The Cowboy Who Got Away. Nancy Thompson Robards

What she wanted to do was sink into a nice hot bubble bath and replay the afternoon with Jude in her head. But when she walked into the kitchen, her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with dozens of fabric swatches in front of her, sipping something from a teacup as Chelsea stood, holding up different fabric combinations, comparing them to one another. Guinevere would offer yes or no verdicts and Chelsea, who was an interior designer, would deposit them into the corresponding piles.

      “Ah, there you are,” Guinevere said when she saw Juliette. “I’m so glad you’re home. I desperately need your expert advice. But, oh, Juliette, Chelsea is such a dear. She has agreed to help me choose the fabric for the new house. When Chelsea told me she was available to meet this afternoon, I tried to call you, but you weren’t picking up. Where were you, darling?”

      Juliette’s gaze locked with Chelsea’s, whose eyes widened as if she could read Juliette’s mind, before her expression settled into a knowing smirk. Juliette tried to telegraph back, I’ll tell you everything later. She looked away before she could ascertain whether or not Chelsea had gotten the message.

      She needed to appear as normal as possible so that her mother didn’t pick up on anything. As a general rule, Guinevere didn’t pick up on nonverbal cues very often, but just when Juliette started to write her off as obtuse, her mother would surprise her.

      “I had to meet a client at the Campbell Wedding Barn.”

      It was the truth.

      Guinevere blanched. “And you went out of the house like that? I wouldn’t call that business attire.”

      Juliette resisted the urge to grind her teeth. “It’s Saturday, Mother. A rare Saturday that I don’t have a wedding on the books. I have a day off. I had not intended on meeting with the client today, but she had an emergency. This is Saturday business casual.”