Chapter Nine #3
the Jelan males leave behind gets under his skin and worms it’s way to his
lower intestine where it takes root and grows into a baby in roughly three
months,” Cass pointed out.
“Hey, don’t you have that red spot on your leg?” Shane
asked. He’d already downed his. “What if it wasn’t poison ivy?”
“Cass,” Bay said, “we’re going to need to make that a
triple.”
Thursday
“You’re sure you don’t want to order
something? Or bring in a famous designer?” Brooke sat in the big cabin Seth
Stark had built years before. This monstrosity of comfort had been designed
with a family in mind, and like all things Seth Stark wanted, he’d made it
happen.
Georgia shrugged. “Why would I do that when I have you?
Unless you don’t want to do it.” Georgia was a gorgeous woman with blonde hair
and a sweet face. “I’m reluctant to go with most of the famous designers. You
know they don’t like to design for larger women.”
Larger? Brooke barely managed to not roll her eyes, but she
understood. Georgia was a whole size ten instead of a zero. She was stunning
and sexy and had two men panting after her, but the fashion world could be
cruel to anyone with hips and breasts.
The theater was different. She designed for the character,
not some standard few people could ever meet. She had to think about the
character, how they would dress, how clothes would make them feel. If clothing
was armor or an outward expression of who they were inside.
She was remembering why she liked it so much. And it didn’t
hurt that Cleo praised her as a goddess every day.
And then Bay and Shane worshipped her like one at night.
“I think they’ll make an exception for Georgia Stark-Warner.
You’re kind of the coolest woman in the city right now,” Brooke pointed out.
“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a whole bunch of ladies in
Manhattan who follow your every move and dress exactly like you.”
“Because she’s the most gorgeous girl in the world,” Seth
said, walking through, carrying a bundle of the cutest chunk ever. Wesley
Stark-Warner looked like his mom, with a mop of blonde hair and a wide smile
showing the beginnings of his first tooth. The baby drooled and hung onto his
father.
“There are plenty of people in Manhattan who think I’m a
gold-digging moron threatening to upend their society,” Georgia pointed out.
Seth leaned over and kissed her forehead. “And we don’t give
a fuck about those people. Is this about the Met Gala? I told you, if you don’t
want to go you don’t have to.”
“She’s going.” Logan walked in from the back. “This is
something she’s dreamed about all of her life, and she’s not going to allow a
bunch of societal assholes to hold her back. She’s on the board of the museum
and has more than every right to be there on the big night.”
Which was why she should have a famous designer doing her
dress. The Met Gala was one of fashion’s big shows. It was one of the most
anticipated and photographed and talked about events in her world.
“Oh, I’m going. They’re not going to stop me, but I need the
right dress. Something dramatic,” Georgia said with a smile. “Honestly, I
wouldn’t hate something that played to the stereotypes they put me in. So I
need something gold and stripper-like.”
Seth laughed. “And I’m putting Wes down for his nap. Let me
know what I’m wearing, baby. You know I never have to wear a tux to the annual
heritage festival here in Bliss.”
“Or to Woo Woo Fest,” Logan
pointed out. “Brooke, how’s the engagement going to two men you barely knew a
week ago?”
She could always count on Logan to point out the obvious
flaws in her plans.
She’d never had him out to her apartment because she was
ashamed of how small it was. How little she’d been able to achieve.
Brooke stood up and gave Logan a hug since she hadn’t seen
him in a couple of days. Logan squeezed her tight and whispered. “She’s nervous
about having a gown custom designed. She only trusts you. Please.”
She wasn’t big enough to design for the Met.
Or she was, and it was time to prove it. She didn’t want to
let her family down, but maybe it was time to figure out if what she thought
she wanted at eighteen was what she wanted at twenty-eight.
What would her eighteen-year-old self say? Now that she
thought about it, her eighteen-year-old self had been
kind of kick ass.
She took a deep breath and stepped back before turning to
Georgia. If Georgia could walk out in front of that crowd proud and steadfast
in who she was, then Brooke could design the clothes she would make a stand in.
“Gold, then. I’m thinking flashy on the surface but deep and complex
underneath. How do you feel about a gown that transforms?”
She was thinking about starting out with a gown that looked
hard and metallic and then revealed itself to be soft and lovely under the
outer coat.
Georgia’s eyes lit up. “I feel amazing.”
Brooke settled in and got to work.
Friday
“I don’t know.” Trev stood outside the
bunkhouse, a mug of coffee in his hands. “How the hell would they get in?”
The bunkhouse had been… Bay wouldn’t say vandalized. Not
exactly. It wasn’t like there was a bunch of broken stuff, but it was obvious
someone had been through it and they’d taken the small safe where they were
supposed to keep valuables when they needed a place to put them.
“We were all hands on deck this afternoon,” Shane pointed
out. “No one would have been in here, and we had a bunch of people over for the
inspections. I don’t think we would have noticed extra cars, and the inspectors
have free rein.”
It was probably Trev’s most stressful day of the year. In
order to keep their organic status, the ranch had to allow inspections, and
this time it coincided with regular USDA inspections. It had been a day, and
now that it was done they had to deal with the fact that someone had been in
the bunkhouse.
“Boss, I don’t think they got anything.” Jeff had been
around far longer than Bay and Shane. He was a bit older and handled a lot of
the day-to-day operations when Bo and Trev were traveling or dealing with their
families.
Bay was almost certain he was pissed he and Shane were
staying in the foreman’s house. He’d overheard Jeff talking to some of the
other hands about how he thought it was bullshit he and Shane got the foreman’s
house, and if one of them is named the new foreman he’ll quit. Someone tried to
explain that it was more about Brooke than he and Shane, but Jeff wasn’t
listening.
It didn’t matter since Brooke was already talking about
heading back to New York in a few weeks. Oh, she claimed it was so she could
find some fabric or something for Georgia Stark-Warner’s museum party, but he
didn’t understand why Teeny couldn’t order some.
She’d casually mentioned they could come with her.
The idea of being with all those people sent a damn chill up
his spine.
He hadn’t been able to handle Denver. He damn straight
couldn’t do New York City.
He was going to fuck this up for all of them.
“They got the safe.” Trev walked over to the place where the
small safe had been. “The whole damn thing. I thought it was in there better
than that.”
He ran a hand over the place where the safe had been. They’d
done a good job of extracting it.
“No one uses it except for Bay,” Shane pointed out. “He
sometimes puts his sketchbooks in it so none of the perverts around here can
see he likes to draw our girlfriend.”
Jeff sighed and shook his head. “Yeah, we’re the perverts.”
“Excuse me?” Trev’s tone went icy.
Jeff’s hands came up. “I was talking about the porn
drawings, boss. Sorry. I suppose they’re art.”
He did use the safe sometimes, and yes, it was about the
drawings of Brooke. Of course now he kept his sketchbook either with him or in
the foreman’s house.
He was damn straight glad it wasn’t in the now-missing safe.
“Why would someone take a safe in a bunkhouse? No one here
has anything to steal,” Bay said.
Trev shrugged. “I think it’s going to be a mystery.”
Bay sighed and let it go because he had way bigger fish to
fry.
But at least that red spot on his leg was gone, and he was
almost sure he wasn’t pregnant by aliens.
Beets for the win. Now he had to figure out a way to keep
their girl because he was certain they were both in love with her.