Page 15 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
“The girl’s a walking train wreck. A joke from head to toe.”
My stomach sank as I heard the words Stone shouted into his phone, clearly not trying at all for discretion. I could only guess that he was talking to Mr. Pennington.His father.
How could it all have gone so wrong so quickly? Of course Stone was Harold’s son. Why would anyone besides his family have a shot at succeeding? It’s not like Stone had worked his ass off to earn a scholarship, then studied every waking minute of his university career because failure was not an option. He was not the one with a mother back home who was counting on every penny he could make to save their home and keep them out of the poor house.
Why would all my effort even matter when all he needed was to have the right parents?
Nepotism. How I hated it.
I couldn’t fault his logic, though; I was a complete mess today. Not even twenty-four hours and I had already pissed off the boss something fierce.
I came in from the back deck, dripping pool water all over the pristine house and headed for the north wing as instructed, gathering up the packages Moira had waiting for me when I arrived and made my way to one of the four bedrooms in the wing.
When the taxi had pulled up to the house in Summerlin, I thought I would be tired enough to just go straight inside to bed. But after a quick glance around I found the entire area so lovely that I had gone for a walk around the neighborhood instead.
The place was just so vastly different from anything I had ever known. The east coast was often gray and dreary, the sun finding it hard to reach the ground between the impossibly high towers of Manhattan. I was used to concrete and steel and glass, shades of gray and black that never really changed.
But Nevada was like an explosion of color. I couldn’t believe all the different shades of red and brown and even green that I saw as I wandered the streets, admiring the low houses with their stucco walls and the terracotta roof tiles. Each house had a yard, which was something else I wasn’t used to. Green space in Manhattan was pretty much non-existent outside Central Park. Even in Queens, where small front yards were more common, the houses were pretty much built right on top of each other. Space was always at a premium.
But as I made my way through the quiet streets of that gorgeous Las Vegas neighborhood, watching the families going about their evening routines and enjoying their time together, I could not get over the amount of open space there was around me. Each house sat separate from the next, with no shared walls between them to listen in on the arguments and too loud TV shows of your neighbors. The yards, while mostly landscaped in a drought resistant fashion, with rocks and shrubs and very little grass, were all done up in a way that was visually appealing, with decorative stones and pieces of art dotted throughout. They all fit the neighborhood aesthetic and everyone tried to maintain the area to the same standard.
The other thing I noticed was that there were barely any vehicles parked on the street. Every home had its own garage, keeping the cars and trucks out of the elements, and housing bikes and other family toys, from the light peeking I’d done into one or two opened bays as I passed.
But the truly amazing thing, the thing that I kept returning to again and again, was the sky. There was just so much of it. I was used to small glimpses of the sky, stealing moments between tall towers and subway stations. I hadn’t realized how incredible the sky was until I came to Nevada. If I turned down the any street, I could find a place that was open, leaving nothing between me and that impossibly blue expanse but my own inability to fly.
The neighborhood was surrounded by a group of low hills, and while I didn’t know their names, I couldn’t wait to get a closer look at them. I figured hiking might be something I might like to try. After all, it’s not like I had any friends to spend time with out here. I might as well start becoming one with nature.
My mother would be impressed by my adventurous spirit.
When I returned to the house where the cab left me earlier, I slowly wandered up the driveway, wondering again how I ended up here. The largest house in the neighborhood, and I had the key.
Stepping through the door was like entering another world entirely. The whole house was done in a warm tan, with light tiles on the floor, cream walls, and dark wood accents. The living room had a huge and comfy looking brown leather couch with enough room to hold fifteen people, while the kitchen was a glowing mix of white granite and stainless-steel appliances. But it was the glass wall at the back that caught my eye.
A pool. An entire swimming pool, and, for this moment at least, it was just for me.
I set the packages down, not caring one whit about what was inside them, and made my way to the back door, noticing it was unlocked, but not thinking about why that would be strange. I walked right up to the edge of the pool, taking in the breathtaking view of the canyons and hills, and felt my soul lighten. This was what I needed tonight. I moment to breathe.
From the second my mother burst in to my room this morning, it had been nothing but chaos. I hadn’t had a second to catch up.
But here, with the sky an endless blue stretch above my head, I could feel like maybe things weren’t so bad.
Maybe, just maybe, I could actually pull this off.
Bending down, I trailed my fingers through the sparkling waters of the pool, sighing at the cool water and looking forward to taking my first swim as soon as possible. Suddenly, a noise caught my attention. Realizing I wasn’t alone, I stood up and spun around to see who was behind me, and my heart raced, adrenaline pumping double time as I saw a huge man, standing in the shadows.
Being a New York girl, I knew that when a man creeps up behind you, it never meant anything good. I had only a heartbeat to register the massive shoulders and dark hair, instinct causing me to take an involuntary step back, away from my would-be attacker.
That was when I got my wish.
A swim.
So now here I stood, in a bedroom I wasn’t familiar with, in a house I wasn’t wanted in, on a job I had no chance of succeeding at, no matter how hard I worked or how well I performed, and I was wondering what I was even doing with my life.
Wandering into the massive bathroom, with its smoke gray granite and shower big enough for a family of five to live in, I caught sight of myself in the mirror.
Train wreck, indeed. My blonde hair was plastered to my head, my face was splotchy, and my eyes were red, both from anger and the chlorine. My shirt, still sporting the coffee stain, was now well and truly ruined, and it would probably take the jaws of life to pry the wet skinny jeans off my behind.
But underneath all that mess, I was still me. I was still Penelope Lund, daughter of two blue-collar workers. Parents who, through their hard work and sacrifice, were the back bone of America. Without people like us, the Pennington family would never have made it to where they were today. I was still the girl who made it to the top of her class at NYU on her own merit, and who worked her way to the top of the marketing department in record time.
