Her Winning Ways
BIG CITY KISSING
“Anyone special in your life?” she asked.
“No. No one at all.”
This time, he really did lean toward her, just a little, and he was not smiling. He was concentrating on her face, examining her eyes, her hair, her mouth.
A confusion of feelings was slithering all through her. She took another bite of her hot dog.
He was closer.
“You know I want to kiss you, don’t you?” he said.
“I’m all garlicky.”
“So am I.”
“You look so serious,” she said.
“You have the prettiest hair.” His eyes were locked on hers. His finger lifted a strand away from her forehead. “It’s the color of butterscotch.”
“That sounds sticky.”
“I know. But still . . .”
. . . and closer . . .
And then he did kiss her.
And she closed her eyes.
And it was the motorcycle ride all over again . . .
Books by J. M. Bronston
A PURRFECT ROMANCE
HER WINNING WAYS
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Her Winning Ways
J. M. Bronston
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
BIG CITY KISSING
Books by J. M. Bronston
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One - Surprise!
Chapter Two - Welcome?
Chapter Three - Whew!
Chapter Four - Meanwhile
Chapter Five - The Green Parrot
Chapter Six - A Whole New Person?
Chapter Seven - Headquarters, Please
Chapter Eight - Pride and Prejudice
Chapter Nine - Getting Closer
Chapter Ten - A. J. Keenan’s
Chapter Eleven - Lindy’s Story
Chapter Twelve - Making Friends
Chapter Thirteen - Ribbon-Cutting
Chapter Fourteen - The Spree . . . Wheee!
Chapter Fifteen - In the Park
Chapter Sixteen - The Fitting
Chapter Seventeen - The Tour
Chapter Eighteen - Across the Bridge
Chapter Nineteen - Dinner—and?
Chapter Twenty - The Morning News
Chapter Twenty-one - Front Moving In
Chapter Twenty-two - Tracking in the Asphalt Jungle
Chapter Twenty-three - Simon Says
Chapter Twenty-four - Interlude
Chapter Twenty-five - Interrogation
Chapter Twenty-six - Larking About
Chapter Twenty-seven - Chaos!
Chapter Twenty-eight - The Morning After
Chapter Twenty-nine - In Margaritaville
Chapter Thirty - The Wobbles
Chapter Thirty-one - In the Neigh-borhood?
Chapter Thirty-two - A Word from Mom
Chapter Thirty-three - Home Sweet Home?
Epilogue - Happily Ever After
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
For Annie, Mary, and Margaret
Prologue
Marge Webster pushed the stack marked “short-listed” to one side and removed the top packet from the pile. She looked around the conference table for confirmation and got a nod from each of her editors.
“So we’re agreed,” she said. “We’re going with this one.”
Matt Gerson, from the legal department, made an entry on the laptop in front of him and said, “I liked her essay. Simple, to the point, honest. Very appealing.”
The features editor, Dinah Featherington, agreed. “Girl from Wyoming, grew up on a ranch—it’ll make a great story.”
And the beauty editor, Annelie Magano, added, “And good-looking, too. We shouldn’t gussie her up too much. Feature the simple, western angle.”
“Yes, she is good-looking.” Marge picked up the photo in front of her, adjusted her glasses, and studied the picture one last time. “Naturally good-looking. She has a nice open face. Kind of childlike, like she’s just waiting for something good to happen. Almost angelic, with those big hazel eyes and the long blond hair. And a nice figure, too. Not too skinny. I like her. Good choice, everyone.” She put the papers together and handed them to her assistant, Jerry, who was standing behind her. “Okay, then. That’s it. We’re done here. Thank you, everyone.”
The life of an editor-in-chief is high energy and no wasted time. Marge Webster always had other places to be, other decisions to make, other fires to put out. And now she was up and out the door, on to other meetings, in a swirl of pale silk, feathery soft wool, and a subtle Cartier perfume. The door closed behind her.
There was silence for about four seconds.
And then there was a general pushing back of chairs, a gathering up of notes and paper coffee cups, the checking of iPhones and BlackBerries—and a flurry of sociable commentary on the results of the meeting.
Eugenie Shaw, assistant to the features editor, walked out with Annelie Magano. “I saw in her bio, her mom’s maiden name was Annemarie Wikstrom. She’s from the original Swedish settlers in the area.” Eugenie held the door as Annelie went through. “I’ll bet that hair is naturally blond,” she said.
“I noticed that. We may want to leave it untouched.”
And right behind them, Helen Fiore, marketing director, said to Dinah Featherington, “I love that she lives on a cattle ranch—and that she won rodeo medals in high school. With that face and that background, she’s such an interesting combination. It will make a great feature. So very American.”
“Yes, it will play well with our European readers,” added Sylvie Pilard, the Paris editor. “And the Galliard people have approved, too.”
Chapter One
Surprise!
Liz’s shriek came through the phone, loud as the sudden squeal of a new-branded calf. Startled students looked up from their books.
“Annie! Omigod, Annie! You won it! You won it! They picked you!”
“Stop yelling at me, Liz.” Annie spoke sharply into her phone. “This is a library, you know.” She pointed at the “Quiet, Please” sign on her desk, as though her sister, ten miles away, could see it. “What are you talking about?”
“The contest!” Liz’s voice remained at top volume, her excitement spilling out uncontrollably. “Don’t you remember?”
“Liz, please. People can hear you.” Annie covered the phone with her hand and dropped her voice to a whisper, as though that would tone Liz down a few decibels. “No, I don’t remember. What are you talking about? What contest?”
“That new department store! In New York City! Galliard’s! Remember?”
“In some magazine, wasn’t it?” Annie said. Slowly, it was coming back to her. “Way back in February?”
“Yes! Yes! In Lady Fair!”
Dimly, Annie recalled a night many weeks ago. The winds had been blowing hard across the valley, pushing the snow up in big drifts around the house. The dinner dishes had been cleared away, the kids had been put down for the night, and Liz’s husband, Craig, had gone out to check on a sick calf. She’d been busy filling out registrations for the ranch’s new quarter horses, and Liz, killing a few idle minutes by leafing through Lady Fair, had found the announcement of the contest. Just for fun, they’d each filled out an entry.
Now, digging through all the masses of data in her memory bank, what Annie really remembered about that night was not the essay she’d written or the prize that was offered. What she remembered was her fantasy of a glitzy, nighttime New York
City transplanted out onto Wyoming’s open spaces—the bright, edgy, big-city lights sparkling like fireworks up against the silent, star-filled sky that arched above the family’s ranch. And a fancy French department store set incongruously on their wind-swept, mountain-rimmed, high plateau country. It had been an amusing fantasy.
That’s the part she remembered.
“Galliard’s?” she repeated, trying to focus her attention. “Was that the name of the store?”
“That’s the one! That’s the one!” Liz was still screeching, and the annoyed students were shifting in their seats, registering their irritation. “Listen. I’ll read it to you.” She took a deep breath and, as calmly as she could, read into the phone:
Dear Ms. Cornell,
On behalf of Lady Fair and the Sweeps-Spree Selection Committee of Galliard International, I am pleased to inform you that your entry has been selected as the first-place winner in Galliard’s Jubilee Contest celebrating the grand opening of an exciting new store on New York’s fabulous Fifth Avenue.
Liz paused. She was fanning herself with the letter. “Omigod, Annie. I can’t believe this. Listen to what you get.” She went on, reading out bits of the letter:
“‘. . . a fifty-thousand dollar shopping spree . . . five days . . . all expenses paid... for two. . . .’ For two, Annie!” she interrupted herself. “And there’s more—‘red carpet press coverage . . . national celebrities and local dignitaries . . . the mayor of the City of New York—’”
She broke off her reading.
“Five days, all expenses paid! For two! For two, Annie! That means I get to go, too, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t dare take anyone else, would you? Omigod, fifty thousand dollars! Oh, say I can go with you. Aunt Velma will take care of the kids, I know she will. And Craig won’t mind. He wouldn’t dare mind. He can do without me for a few days. Oh, just think, Annie. Bags. And shoes. And Hermès scarves. I’ve never been to New York. You’ve never been to New York. It’s like a dream.”
Liz’s chatter bubbled past Annie who by now had collapsed dumbly into the chair at her desk. All thoughts of student research papers, grant proposals, and new library acquisitions vanished from her thoughts.
Bags? Shoes? Scarves? And New York City?
Her large hazel eyes stared blankly out through the big library windows, over the bent heads of the students working at the library tables, past the trees that were in their full springtime bloom all over the campus, and beyond to the mountains, their peaks draped with the shining remains of winter’s snow. In times of confusion, she always looked to the quiet majesty of those mountains to anchor her.
“Oh, yes, Liz. Wonderful clothes. I can’t even imagine—”
New York City. Fifty thousand dollars. Celebrities. At last. An adventure!
“Annie? Are you there?”
New York City!
Annie breathed the magic words to herself.
Since I was a kid, wishing for a real adventure. Something I could tell my children about.
“Annie? Annie? Are you there?
Liz—always at me to settle down, pick someone, for goodness’ sake, have kids, make a home.
But I want to have an adventure first—with maybe just a little danger mixed in—she smiled to herself as she added a romantic twist to her fantasy—and maybe there’ll be someone tall and cute who’ll ride to my rescue—and he’ll sweep me off my feet—and—and then—
She brought herself quickly back to the real world.
“Oh, yes, Liz. I’m here. And yes, we really are going to New York. You and me.”
Chapter Two
Welcome?
Sunday
The plane banked left, and the island of Manhattan swam into view thousands of feet below. The throbbing vibration of the big jet engines matched the excited thump-thump of Annie’s heart as the plane made its descent. She turned and poked at her sister, sound asleep next to her.
“Honestly, Liz. How can you sleep at a time like this?”
“Huh?” Liz looked around blearily, blinking, straightening up in her seat. “Where are we?”
“New York, Liz! It’s New York! We’ll be landing soon.”
“I’m completely fuzzy.” Liz dragged a hand through her hair.
“It must be the Dramamine you took. You conked out somewhere over Kansas. I haven’t seen you sleep like that since we were kids. Your mouth was open.”
“Well, thanks a bunch.” Liz made a face at her little sister. She rummaged around in her bag, looking for a comb and a lipstick. “You could have poked me or something. Anyway, I wasn’t really asleep.”
“I did poke you. You were snoring.”
“I was not. And so what if I was. Better that than being awake and scared. Thirty thousand feet up in the sky makes no sense to me. I prefer ground beneath my feet, like on the ranch.” She’d found her mirror and was checking the damage. “Omigod! I look a mess!”
“No you don’t. You look fine. Just fine. No one in New York will ever know you’re an old lady of thirty-three with two kids, good Wyoming dirt under your fingernails, and a couple of hundred head of cattle waiting for you to get back home.”
“There ain’t no dirt under my nails, ma’am.” Liz put on a heavy cowhand drawl, holding up a perfectly serviceable hand in front of her sister’s face. “And anyway, no one’s going to be looking at me. You’re the star of this trip and all the cameras will be on you. And what they’ll see is the luckiest college librarian in all Wyoming. No,” she corrected herself, “in the whole world.” Liz finished repairing her makeup and dropped her lipstick into her bag. “And the giddiest. I swear, Annie, you’ve been revved up like a cowboy on Friday night. It’s a good thing I came along. You’re going to need someone to keep an eye on you, see you don’t get into trouble.”
Annie didn’t answer her sister. She just turned her head back to the window, rested her forehead against the small glass panel and silently watched the buildings below grow bigger and the cars and taxis and trucks get closer as the plane descended over a dizzying network of highways. Soon the ground was rushing up at them. They’d be touching down in a moment and Liz’s words were echoing in her head.
. . . see you don’t get into trouble . . .
There was a skiddy sort of screechy bump and then a head-filling, chest-whumping roar as the plane’s brakes took hold and brought the big jet to a deafening stop. The flight attendant’s voice told them to remain seated until they reached the gate. Passengers pulled out their cell phones, business as usual being quickly resumed. Annie was impatient to unbuckle her seat belt, so eager to get going.
Maybe just a little trouble? Not too much. Just enough to be interesting. Something that would make people fuss over me. Reporters interviewing me. My face on television.
Sailing along again, on the flow of her daydreams.
Lady Fair’s rep was waiting for them at the baggage carousel. She was an astonishingly young woman and New York chic in stiletto pumps and slim skirt, with a clipboard clutched to her bosom. Her brown-and-ash-streaked hair was caught up in an untidy twist at the back of her head, from which flyaway strands escaped engagingly, and the scent of something expensive floated around her. Young as she was, she already had a well-practiced smile and a crackling enthusiasm.
“I’m Soraya Abbandando-Steinberg,” she said. “I’m here to welcome you on behalf of Lady Fair and Galliard’s International. Call me Mitzi.” She waved a busy hand at them as though it held a magic wand. “Love your outfit.”
Annie glanced down at her jeans and leather jacket.
My outfit?
Just ordinary clothes, comfortable for traveling. The soft leather jacket, made from the hide of a deer her grandpa shot years ago. And her everyday boots and jeans and the big silver buckle—her good luck buckle—that she’d won in high school in a local barrel race. How had they been suddenly promoted to an “outfit”?
But Mitzi was rushing on at warp speed before Annie could get out a word.
“We�
��re just so terrifically thrilled to welcome you to New York.” Mitzi gathered them up as though they were runaway chicks. “All of us at Lady Fair. Good flight, I hope. Weather’s been terrific, thank God. New York’s so great this time of the year. I have a car waiting for you outside. Give me your claim tickets.” She gestured at an assistant hovering a few steps behind her. “Lester will pick up your baggage for you.” And she was off in a rush toward the exit, with the two sisters hopping to keep up with her.
The terminal doors opened for them and they were out into an alarming crush of traffic that twisted with what seemed to be a hair-raising, split-second timing through a tangle of roadways. Liz was still groggy from the Dramamine and bewildered by the racket around her. But Annie instantly fell in love with the dizzying frenzy. It was everything she wanted it to be. It took her breath away. More cabs than she’d ever imagined, they performed an urban gavotte as passengers peeled off into the arriving stream, drivers hauled suitcases into the cabs’ trunks, and away they went, replaced immediately by the next arriving cab, the next waiting passenger. The mass of cars and buses and vans and sleek black town cars, the skycaps wheeling carts of luggage, the blur of multihued, multinational images, the unimaginable variety of costumes and languages, the noise and flash and international variety—like countless others newly arrived in the big city, Annie felt a rush of energy, an intense focus of her attention, a delicious sense of her whole system shifting up into a new gear.
Her adventure was on its way!
At the hotel, Mitzi breezed ahead of them through the living room of their suite, being sure they noted the courtesy bucket of Champagne, the iced dish of caviar, the flowers, the enormous cellophane-wrapped basket of fruit (all provided by Lady Fair, of course), the view from the tall windows, the East River sparkling up at them from forty-four floors below. She showed them the two bedrooms, one for Annie and one for Liz, and next to each bed, a silver plate of chocolates. On Annie’s pillow were a congratulatory greeting from the hotel management next to a Lady Fair packet of papers, welcoming the prize-winner to New York and laying out her schedule, beginning with a reception that very evening at The Green Parrot, a meeting with Lady Fair staff in the morning, to be followed by makeup and hair and photos. On Tuesday the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and then—and then!—the actual sweep through the store to gather up fashion goodies worth $50,000! With Lady Fair staffers to follow her everywhere to record everything and TV cameras to bring it all to local viewers, followed by three days of events, including a tour of the city, an evening at the theater—and even some time for them to explore on their own.