Jumped (4 page)

After the initial enthusiastic flurry, the group's collective hedonism dissipated as the next song began—Madonna, when she had a mole. Finn ended up dancing in the midst of the throng, and whenever he turned to face Bethany, the cluster turned with him. The consolation prize of not getting to dance with just her was that he got to watch her move in that cobalt-blue dress that clung to her behind and ended midthigh. He'd always liked her ass. Her rider's legs were still strong, with defined calves and trim ankles. He'd always liked them, too. He'd been attracted to her physically from the moment they'd met. That had never been a problem between them. The memory of a long rainy afternoon spent in bed flitted through his mind. Watching that long dark hair of hers sway and bounce with the music, he wanted to feel those tendrils brush against his face.

Good God, now he was thinking about kissing her. His ex-wife. Maybe love really was in the air. Or was it simply poor judgment?

2

T
hey lasted through
several more songs. The sweaty, estrogen-fueled gaggle eventually dispersed and Beth and Finn could dance together. She knew she was grinning as though she'd just collected a trailerful of blue ribbons at a big horse show, but she didn't care. She was having
fun
. With Finn. Obviously it was temporary insanity, but who cared? She was thinking of returning to the table—the altitude was winning—but “Tainted Love” came on and lured her like a siren. It hadn't been “their song,” but one night, as they unpacked boxes in their new apartment, they had danced to it in their tiny living room. The dancing had led to a lovemaking session that had nearly done in their poor IKEA coffee table. Finn must've remembered it, too, because he was looking at her steadily, and a slight smile curled his lips. He stepped closer to her and cupped her hips with his palms. She put her hands on his shoulders.

It was fun. Just fun. Nothing more. Certainly not dangerous. Forget that her brain was fogging over—that had to be from endorphins, gin, wine, and the relief that seeing Finn wasn't as awful as she'd feared. She playfully moved her hips back and forth and he grinned. The refrain blasted across the floor and they dropped their hands and sang along, grimacing as though performing in a stadium. Beth looked into his eyes as they sang.

It was nice, she was thinking through the fog, that she and Finn could have fun together. It was weird, yes, but nice. And it boded well for the rest of the wedding weekend. She could hang out with everyone and it wouldn't be awkward. Well, not paralyzingly awkward, anyway.

As “Tainted Love” was ending, her mind returned to the memory she'd replayed about the coffee table. Best to push that one aside. There were no IKEA coffee tables in the Hotel Jerome. Probably not in all of Aspen. And that was a good thing.

Something eminently danceable by Earth, Wind & Fire started up, and tempting though it was, Beth was done. She fanned her face with her hand and jerked her thumb toward the table like a hitchhiker. Finn nodded. Beth noticed he had lost his tux jacket. His face was shiny with sweat. Brown curls clung to his forehead. That damn coffee table romped through her head again.

Finn ushered her to the empty table, excused himself, and went to the men's room. It was her perfect opportunity to step outside and cool off. She suddenly didn't want Finn to see her all sweaty.

Beth leaned against the hotel's redbrick front, lifted her hair off of her neck, and fanned her damp skin with her ponytail. Grit stuck to her bare feet. She gazed west down the street toward Snowmass. She heard the hotel door open and turned to see Finn heading toward her with a glass of water. He looked really good in the light from the street lamp and the Aspen moon.

She squinched her eyes at him. “You following me?”

He shook his head. “I'm taking up smoking. But I'm doing it in stages. I come outside and stand on sidewalks where I could smoke if I wanted to. Next I'll buy a lighter. Then eventually, when I feel I'm ready, cigarettes.”

She laughed.

He continued. “Did you really think you could ditch me?”

“It's not all about you, you know. I was hot.”

“Was?” He hoisted his eyebrows.

She didn't want to smile—she didn't want to further succumb to his charm—but her mouth curved up without her permission.

He handed her the glass. “Hydrate,” he said in his know-it-all voice. Like he was a doctor or something. “It's important at altitude. There are a lot of activities you have to be ready for this weekend. All those gin and tonics are counting on you to show up.”

“Yes, Dr. McNabb,” she said sullenly.

“I like the sound of that. Would you call me that for the rest of the weekend? Impress the ladies.”

“Gee, let me think,” she said. “No.”

He grinned and stepped back to take in the hotel's imposing redbrick facade, three stories of Old West elegance bathed in golden lights.

“Whatcha lookin' at?”

“Isn't it something? Did you know this used to be
the
hotel in Aspen? See the little eyebrows over the windows? That blue is supposed to be the same color as the sky here. It's called Bayer blue.”

“After the famous aspirin?”

He rolled his eyes, which were also very blue. “After a famous architect.” He dropped his gaze to her feet and her hot-pink nail polish. “Speaking of color, nice toes.”

She grinned. “Remember after we watched
Bull Durham
and I tied you to the bed and painted your toenails?”

He smirked. He had a sexy little smirk. “As much as I've tried to forget, yes. Yes, I do. You wouldn't untie me until they were dry. I don't know how you women wait like that.”

“As I recall, you didn't mind waiting.” Beth felt her face reheat at the vivid memory. She gulped her water.

The corner of Finn's mouth twitched microscopically and he held her gaze. “No, I didn't.” Pause. Pause. “Your feet okay?”

“Yeah. All that dancing. And those stilettos. You know how it is—sometimes you have to suffer to look good.”

“The suffering's working. You look good. I didn't recognize you at first.”

She gleefully watched the blunder register on his face.

He blinked, then added, “Your hair, I mean. It's dark. And long.” He took an exasperated breath. “Oh, God. What I mean is, you look great.”

It was her turn to smirk. “Nice save. . . . Not.”

That one side of his mouth lifted. “Give me a break. Your hair's long and brown. I bet your own mother doesn't recognize you.”

“Yeah, I quit blonding it up and let it grow. Believe it or not, it's easier to deal with at shows—I can stick it under my helmet. It looks better than when it was short and pieces were sticking out through the hair net like straw. And no roots.”

He inhaled and closed his eyes. “I used to love the smell of peroxide in the morning,” he said. “It smelled like . . . toxins.”

“More suffering to look good.”

“Why did
I
have to suffer?”

“To have a gorgeous wife.”

“I did have that.”

He raised his hand, then dropped it to his side. If she didn't know he had no feelings for her, she would have sworn he was going to touch her hair. Then she noticed his lips move slightly sideways and realized he was tapping his incisors together, a sure sign he was nervous.

Beth hadn't expected things to turn all wistful. She had to get them back to Bantertown and fast. She grabbed her hair again and fanned her neck. “Whew. It's nice out here, isn't it?” Lame! So lame. Her brain had obviously clocked out.

Finn looked at her in that way that used to make her feel like she was the most important person in the world. It may have been true once, but she knew it wasn't now. Still, it was nice. As was he. “So tell me about this clothing line of yours.”

She squinted at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I couldn't find show shirts I liked—they were all boring—so I designed a few. Some friends liked them, so I designed a few more and gave them as gifts. Other people saw them at shows and started asking my friends where they got the shirts. My friends—Amanda included, which was a boon, since she's a celebrity now—talked me up. I partnered with a guy who can make them on a small scale. I've found fabric suppliers and clothing manufacturers, and now I'm a vendor, with my own tent and everything. If this keeps going, I'll get a trailer when I can afford it. I sell my shirts and some regular riding clothes, that kind of thing. I kind of make it up as I go along, and so far it's working. But I don't pretend to know what I'm doing.”

Finn nodded. “That's great. Do you have a website?”

“Not yet. That's next. In fact, I'm going to meet with a friend of Grady's while I'm here. He has an advertising agency and can help me with a website, a marketing plan, Internet stuff, and everything else I know nothing about.”

“Cool. I'm happy for you.”

She wanted to impress him. She wanted to show him she had matured from the woman she'd been when they were married. She wanted him to see how beautifully she had gotten her life together and how courageous she was now, tackling this business launch on her own. No, she hadn't become president of Microsoft, but it was something.

Telling him about her new venture reminded her of late nights they'd spend in bed, talking about their dreams for the future. His were made of buildings, hers were of horses.

“Yeah. It's still in its infancy. We'll see.”

“How long will you be here?”

“About a month, give or take.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That long?”

“I drove my horse up from California, where I'd been showing. Amanda's taking the month off so we can hang. She'll help me with my riding. And I'll have time to come up with some new designs.”

“What about your horse? Just one now?”

She knew he was only asking because this was her favorite topic, but she gave him points anyway. “Yes, it's still Brooke. I had her then, right?”

His lips tightened as he nodded. Referencing their split evoked something in him, too. She felt a tiny pinch near her heart as she said “then”—when they were married. She drained her glass.

At that moment a male wedding guest in his twenties wobbled onto the sidewalk, carrying one of the elaborate floral centerpieces. A woman—likewise pickled, likewise carrying a centerpiece—wobbled next to him. The drunkard stumbled and dropped the centerpiece. The vase shattered, and shards of glass exploded all over the sidewalk.

“Opa!” the man yelled. The woman thought this was hilarious, so much so that she flung hers to the ground as well, yelled “Opa!” and then bent over in a fit of hysterics.

“Bummer,” said the man, which made the woman laugh harder. He, too, began to laugh and put his hand on the woman's back as she stayed bent over like an accelerating skier. They were cocooned together in the oblivion of the truly drunk.

Glass covered the width of the sidewalk.

Beth and Finn exchanged looks.

Finn said to her, “Excuse me,” then spoke to the drunkards. “You two need a cab?”

The woman straightened and answered. “We—he,” she looked at her date, whom she had probably just acquired at the reception, “has a car.” She looked at Finn.

She looked at Finn, Beth noted, with one of those gooey-eyed expressions women acquired when they focused on his face. Beth couldn't help herself; she coughed, “Bimbo!”

“But maybe we should get a cab,” said the poor little drunk girl, whose eyes had become dewy. “Could you call us one?”

Beth rolled her eyes.

Finn did. And gathered the flowers on the sidewalk and gave them to the girl, who blushed so vociferously Beth could see it in the dim light. “Wait here, it'll be here in five minutes.” He turned back to Beth. “You ready to go back in? Looks like the evening's performance art is over.”

“Yeah,” she replied. She started to walk toward the street, away from Finn and the hotel, skirting the glass.

“Bethany, the hotel's back here.”

She turned and said, “I'm not one of those mystics who can walk on glass. If it were hot coals, I'd be fine.”

He caught up to her in three strides. “Grab on,” he said, and picked her up before she could react.

“Put me down!” she squeaked and pushed against his chest. Which was all muscular and hard. Harder than she remembered. He was all fit and stuff. Unfortunately for her, it seemed he had been working out over the past five years. For four hours a day. With cinder blocks. Had he done time? He was supposed to have become gelatinous after subsisting on Cheetos, Twinkies, and beer. But he hadn't followed the plan
at all.
Damn.
“Come on, you don't have to do this. I can walk.”

“Shhh,” Finn said as glass shards crunched under his beautiful Cole Haans. “Use your inside voice, Bethany.”

She laughed. “You don't have to carry me.”

“It's better than a trip to the ER.”

He had chauffeured her to the ER several times, mostly due to equine incidents. She wasn't accident-prone, but for a while she'd been training a young horse that had a talent both for clearing five-foot fences and for injuring her. Then there was a concussion from a fall, and once she'd stepped on a nail while visiting him at a work site, which had made him brim with guilt. The fact that he'd brought up the ER made her smile.

“You could have gotten my shoes.”

“This is less hassle, more efficient, and more fun.”

More fun?
She could see the little triangle of brown in the blue iris of his right eye, and smell him, a scent she'd once labeled “boy toy.” She had forgotten about that, but her brain apparently hadn't, because she felt a little giddy.
Or maybe that was the gin. Yes, let's assume it was the hooch
. He was wearing his tux jacket again. It felt silky as a horse's neck beneath her palm.