The Cowboy Who Got Away

Chapter Three (#uede4e931-890c-58d7-bc99-3069ba4d782c)

Kissing Jude had been like stepping back in time. They were eighteen again. They had no worries. As always, when they were together, the rest of the world didn’t exist. But forty-five minutes later, Juliette was back at her house. Jude had dropped her off at the Campbell Wedding Barn where she’d left her car. She hadn’t meant to make the goodbye so awkward, but Zane’s truck was parked next to Lucy’s house, which meant Zane and Lucy were back from their day out. If Lucy saw her climbing out of Jude’s truck, her friend would have bombarded them with questions she didn’t know how to answer right now. Plus, one look at herself in the rearview mirror had revealed mussed hair, kiss-swollen lips and telltale traces of the makeup she’d applied this morning. It was most definitely a post-kissing face.

Yes, one look at her and Lucy would have twigged to the situation like a divining rod. So, Juliette had gathered her purse, given Jude a quick peck on the lips, and beelined for her car before that could happen and the awkward what’s next? conversation could present itself.

As she pulled out of the parking lot, Jude had looked a little bewildered. He’d caught her eye and put his thumb to his ear and his pinky to his mouth, making the international I’ll call you sign.

Juliette just waved as if she hadn’t noticed.

Ugh. Of course she’d noticed. But she had no idea what to do next—what she wanted or whether or not it was a good idea to even let herself go there, to let herself hope. Of course, it wasn’t a good idea. Common sense dictated as much, but it seemed her heart wasn’t getting the memo that reminded her that this wasn’t her first Jude Campbell rodeo, and the sponsor of this one was heartache.

As if that wasn’t enough, she had more pressing matters to contend with. Her mother’s and Chelsea’s cars were parked in the driveway, forcing Juliette to park in the street and do her best to get rid of the mascara smudges under her eyes. Suddenly, she was reduced to feeling like a teenager again, sneaking in after she and Jude had stolen a forbidden afternoon together. She was mortified at the prospect of facing her mother, who had never been a fan of Jude Campbell. In fact, she’d done everything in her power to throw monkey wrenches and scholarships into the path of her relationship with Jude.

What in the world were her mother and Chelsea doing here? Of course, her mother never waited for an invitation. That was Guinevere. As Juliette unlocked the door and pushed it open, she steeled herself for whatever crisis or drama or any number of other situations had enticed Guinevere out of her ivory tower.

Before she could clear the foyer, her little corgi, Franklin, came bounding around the corner, skidding on the hardwood as he barked his greeting. Juliette bent down and gave him some strokes. “Some watchdog you are, Franklin. You’re supposed to keep people out, not invite them in.”

The little dog rolled over on his back so she could scratch his belly. “You’re hopeless. Thank goodness you’re so cute.” She stood up again and called, “Hello?”

“Hello?” Guinevere answered. “Juliette, darling? Is that you? We are in the kitchen. Join us, please.”

Juliette was tempted to thank her mother for the invitation to enter her own kitchen, but she didn’t feel like sparring. What she wanted to do was sink into a nice hot bubble bath and replay the afternoon with Jude in her head. But when she walked into the kitchen, her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with dozens of fabric swatches in front of her, sipping something from a teacup as Chelsea stood, holding up different fabric combinations, comparing them to one another. Guinevere would offer yes or no verdicts and Chelsea, who was an interior designer, would deposit them into the corresponding piles.

“Ah, there you are,” Guinevere said when she saw Juliette. “I’m so glad you’re home. I desperately need your expert advice. But, oh, Juliette, Chelsea is such a dear. She has agreed to help me choose the fabric for the new house. When Chelsea told me she was available to meet this afternoon, I tried to call you, but you weren’t picking up. Where were you, darling?”

Juliette’s gaze locked with Chelsea’s, whose eyes widened as if she could read Juliette’s mind, before her expression settled into a knowing smirk. Juliette tried to telegraph back, I’ll tell you everything later. She looked away before she could ascertain whether or not Chelsea had gotten the message.

She needed to appear as normal as possible so that her mother didn’t pick up on anything. As a general rule, Guinevere didn’t pick up on nonverbal cues very often, but just when Juliette started to write her off as obtuse, her mother would surprise her.

“I had to meet a client at the Campbell Wedding Barn.”

It was the truth.

Guinevere blanched. “And you went out of the house like that? I wouldn’t call that business attire.”

Juliette resisted the urge to grind her teeth. “It’s Saturday, Mother. A rare Saturday that I don’t have a wedding on the books. I have a day off. I had not intended on meeting with the client today, but she had an emergency. This is Saturday business casual.”