and paused at the door. “And then I want to hear about last night.”

Shit.

She pressed her temples trying to piece together last night. Old Fashioneds. Bonfire. Colton. Kissing. Lots of kissing. Clothes off? Heat flooded her. Oh no. She hadn’t… had she? Maybe the shower would help. She dragged in a breath. “Sure. I’ll be right down.”

Once she heard her sister on the stairs, Lydia rose and stepped gingerly down the hall, only relaxing when she stepped into the hot water. She braced a hand on the wall, letting the hot jets sluice over her. They’d danced and kissed. Her body came alive thinking about the kiss they’d shared. He might be a devil, but lordy, could the man kiss. An ache bloomed between her thighs at the thought of his mouth on her. Sure. Strong. Possessive.

No wonder they’d ended up in the barn. But she couldn’t remember what happened after she’d ripped her dress off. How had she gotten home? Had she slept with Colton? Panic momentarily sliced through her. What if? Her stomach dropped. No. She always carried condoms with her. Not that she’d ever relied on them once. But she’d been shameless about handing them out to her girlfriends. Surely, she would have…

She turned her face into the stream, breathing through her mouth as the water hit her face. No more red thongs for her. No more whiskey. Ever.

No more Colton.

How could she face him again after last night? How could she face anyone?

She sighed heavily. Hiding out in the shower wouldn’t change last night’s events, or the week leading up to last night. What did Cassie always say? Time to put on her big girl panties? Squaring her shoulders, she turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. At least she could arm herself with her favorite terrycloth robe and fuzzy slippers. She’d never have worn anything like this in New York, but here, she was in her comfort zone. And there was something so reassuring about being at home amongst family who loved her. Even when they discovered she’d made a real mess of her life.

She toweled her hair to damp and gave a last glance in the mirror. The shower hadn’t done a thing for her bleary eyes, but at least she no longer felt like the bottom of a wastebasket. The heavenly aroma of coffee greeted her as she lightly stepped down the stairs. Her head still hurt, but now it was more of a persistent throb instead of the icepick brigade taking up residence behind her eyes. She could manage this. And after a cup of coffee, she could face what remained of the day.

Cassie turned as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, and waved her to the table. God bless her sister. Her favorite mug waited, already doctored with cream. With a grateful sigh, she slid into a chair and wrapped her hands around the steaming mug. Coffee always tasted better when someone else prepared it. Of course, she had been banned from making coffee at her office. But why learn the art of coffee making when there was always someone to hand her a cup like this? She took a sip. “You and mama always make the best coffee.”

At the stove, Cassie barked out a laugh. “You’re such a princess. That’s just because we were always first up. You never did learn how, did you?” Her tone of voice implied she already knew the answer.

“No need to mess with perfection.”

Cassie brought two plates piled with pancakes and covered in syrup and set one down in front of her before seating herself across the table. “So. How long do we get to enjoy you for this time? I feel so lucky I’ve seen you twice this year.”

Cassie was right. It was unusual for her to be home, let alone twice. But there was no way she’d have missed Cassie’s wedding the month before. Even if Christian LaSarte had thrown a manbaby tantrum over it. Come to think of it. That’s when her troubles with him had started. Egocentric prima donna. Women might wait hours in line for the chance to buy his shoes, but the man chewed people up and spit them out. Her mistake? She’d been arrogant enough to think it would never happen to her. She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head, spearing her pancakes with vehemence.

“Lyds? What’s up?” Cassie’s voice instantly grew concerned.

Lydia slowly chewed, drawing courage from the salty sweet of buttermilk pancakes cooked in salted butter and drenched in maple syrup. “Turns out you’ll get to enjoy me indefinitely,” she answered quietly, cheeks flaming at the admission.

“What? What do you mean?”

Lydia let out a ragged breath. “I mean I won’t be going home to New York.”

Cassie set down her mug with a bang. “What? What happened?”

Lydia winced at the sudden noise, but nodded. “The short story is that I fell out of Christian LaSarte’s graces and somehow, my shoe designs ended up in the hands of another assistant, who he deemed more worthy.”

Cassie’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew as wide as the pancakes on her plate. “Noo. He can’t do that. Surely you could take him to court. Have you called Lex? Lex’ll know how to handle this.”

Good old Cassie. Lydia’d chafed against her sister’s protective streak when they’d been young. But now, she was touched. And grateful.

“Lex is an environmental lobbyist. She doesn’t deal with intellectual property.”

“But she’s a lawyer.” Cassie waved a hand. “She could send a lawyerish letter, right?”

“And do what, Cass? Give me back my job? My designs?” Lydia shook her head. “Intellectual cases are hard to prove. It’s not considered stealing. It’s considered inspired.” Lydia quoted the air. “I know that somehow, my colleague saw my designs, but she was clever enough to change them just enough that they were now hers.” Lydia grimaced. All that hard work, all that passion, down the toilet. “If it makes you feel better, I did talk to Lex.” In one of those typical twin moments, Lexi had called Lydia the afternoon she’d walked out of her job, and the whole story had come pouring out as she walked down 5th Avenue. “But to pursue a case like this would take years and tens of thousands of dollars I don’t have. It was better to cut my losses.”

Cassie’s eyebrows drew together. “But your designs–”

“I have no shortage of ideas. I’ll always have other designs. I just have to figure out what to do with them.” That was the crux of it. She laughed, shaking her head. “What’s an unemployed shoe designer going to do in Prairie?”

Cassidy smiled slyly and dug into her pocket. “So is that what this is about?” She pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Colton Kincaid, huh? I always thought he was too much cowboy for you, sis.”

Lydia’s face flamed as the memory of their kiss came roaring back, making her mouth tingle. She shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your blush says you do. Something happen between the two of you at the wedding?”

Could the floor swallow her up right now? Lydia stirred her pancake pieces in the syrup. If she even peeped at Cassie, her sister would put two and two together. She could never hide anything from her sisters. She scooped up a bite and popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly.

“Lyds?”

She glanced up. She couldn’t help it. As soon as their eyes met, it was game over. Cassidy covered her mouth, laughing with glee. “Ohmygod you DID.”

Lydia shook her head furiously. “I didn’t.” Her chest burned.

“Don’t deny. You were always the worst liar. Was it good?”

Lydia brought her hands to her cheeks. She would never live this down. These were the kinds of stories that got hauled out at future Christmases and weddings. “I can’t remember,” she wailed, shaking her head.

Cassie gaped at her. “You can’t remember? As in you were too drunk?”

Lydia nodded furiously. “Please don’t say anything. Not to Caro or Lex. I will never live this down.”

“Damn straight you won’t,” Cassie answered with awe in her voice. “No wonder he told mama he wanted to talk to you about a pair of boots. He wants to talk you out of yours.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “You’re such a knee slapper.”

“Would you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make him a pair of boots?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess I could. I’ve never made men’s shoes, but it can’t be that different.”

“You already checked out his feet, didn’t you? I bet they were the perfect size.” Cassidy laughed and waggled her eyebrows.

“Oh stop already.” She had, she always did. She couldn’t help it. She could discern a person’s shoe size in one glance.

Cassie’s expression turned serious. “Have you thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” Lydia’s guard went up. The look in her sister’s eye only meant one thing. Trouble.

“Opening your own shop. Doing custom-made? How many pairs of wedding shoes have you made for the ladies here? I bet they’d let you take pictures. You’d have a built-in catalog. Make a pair of men’s boots, and folks would go crazy. You’d have tons of orders pouring in. I know it.”

Cassie’s enthusiasm was infectious, even though the thought of striking out on her own terrified her. Making bespoke shoes was vastly different from dabbling in her spare time. “I don’t have the startup funds. Shoemaking equipment, and materials, are expensive. Like tens of thousands of dollars expensive.”

Cassie speared her with a determined look. “So what if you started small? Took only enough orders to help you purchase the next piece of equipment, or the material for the next pair?” Cassie’s expression turned sly. “What if you got your cowboy to wear your boots everywhere? Nothing like a little free advertising.”

“He’s not my cowboy.”

Cassie waggled her eyebrows. “But he might be. And he wants some boots.”

Lydia suppressed a giggle. The way Cassie’s voice lingered on the word boots implied far more than boots. “Nothing’s ever free. Even you know that.”

“Well, he’s already interested, so why not ask him?” Cassie leaned forward, an excited light in her eye. “The worst he can do is say no. If he’s serious about having you make a pair of boots, why not trade him? I don’t follow rodeo, but I’m sure he has corporate sponsors.”

A knock at the door saved her from answering. Lydia sprang up, ignoring the stab behind her eyes as she moved too quickly. “I’ll grab it.”

The knock sounded again. More insistent this time.

“Coming,” she called, as she straightened her robe and tightened the belt. She flung open the door, smile freezing on her face as the air left her lungs.

Colton Kincaid, looking as delectable as one of her mother’s desserts, stood with an arm braced on the door jamb, smiling down at her with an expression that could only be called wolfish. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.