Page 26 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
“These women are just incredible, Mom. They are the most confident people I have ever come across.” I paused, remembering the way the ladies had each strut into the room today, not caring for one moment what anyone else thought of them, the type of clothing they wore, or how they were ‘supposed’ to look. “Watching them, seeing how they command the attention of everyone in the room, it’s inspiring.”
“Confidence is supposed to be inspiring, honey,” my mom said sagely. “That’s what makes someone a good leader. But there is a difference between confident and cocky. No one likes an ass.”
I burst out laughing. My mother rarely swore, and hearing her drop a simple word like that without missing a beat has shocked me something fierce.
It also sent a pang of homesickness through my chest. I clutched at my phone, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. I laid back in the lounge chair, staring up at the sky over the darkened hills, and I thought of home. Of sitting beside mom on the couch, sharing a laugh and a bottle of wine after a long week of work. I thought of walking to the train station in the mornings, waving to the neighbors who had lived near us for as long as I could remember. I thought of the sounds and the smells and the sights of our street in Queens. The kids playing in the school yard on a Saturday afternoon, watching them race their bikes up and down the same roads that I used to ride on when I was their age. I thought of visiting my dad at St. Michael’s, wandering the familiar silent paths through the cemetery and spending my quiet moments with him.
I missed it all. So much it hurt.
But under that hurt was my determination. I was not going to be pushed aside for something I worked so hard for. I was not going to give up the hope that mom and I could finally get out from under our financial burden and maybe, just maybe, get some breathing room.
And I was definitely not going to let a snooty cow like Constance use her name and her husband to take something that neither of them deserved.
My mother sensed my emotional struggle. She sighed into the phone. “Oh, Penelope. I am so proud of you.”
I smiled, my tears coming again, but for an entirely different reason now. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I mean it,” she confirmed. “You have worked so hard, and I am so proud of the things you have accomplished. But, Penelope, I want you to know something; you don’t have to do this for anyone but yourself.”
“Mom, I-”
“No,” she interrupted me. “Please hear me out. I love you. We have always been a team, you and me, and I appreciate everything you do. But, honey, I want you to start taking care of you first. I want you to make choices that make you happy, not the choices you think are going to be best for us, or for our bank accounts. All the money in the world wouldn’t mean anything if you were unhappy while you made it.” She took a deep breath and I held mine, waiting for whatever she would say next. “Just be sure that you are happy, Penelope. That’s all that I want for you out of this life. It’s what your daddy would have wanted, too.”
I smiled sadly, another tear escaping and tracing its way down my cheek. I swiped it away before continuing. “I love you, too, Mom. And I am happy. I promise. Just a little…stressed right now. But, it’ll be okay. All of it. I’ll finish here soon and be back in New York before you know it.”
“Good, honey. That’s really good. Now,” mom says, and I can just picture her squaring her shoulders and dusting her hands in the way she does. “I am on my way to work. I’ll tell the ladies the shoes are doing their job. You keep wearing them. I know you’ll keep doing great things, honey. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Ending the call, I leaned back again, staring up into the clear night sky, looking at the stars as they stretched across the heavens for as far as I can see.
I will get through this. I will complete this launch and create the best damn marketing campaign anyone has ever seen. I will get the VP position and no one, not Toddrick, not Constance, not Stone - not even myself - will stand in my way.
CHAPTER TEN
Stone
The following weeks went by in much the same manner as the first; me, working and stomping around in a shitty mood. Silas, giving me shit for said shitty mood. Daphne, giving me stink eye at every opportunity. And Penelope, avoiding me at all costs.
She had been getting to and from the office on her own. She was gone before I get up in the morning and I would find her at her desk every day, head down, drawing up plans and making phone calls. She was working with the art department back in Manhattan and some of the specs coming across my desk had been fantastic. Her social media teasers were also working wonders. I had to admit, her hashtags had been popular and, according to the report she delivered at our most recent weekly meeting, our Instagram followers were up by several thousand.
By all accounts, she was doing a wonderful job. The fact that she was doing it with cold and focused determination should have made me happy, but in reality, it didn’t. I missed her fire. I missed the snark and sass that she would deliver, even when she was giving me shit. Now she only spoke to me when I asked her a direct question. Even then, it was “yes, Mr. Montgomery” or “no, Mr. Montgomery”. When I saw her at the house, she refused to make eye contact and didn’t even acknowledge my existence. I would hear her having conversations with Daphne or I would see them sitting in the living room, or at the kitchen island, laughing together. While Daphne had gone back to talking to me like her brother, Penelope would make a quick exit from every room I entered.
I couldn’t decide if it hurt or just pissed me off.
A knock at my office door brought me back to the present. I looked up to see Silas standing there, a grin on his face as he takes in my messy desk.
“Whoa.” He sounded astonished, and I didn’t blame him. “What the hell happened in here?” There were reports and media briefings spread all over my desk, as well as several stacks of fabric samples from the decorator and a pile of shipping boxes in the corner, their contents spilling out all over the floor. Silas walked over to the nearest box and opened it. “Horseshoes?”
“Yeah,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Horseshoes. Real ones. Used and everything.”
He moved to the next box and reached inside. “And this?”
“That,” I replied, gesturing to the coil of rope in his hands. “Is apparently the bull rope used by six-time National Finals Rodeo Bull Riding Champion Sage Kimzey.”
“Where did you get all this stuff?” Silas gestured to the other boxes, each one filled with more and more surprising items.
“Harold,” I said dryly. “Apparently, he has been going around the country for the last year, collecting western memorabilia. He has been sending me things for weeks. Said he wanted to use them to ‘decorate the new hotel’. He’s like a kid on Christmas with this shit.”
