Open Skies (4 page)

“You – what?”

“Yeah.”

“Julie. That was a nine-thousand-dollar ring.”

“Yeah. I sent him an sms to try to find it before someone else does. Last I checked, he was rooting around down there in the garbage in the alley.”

They looked at each other and started to laugh hysterically. Julie felt better for quite a while, as she laughed and laughed, but then something crossed inside of her and she found herself being hugged and rocked as she wept. It’s funny how close laughter and tears are, sometimes.
**
Four hours later, they had drunk all the wine and had decided that Margaritas were going to be a very good idea very soon. Tammy had sent Reggie a text saying that she wouldn’t be in the next day, after all. He’d meekly replied that was fine, and he hoped all was OK with her. She had also texted her boyfriend Marco, and told him not to expect to meet her for drinks after all.

Julie was in the kitchen, struggling to read the small print on the pizza box. She closed one eye and cocked her head to the side, trying to focus. “It’s thirty minutes, right?”

Tammy waved her hand. “We’ll take it out when we smell the cheese.”

“OK.”

Julie threw the pizzas in to the oven and cranked the temperature up to number five, however hot that was. She grabbed one of the bags of chips off the counter and slumped on the sofa next to Tammy, crunching loudly.

Tammy struggled to a semi-vertical position. “OK, look. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed trashing the living hell out of that dickhead your ex-boss, and that even bigger dickhead your ex-fiancé. It’s been a blast. Much better than working. But, seriously Jules, what are you going to do?”

Julie looked at Tammy grimly. “What do you
think
I’m going to do?”

“Oh, God,” Tammy groaned. “Really?”

“Really.”

Tammy looked at her friend. “OK, then. Time to crack open the tequila.” She struggled to her feet and went off to find the blender.

“You are not wrong about that,” Julie said. “You go do that. I have to make a quick phone call.”
**
The next morning at just past ten o’clock, Julie sat in Lyle Hawkins’ office again. Her head hurt pretty badly and the light seemed far too bright, but she was steady on her feet. She was perfectly made-up and had on a stunning Pucci-pattern wrap dress and knee-high brown leather boots. Her red curls were pulled back from her heart-shaped face in a severe ponytail.

Hawkins looked at her in astonishment. Yesterday’s phone call had caught him by surprise. The young lady had sounded drunk, and when she’d insisted on coming back to discuss the signing of the deed and ownership papers, he was sure that she’d come to her sense and cancel. But here she was: stunning, chic, composed. No sign of tiredness or illness. Hawkins decided that they must have had a bad connection when they spoke the day before, because there was no way that any woman could look so gorgeous after a serious bender.

“Mr. Hawkins,” Julie said. “As I said on the phone, I have had some time to consider the terms of the will. I have decided that a visit to the ranch is not actually a bad thing. I want to see what it has in terms of assets, I want to go over the accounts with the financial team, and I want to consult some lawyers and property agents locally. They’ll have a good idea about a fair selling price, and what has to be done to speed up any kind of sale. I may well decide to tear the whole place down and sell off the horses and the property. That may net the biggest returns, in the end, far more perhaps than selling the hotel as-is. I’ll need some time to get professional estimates and assessments of both courses of action. And I want to do all of this as quickly as possible.”

“I see.”

“So, I’ll be flying out in three days’ time, on Friday afternoon, and landing in Denver at four o’clock. I’ll need someone to pick me up at the airport in Denver, and I’ll need a full list of staff names before I go.”

“Yes, Ms. Everett. That can all be arranged.”

“Thank you. So, what do I need to sign today? Right now?”

He fumbled with the file in front of him. “Everything is here. Did you want to consult with a second lawyer?”

“No need,” Julie said. “I went over these papers at eight o’clock this morning with an advisor.” Kyle Bennett was a trusted confidant of hers, and they had worked on many interior design contracts together. He’d looked over the deed and the will, and assured her that in six months, she’d be completely free to get rid of the ranch as she saw fit, and she’d be the sole beneficiary of any and all profits earned through the sale.

Hawkins pushed the documents over to her and went out to get his partner, Sam Innis, to witness the signing of the forms. Within twenty minutes, everything was signed in triplicate and stamped and dated. Hands were shaken all around, and Julie Everett owned a horse ranch and hotel in Colorado.

Innis nodded at her, and returned to his own office. Julie stood and picked up her purse, preparing to go. Hawkins couldn’t stop himself from asking one last question.

“Ms. Everett?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“May I inquire – that is, it’s not really my business, but I’m just wondering – I mean, you were so against accepting anything from Mr. Reid, so it just seems rather odd that you – not that there’s anything
wrong
with your decision, of course. That is…”

She took pity on him and his discomfort. “You’d like to know why I changed my mind.”

“Yes. If you don’t mind telling me, of course.”

“I don’t mind.” She shrugged. “I changed my mind because my life circumstances have changed quite a bit since we last spoke, you see.”

Hawkins did a double-take. “Ms. Everett. We just spoke yesterday.”

“True. But kind of a lot has happened since then.”

He looked down at her hand and saw that the huge engagement ring was gone. He blinked at her for a second, astonished. So, she and the young man had broken up? And now she was running to the mountains? Well. There were worse ways to get over a heartache, he supposed.

Truthfully, Hawkins was quite relieved that Mr. Steven Bryce was out of the picture. The information that Warren Kowalski had turned up on him had not been encouraging. Mr. Reid had been particularly unhappy about Bryce’s lack of work ethic, and had worried about Julie’s long-term involvement with a man that Reid had considered little more than a trust-fund brat. He had been impressed by Julie’s ability to rise above her mother’s troubles, and to pursue her impressive academic achievements, and develop her design talent.

Kowalski had also provided a significant amount of evidence that Bryce had been cheating on Julie for quite a while, and with a number of lovely young ladies. Some were from his office – like his current favorite, Nadia Bayliss – but he also enjoyed the company of women met in some of the city’s most expensive wine bars. A man like Kowalski had no trouble at all mingling with the rich and famous in the exclusive Manhattan social circle: he had many obvious signs of wealth and a genuine English accent, and was accepted in to that kind of setting without question. His all-access pass to the world of the pampered rich resulted in some very hands-on intelligence. Hawkins recalled, with some distaste, the photos that Kowalski had taken of Steven Bryce in a private booth, with his hand up a brunette’s skirt.

Ms. Everett had definitely dodged a bullet, Hawkins thought as he smiled at her and extended his hand. “The best of luck to you, Ms. Everett. I am on retainer for all matters to do with Mr. Reid’s estate for another six months. If you require anything from me, anything at all, you should not hesitate to contact me. My services are at your disposal, at no cost to you whatsoever.”

She took his hand, a bit touched at his courtly politeness. He was a stiff and formal man, and he had more hair on the backs of his hands and coming out of his ears than on his head, but he had a kindness in his eyes that she had missed yesterday. His grip was firm and he had a spring in his step that belied his years. When he smiled, he looked twenty years younger.

She smiled back. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. I will certainly do that.” She turned to go.

Hawkins’ eye was caught by the large manila envelope on his desk. “Oh, Ms. Everett. Here are a few documents that arrived this morning, from our sister firm in Denver that handles the bulk of Open Skies’ legal matters. These are things that were determined and handled over the last week or so. Nothing for you to worry about, or sign, or anything like that. All these matters are settled. It’s just for your information.”

Julie accepted the envelope and put it in her purse. “Thank you. I’ll take a look.”

“The best of luck to you,” Hawkins said.

“And to you, Mr. Hawkins.”

Luck, I don’t need,
she thought as she left the office.
A quick sale and a ticket back to my real life in New York –
that
I’ll take.

**
“Good Lord, girl. Don’t you own even
one
pair of jeans?”

Tammy looked at the towering pile of clothes on Julie’s bed and shook her head.

“I have jeans!” Julie said indignantly, pulling out two pairs from the bottom of the heap. “Look!”

Tammy eyed the labels on the back pockets. “Are those –
Gucci
jeans?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So. What’d those set you back?”

“Umm. About seven hundred dollars.”

“
Seven hundred dollars
for two pairs of jeans?”

“Uh. No. Seven hundred each.”

Tammy rolled her eyes. “And you’re just going to go gallivanting off through a horse field in jeans that cost more than my shopping budget for a whole season?”

Julie shrugged. “Jeans are jeans.” She threw them in to her suitcase.

“But what else do you have to wear?” Tammy pointed at the pile of clothes. “Your smart little suits aren’t any good, and all those evening dresses are a bit too fancy for hanging out on a ranch. Even your pyjamas and matching bathrobes are silk, Julie. I mean, do you even
own
a pair of flannel jammies?”

“Of course not.”

“T-shirts? Tank tops?”

“Yes!” Julie pointed to a pile of slithery material.

“All silk?”

“No,” Julie said pulling out a slinky tank top with spaghetti straps and delicate brocade work along the top. “Cotton, too.”

“Yeah, much better.” Tammy sighed. “And your shoes? What will you be wearing when you go tromping through stables full of horse manure and over the Rocky Mountains?”

They both looked at the shoes lining the closet floor. Designer high heels; knee-high boots with stiletto heels; sparkly details and open toes; buttery leather and delicate stitch-work. No, not very practical at all. Even Julie had to concede that.

“I guess I can wear my gym shoes?” Julie said doubtfully.

“In the winter?”

“I have winter boots.”

“Yeah. Black leather ones with platform heels. Perfect when you take taxis everywhere. Not so great for walking through snow up to your waist. You’ll break your damn ankles.”

“So I’ll buy a pair over there. Maybe at the local cowboy store.”

Tammy took a big swig of wine and grinned. “Speaking of cowboys… we haven’t really talked about the fact that you’ll soon be surrounded by hot men riding horses…”

“Urgh,” Julie said, folding a print dress and packing it in one of her four Louis Vuitton suitcases in fiery orange. “Don’t even talk to me about men.”

“But cowboys are just so sexy!” Tammy’s eyes were sparkling. “They’re all tall and muscular and they look amazing in their jeans when they’re walking away.”

“How do you know?” Julie finished her wine and poured some more. Tammy held her glass out and she refilled it. “What do you know about cowboys, exactly?”

“Well, they’re all named Storm or Colt or Dallas,” Tammy said enthusiastically. “I absolutely want to hear that you’re having a torrid romance with a guy named Slade who has huge hands and who wears a cowboy hat in bed and calls you ‘ma’am’ when he’s driving his wild stallion deep inside your hot, wet…”

“Yeah, OK, Tammy. I get the picture.”

“I’m serious, Jules.” Tammy sat up. “Think of the next six months as a – a holiday. And why not have a holiday fling? You’re going to sell the place, anyway, and come back here soon enough. Just enjoy lots of hot sex with a random guy named Texas and then leave and forget all about him. I mean, why not?”

“Because cowboys smell of horses,” Julie said. “I just can’t even imagine getting in to bed with a guy who smells of hay and horse crap and who-knows-what-else.”

Tammy looked at her seriously. “You know, they
do
have showers in Colorado. Soap, too, I think.”

“Look, Tammy. I just – I just want to go out there and get rid of this place. I don’t want to keep anything from the man who was supposedly my father, and I don’t want anything to do with guys. I just want my money in my account. That’s it.” She shrugged. “I’ll take the cash and come back here and start again.”

“OK, OK,” Tammy said swinging back her long, shiny black hair. “But I
do
want to hear about the guys working for you.”

Julie grinned and then picked up a file from the bedside table. “I went through the staff information that Hawkins gave me.” She opened the folder and flipped through a few pages. “Guess what, Tammy? The staff that work with the horses are as follows: a woman named Mathilda Velasquez. She’s sixty-two. There’s a guy named Phillip Dobson, who’s forty-six. A woman named Rose-Anne Yates, twenty-seven. A few kids from the local high school who hang around getting work experience because they actually
like
the filthy beasts, if you can believe
that
. And that’s it.” She closed the file. “Those are my cowboys, Tammy: two women, a guy who’s nearing fifty, and a bunch of pimply teenagers. Sexy, huh?”

Tammy slumped, bitterly disappointed. “Crap.” Then she brightened. “Maybe the restaurant or hotel staff? Maybe there’s a hot chef, who specializes in spicy food and who will pour syrup all over your body and lick it off. Chefs have nice hands, you know….” She thought for a second. “Or – ooooh! – a front desk kind of guy who knows all the hidden rooms in the hotel. You can have secret trysts all over the place, on every piece of furniture and in every position.”