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  Or . . . something like that. He couldn’t quite make it all out, and a lot of the terminology flew right past him. Victoria talked fast when she was excited, and each time she got off the phone she was very, very excited. She kept her cool admirably during the calls, though; her voice never wavered, even when she did the “Scream” face at Ethan or mouthed Oh my God oh my Gooooooddddd while bouncing around the room.

  She was more composed, apparently, when she switched to French—which happened during this, her third phone call of the morning; she’d actually made this one herself, in response to an email she’d received while they were sleeping. To Ethan’s ear she sounded fluent in the other language, but probably she had to stop and actually think about what she was saying a bit more, and that seemed to slow her down a tad.

  He could tell one thing was the same, though. In English, in French, it didn’t matter—the woman clearly knew her shit. Whatever she was talking about, she knew the stuff inside and out; she was an expert in her field and was passionate and confident about it.

  Ethan hadn’t considered that the whole time he’d known her—except for during the kink and sex—she had been completely out of her element. Honestly, she’d managed pretty well. Within the last week or so, she’d started to get faster at the housekeeping and barn chores and begun figuring out more and more things for herself. She wasn’t fast enough to keep up with Robert, but then, nobody was.

  Now, though, she was on her own playing field. And the difference was as noticeable as bringing a blurry picture into sudden, sharp focus with one push of a button or twist of a knob. This was Victoria Woodcock, this brilliant woman who seemed to know everything about anything to do with fabric. How to make it, what to use it for, ways to make it cheaply enough to profit, ways to make it more environmentally friendly, ideas about marketing it. Listening to her, watching her body language and expressions, even when he didn’t know what she was saying, Ethan could see that she belonged in the world of whoever it was on the phone.

  That knowledge shouldn’t have made him ache from his temples clear down to his gut because, despite last night’s passion-fueled festival of emotions, he’d only known her a few weeks and she’d never planned to stay long at Hilltop. But it did.

  So did the obvious relief on her face the next time she caught his eye. She smiled at him, made a silent, exaggerated phew shape with her mouth while swiping her hand across her forehead. Then pointed at the phone, shook her head, shrugged, pouted. He had no idea what she was trying to convey there.

  A few minutes later she hung up and tossed the phone lightly onto the blanket next to her.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “I take it that was a good French call?” Ethan pushed her cooling coffee mug toward her. He’d stolen his brother’s Chemex and electric kettle along with a bag of freshly ground coffee the day before and was starting to think maybe hipster coffee wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “That was a good French call.” She sipped the coffee, then waggled her hand. “Well, it was an encouraging French call. Balenciaga has already filled the position I applied for. But. I was applying for it because it was the only thing they had open. I never in a million years thought I actually had a shot at it. Apparently they got my résumé after they’d already made a decision or I would have been in consideration. Pascaline Girard, who I worked for last summer, was calling to tell me she would be keeping my CV handy in case anything new came up. It’s like midnight there or something, I think, but she keeps really odd hours. Anyway.”

  Ethan nodded. He’d gotten that it wasn’t a job, but was still a good sign. “So that’s one interview, one maybe, and one you’re-on-the-short-list-for-next-time. Just from the first round of applications. You’re . . . kind of a badass, I gather.”

  “Well.” She shrugged, scrunching her face. “I think I just . . . overestimated the importance of the actual degree and underestimated the value of my internships. I was so freaked about not having finished the BFA that I was really only trying for jobs I knew didn’t require it. When I send out more résumés this week, I guess I need to go ahead and apply for even the long-shot jobs. Pascaline just laughed about it. Said I’d finish un des ces jours.” She waved a hand airily. “Someday. If I wanted to. Not that I’ll ever be able to afford it on what I’ll make in an entry-level job in the fashion or commercial design biz. I’d need something in industry to start higher, and I suspect I couldn’t get away without the degree there. But still, these results are definitely encouraging.”

  “Industry . . . Isn’t fashion a commercial industry? Or . . .” He knew the words, but she obviously meant something particular that he wasn’t grasping.

  Victoria half smiled, indulgent. “So, there are things like . . . tarps. Or the mesh fabric that covers speakers. Or carpets specifically designed for places like hotels and office buildings. Let’s see, what else . . . The fabric on the chairs in your doctor’s office. The breathable fiber webbing covering the backrest on Logan’s office chair. Somebody had to design all those, and somebody had to design or program the machines that weave them. Figure out what materials would work best. Where to source that material for a price that will still enable the manufacturer to profit. And a million other decisions. So on one end you have textile manufacturers who are focused on industrial applications, like the factory-made chair fabrics, or your Tyvek house wrap.” She pointed at the nearest wall. “On the other you have high fashion, which is . . . oh, like small batch high-end or couture applications, or one-of-a-kind custom stuff. Which is sometimes prototype work for the next season’s ready-to-wear. And everything in between is more or less the commercial stuff, like mass-produced clothes, home furnishings, things you can walk into a box store and buy. And those are all jobs.”

  Ethan blinked a few times, then looked around the tiny house slowly, suddenly aware of how many different textiles surrounded them. The blankets and pillows, the sleeping bag, the waterproof tarp and canvas drop cloth folded in one corner. Their clothes. The house wrap. Roxie’s collar.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Victoria nodded, as if she’d seen the reaction before. “It’s invisible, right? Nobody thinks about it. But once you do . . .” She grinned and began to sing, in a pleasantly tuneful voice, “A Whole New World.”

  “And she sings, too.”

  She chuckled. “I’m a Disney Princess, remember? Hey . . . it’s almost nine. Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere at ten?”

  Ethan groaned and flopped backward on the pile of blankets that had become his new happy place. Then he had to ward off Roxie’s lick attack before he could address Victoria’s question. She leaned on his chest, chin on her hands, all attention. It was a view he could all too easily get used to.

  “I am,” he said reluctantly. “Minnie’s diner in town. I’m meeting Doc Taylor . . .”

  “He’s the vet here in town, right? The one you’re supposed to take over for?”

  He chuckled ruefully, relishing the feel of her welcome weight pushing back against the motion of his breathing. “Even you’ve heard about that? Must be fate, then.”

  She shifted to rest on one hand, freeing up a forefinger to trace his lower lip. “You don’t seem very happy about it. Are you sure you believe in fate?”

  Ethan kissed her fingertip in passing and considered her words. She wasn’t wrong; he wasn’t especially happy about the idea. But he wasn’t particularly unhappy either. He felt oddly neutral about it. There was none of his old excitement for the plan, but he still couldn’t imagine a life where he didn’t follow through with it. He wanted that life. Eventually.

  That didn’t seem like an answer to her question, though. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m just going through some stuff, I guess. Not really ready to make a big decision that’ll keep me in one place forever. If we talk about anything today, though, it’ll probably just be Doc feeling me out about the whole thing.” He ran his fingers up into her hair, working through the fine, warm strands until
he could cup the back of her head and pull her down for a kiss.

  It was a great kiss, which didn’t help Ethan sort through his conflicting thoughts. Because it was clear Victoria had no intention of sticking around, and the more he let himself forget that, the harder it would be when she left . . . but he couldn’t seem to help himself when he was actually with her. He had imagined this whole bachelor experience, traveling around, spending a few weeks or months in one place and then moving on to a new landscape. Now he kept seeing Victoria there with him. Worse yet, he kept seeing her here, at Hilltop. The tiny house complete and surrounded by hardscaping, a garden of herbs and flowers blooming, and Victoria sketching the blossoms in springtime.

  She shifted away from his mouth, dipping lower to nibble on his ear, and he spoke without thinking. “If you don’t find another job, you could always stay here and make rope with me. Help me travel around and sell it. That’s all working with textiles, right?”

  Victoria’s body froze, every muscle tensing under his hands.

  Oh sweet Jesus, what just came out of my damn-fool mouth?

  When she sat up, he was doing his best to smile wryly, as if he’d been making a joke that he knew wasn’t that funny. “It’s always good to have a backup plan, just in case,” he added.

  “Just in case,” she echoed, eyeing him uncertainly. “It has been fun to work with the dyes, I admit. I can write all the steps down for you before I leave. Find some good links about techniques you can try.” She patted his chest, then stood up and swung away from him. “I need to meet Robert in the kitchen in fifteen minutes to help him take inventory before his shopping trip. You need to head out, too, if you’re gonna fit in a shower before you go into town.”

  He needed one too badly to skip it, so he got up and tugged on his previous day’s clothes, pulling some fresh ones from the plastic tub he was currently using as a dresser.

  They held hands most of the way to the main house, whenever the trail conditions allowed for it. Ethan told himself he should pull back, but every time he tried, it didn’t work. It felt so natural to gravitate toward her, instead of away from her, that he’d find himself right back at her side or reaching for her hand before he even realized he was doing it.

  Fuck.

  An incredibly beautiful, show-tune-and-big-band-loving rope bottom who seemed fine with a no-strings-attached relationship. Probably his dream job waiting for him in town, complete with a side of Minnie’s pie of the day. And Giddyup doing better than any of them had ever imagined possible.

  How could everything be going so well . . . but feel so unsatisfying?

  * * *

  Victoria’s mind kept drifting whenever Robert stopped talking long enough to count. She wouldn’t have minded it drifting to her job search; she was already making a list of additional places to apply, different avenues she might take if she ignored bachelor’s degree required. Instead, her thoughts were less legitimately tempted from the inventory work by memories of the weekend, and she kept trying to puzzle out exactly what she was doing with Ethan Hill.

  He was nothing like her usual type. He was outdoorsy, insanely practical, not that into art as far as she could tell. He lived in—and was possibly about to buy into a second business in—a small rural town in a state she had left as soon as possible for all kinds of reasons. And yet . . .

  On paper, Ethan was all wrong. In person, however, he seemed to fill some need she hadn’t ever realized she had. Fireworks and drama she could have understood; anybody might go for a short, hot, ill-advised fling with a ruggedly handsome cowboy rigger. This wasn’t that, though.

  This was easy. It felt natural; it felt obvious. As if they’d been together forever, and she had a groove in her soul that Ethan fit into perfectly. She kept forgetting they weren’t really together at all, and that a long-term arrangement simply wasn’t feasible.

  Thinking in the long term about anything was hard right now. When she’d finally emailed her parents the previous afternoon, she’d struggled to find a way to express her goals, to tell them how she saw her life working out from this point forward. She wanted to ease their minds, not just by saying they shouldn’t worry but by showing them she was confident and had a clear plan. Instead, she’d ended up with a lot of vague statements like exploring the available opportunities and depends on what happens down the line. Still . . . at least she’d sent it. She dreaded checking her email again and seeing the inevitable reply; the last thing she’d read had been from Pascaline, and that had been so wonderful she hadn’t wanted to spoil her mood by reading anything else.

  “Did you get that?”

  Victoria snapped back to the present with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I zoned out. Could you repeat it? The last thing I had was ten pounds of onions. Wow, that seems like a lot of onions. Was that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. Somebody overdid it a little at her first Giddyup, though.” Robert tsked and shook his head. “Forty pounds of Yukon Gold potatoes and a big bag of new potatoes.”

  “Got it.” She noted it on the pad she was holding. “Yeah, it was kind of intense. So much fun, though.”

  “Gotta learn to pace yourself. Or not, I guess, if you’ll be gone by next time.”

  “Oh.” She was surprised he knew. “Did Mindy and Logan . . . what did they tell you?” That she’d put the whole enterprise in danger of outing because she hadn’t foreseen that her sister—an attorney and well-known nosy person—would go digging around and discover that Hilltop Ranch was also the home of the largest monthly kink gathering in the Southwest?

  Robert tilted his head and pursed his lips; he looked as though he was considering whether to tease her or not, then seemed to decide against it. “Just that you had stepped up your job hunt and were planning to clear out within a few weeks. They told me so I could help them find a replacement; having you here made us all realize how much we needed another hand, at least part-time. But it’s hard to find somebody who can also help during Giddyup, so it may take a while. We can’t just hire some teenager from town who needs an after-school and weekend gig.”

  Under the relief, Victoria was weirdly flattered. Nothing she’d done at Hilltop, with the possible exception of the rope making, which wasn’t part of the actual job, had been particularly skilled work. It wasn’t difficult to learn, just labor-intensive. But she’d made an effort to do it well, and she’d come a long way in a short time. It felt good to know she’d been at least some help after all.

  “Was it supposed to be a secret?” Robert asked.

  “No, no. I’m just sorry to be leaving you short-staffed.”

  He shrugged and turned back to the pantry shelf, moving the potatoes to one side and consulting his menu plan. “Well, you’re giving us plenty of notice. You didn’t just dash off in the night on a stolen horse or something. You’ll get to stay on the list of cool people we like around here and would like to see again.”

  “I’m honored to be on that list.”

  If Victoria had wanted to abscond at night on horseback, Mindy and Logan might very well have helped her find a horse for that purpose. They’d been unbelievably kind and generous from the start and had immediately expressed outrage on her behalf at Alex’s reaction to finding out about Giddyup. Of course they were also frightened and angry at the notion of somebody threatening to out them and their customers . . . their friends. They could do little in response other than warn Chet and try to help Victoria find a job if they could. But they’d given Victoria so much reassurance, shown so much concern, that she still choked up thinking about it.

  Sweet and thoughtful and willing to help even a relative stranger in a time of need—those were the perverts. And the one who thought they deserved public exposure and humiliation—that was the moral person. Victoria marveled at the irony every time she thought of it, but she was as helpless as Mindy and Logan in this situation. The best she could do was intensify her job search and cross her fingers harder than ever before that one of her prospects would work out
in time.

  And then . . . she’d have to leave.

  Chapter 15

  There was lemon meringue that day. In his mind, Ethan knew that was because it was a Monday. In his heart, he felt it had to be a sign, even though he didn’t believe in signs, any more than he believed in fate. All the sweet, fluffy goodness of the meringue, then the tang of the lemon hit your taste buds and for a second or two you wondered what you’d just bit into. Then everything blended together perfectly and it all just . . . worked. Sweet, sour, then the perfect mingling of both.

  Minnie’s lemon meringue recipe was a closely guarded secret and it was genius. Ethan wasn’t as confident about the proposed ownership agreement Doc had brought along for his consideration. He couldn’t read Doc’s expression, so Ethan had no idea whether his soon-to-be boss/partner was apprehensive or excited or what. He did know he never wanted to play poker against the old guy.

  “I had ’em leave all the dates blank,” Doc explained, pointing to one of the carefully flagged pages. There were a lot of those. Sign here. Initial here. “Gives you some time to take it to a lawyer of your own if you want. Get the finance part checked out and all. It’s kind of a custom job, but if you need some changes I’m sure the lawyers can figure it out.” He passed a hand over his freckled scalp, scratching lightly on the very top, where no hair had existed for decades. “You can start whenever you like in the meantime if you need to. We could work out something, maybe prorate some compensation at the relief rate. I heard you already left Winston’s place.”

  Technically, Ethan’s last day had been over a week ago. Even though his lease had ended in San Antonio—along with his various utility bills—and his stuff was safely stored at Hilltop for free, he felt like he ought to be jumping right into the new job. That would be the responsible thing to do. It was his plan, after all.