“You’re from Colorado, Trouble. You should know that not all mountain towns are full of elk and a general store run by a guy named Cletus.”
I glance out the window at a place called Fern & Fable, complete with soft music playing through outdoor speakers and a chalkboard sign advertising lavender lemonade and leather boots. “I was not prepared for the town store to be this charming.”
“Don’t let the ambiance fool you. They still sell horse shampoo.”
I narrow my eyes as he shuts off the truck. “You don’t strike me as a man who would use something that luxurious.”
“I have a very high-maintenance mane,” he says, opening his door. “And I do like to take care of it because … I’m worth it.”
I laugh as I climb out, Jameson leaping down beside me with surprising grace for a dog built like a loaf of bread. “Well, let’s get this over with. What am I supposed to look for?”
“Anything practical, a few pairs of good shoes, one pair of boots,” Duke holds the door open for me, but I let Jameson run in first. “Beyond that, anything else you want.”
The second I step inside, my world shifts.
What the hell?
It’s like I’ve been swallowed by a high-end hunting lodge that had a one-night stand with an Anthropologie, and they kept the baby.
One half of the store (Fable, presumably) is all sleek gear and rugged displays: flannels hung on vintage canoe paddles, hiking boots curated in perfect rows, and a faux forest scene complete with a trickling indoor stream and an animatronic fox sniffing at a fakecampfire. A mannequin in a puffer vest is roasting a flannel marshmallow.
The other half (Fern) stretches into delicate archways, twinkling string lights, and racks of flowing dresses. There’s a chandelier made entirely of antique teacups. A wall of vintage suitcases acts as shelving for handmade jewelry.
Duke steps up to me and presses his index finger under my chin and gently closes my gaping mouth. “Told you. Not a Cletus in sight.”
Before I can say more, a purr sounds from behind me.
“Hello, handsome.”
I turn as a woman, who looks like she stepped out of a Hallmark ranch wedding, pops up from behind a sales counter. She’s petite, caramel blond, wearing a head-to-toe floral maxi dress, cowboy boots, and a belt with more rhinestones than should be allowed in civilized society.
Duke smiles. “Hey, Mary-Kate.”
Of course her name is Mary-Kate.
“I was talking to Jameson here.” Mary-Kate leans down and gives Jameson a biscuit, which he takes to a fluffy dog bed that sits in the corner. She then turns her attention to me. “Is this the little miss you said needs some new duds?” Mary-Kate asks, her eyes bobbing up and down as she sizes me up. “Looks like she’s a size six.”
Oh, so she is literally sizing me up.
“That’s right,” I say.
Mary-Kate extends a manicured hand my way. “Come with me. We’ll get you taken care of. Duke’s already given me his card.”
I reluctantly take Mary-Kate’s hand and glance over my shoulder at Duke. “How veryPrettyWomanof you.”
“Wasn’t in the mood to fight you about this,” he says, following us deeper into the boutique.
“That’s disappointing,” I say as Mary-Kate startsshuffling through a rack of clothing in front of us. “You seem to like to fight.”
“Duke, you want a beer?” Mary-Kate asks as she starts shoving frilly, cowgirl clothes my way.
“Would love one.” Duke sinks into a chair that sits outside the dressing room. A different woman brings Duke a beer, smiles, and then walks up front to help another customer.
“You serve beer here?” I ask.
“Got to keep the men happy while the women shop, darlin’,” Mary-Kate replies.
“Okay, start with these,” Mary-Kate commands now that my arms are full.
