Such a reality would tilt anyone’s world, no doubt.The only reason she hadn’t capsized completely was because of her O’Shay roots.She was heir to the men’s fashion line, O’Shay Shirts.Great-grandpa Loom had passed the company to Grandpa Fritz, who gave the reins to Dad.Scottie was next in line.A handful of O’Shay cousins worked as production managers, accountants, sales directors, quality assurance, and HR, but everyone knew the next ruler of O’Shay Shirts was Scottie.
So why, in the quiet hours, did she long for a home that was not her home?Why did she text her sisters-in-law for pictures of the kids?Why did she hate missing out on their lives?More than anything, why did she miss the mother she never knew?
Back to the drawing board.She stared at the casual suit she’d sketched, frowned, and wondered if it looked too Don Johnson, 1980s.
“Scottie?”Penny peeked in, pointing to her watch.“Cake time.And we moved the winter design meeting back an hour.”
“Is this tooMiami Vice?”Scottie held up the drawing.
“Yes, but the ’80s are trending.Go for it.”
“You think I can risk millions of dollars on ‘go for it’?”
“If you don’t want to know what I think, don’t ask.Did you hear me about cake and the design meeting?”
“Yes, to both.Is Matteo ready to present his designs?I told him not to waste our time.”
Matteo Rossi, whom she had stolen from Armani, was her first hire since Dad and the Board promoted her to Creative Director three years ago.He was talented, creative, and often completely unrealistic.But he excelled in designing clothes for men, so she waded through his Halloween-like ideas and the no-man-would-ever-wear-that options to find the gems.Which were plenty.
“He says he’s good to go.”
“Then let’s eat cake.”Scottie headed for the door, pointing to the UPS boxes.“Open those while I’m in the design review, please.”
Boxes and packages sent directly to Scottie were, well, a bit of a sociology lesson.Some came with drawings and clothing samples from would-be designers often asking for internships, just looking for a chance to succeed.
Others contained a piece of O’Shay clothing with a wine stain and long, ragged tear.“I caught my husband cheating wearing your shirt!”
Most often: gifts from House of Blue fans, like a cheap crown or a home-sewn gown by a woman who thought it might be nice for Scottie’s next ball.
Never mind she’d never attended a royal ball.In the three years she’d known Queen Catherine—Kate—was her mother, she’d visited with her as many times.Usually for a week around the Christmas holiday.The queen had once traveled to Hearts Bend with her son, Crown Prince John, whose wife, Princess Gemma, was a hometown girl—whom John met while on a mission from Kate to woo Scottie into the Blue family.
But the queen battled illness and rarely traveled.
In case anyone wondered, a royal presence in quaint Hearts Bend was no small thing.HB also boasted a country music star and a pro football quarterback.The weekends were flooded with tourists.
“Coming for cake?”Dad peeked in, smiling, looking youthful for his sixty-two years.Also, he was in love.Another factor that tilted her world a little.Trent O’Shay in love.Dad never dated when she was growing up.It was always the two of them, plus his parents, Shug and Fritz.
“See you in there.”Scottie reached for her phone as a text from Private pinged.
Kate: Hello.It’s been a while since we chatted.I know you’re busy so no reason to reply quickly.I just wanted to say I am thinking of you.
Her mother, Kate.Texting from a double-dog top security mobile phone.
She was about to reply when a familiar masculine voice asked, “You busy?”
“Cap, hey, what are you doing in town?”Scottie met her boyfriend of two years in the middle of her office for a kiss.
Dusty and dirty, dressed in jeans, checkered shirt with a white tee peeking over the top, and well-worn work boots, Cap was the epitome of the all-American boy.Tall, good-looking, athletic and smart, devoted to his friends and family, he was a former member of the elite 75th Army Ranger Regiment turned farmer.
When he had finished saving the world, he hung up his rifle and boots for the two-hundred-year-old Henderson farm, a hundred-and-twenty acres spread along the Cumberland River.
“I came in to do some banking and stop by the post office.Here.”He handed Scottie a cup from Java Jane’s.“I was wondering if we could grab a burger from the Fry Hut later.Have a picnic in Gardenia Park.”
“Sure.Should be fun.”She sipped the hot, creamy latte.“Isn’t tonight the first spring concert?”Local bands auditioned for the coveted spot on the park’s stage.Being so close to Nashville, the talent was strong and the competition fierce.“They have cake for me in the lunchroom.Care to join?”She eyed him over the rim of her latte.
“Cake?What’s going… Ah, theGQspread?”
Scottie pointed to the magazine on her desk.“Don’t worry, I won’t get a big head over it.”
