DEFIANT (A WESTERN BAD BOY ROMANCE) (2 page)

I
left home feeling
sick to my stomach.

I was hoping I could catch some sleep on the flight from San Francisco to Wyoming. Instead, we had turbulence the whole way. Not really what the doctor ordered when one already suffers from motion sickness.

"I like your jacket," the lady next to me says warmly.

She looks upper-middle-class, fifty-ish and tired. The crinkles around her half-lidded eyes remind me of the motherly type. Her hair is done up sweetly in a bleach-blond pixie cut while her ears are adorned with turquoise stud earrings.

I smile weakly through the nausea. "Thanks. It's Burberry."

What can I say? I like nice things. And it's not because I'm shallow. At least, I don't think I am. I guess with all the time I spend working, there's not much left for going out. Why not treat myself and blow a few bucks on clothes now and then? I know, terrible.

"Looks like you should be in first class."

“Yeah, right!” I laugh. Ah, first class. That sounds nice. Along with an intravenous delivery of vodka and Dramamine to keep the nerves at bay. “I’m Katie,” I say, holding out my hand.

“Susan. Nice to meet you, Katie.”

Hoping to keep my mind off my sickness and discomfort, I continue chatting. "Actually, money used to be pretty good until just recently," I explain, leaning back into my headrest. "My father is in the hospital after suffering a severe heart attack. There were complications and the bills are piling up fast, so I’m hoping to land a consulting job in Jackson, Wyoming."

I don't mention that a week after my father was hospitalized, my fiancée, Noah, up and left. I guess everything just sort of went to shit. But it's no biggie: just one of many life challenges. I've always had faith that I could battle through whatever God handed me. Regardless, whatever happens, I absolutely need this job.
Everything
is riding on it.

"I'm so sorry," my companion frowns.

"It's alright,” I shrug. “I know he'll pull through. And as long as I interview well tomorrow and get that job, I know I’ll be able to pay the bills."

"So it's up to you, huh?”

"It's always been up to me. Sort of. My dad had to retire early, due to his weak heart and bad kidneys. I knew the day would come sooner or later when I would have to support him."

“Oh, you poor thing!” She pats my hand. “Well you look like a young woman who has her head screwed on right. What did your father do for a living?”

“He was a car salesman, one of the best. He was as tough and driven as they come. I think that’s why his heart gave out. You know, always working working working. Then, when I was sixteen, he was pretty much laid flat by health problems. Right away things began to unravel. We watched his savings begin to evaporate. I remember how the weekly drive to dialysis became routine immediately the week after I got my driver's license.”

Susan sits back in her chair and sighs. “It’s sad when a child has to take life so seriously at such a young age. What do you do for work, Katie?”

“Well,” I say, shifting in my seat, “It’s kind of complicated. Even though I majored in biology in college, I somehow fell into an advertising and marketing gig after graduation. More to make ends meet right away than for any other reason. Anyway, after learning some basic ropes there, I bounced from a public relations firm to an artsy media design agency. Finding I had a knack for all things computer-related, I began teaching myself some basic online tasks such as code writing and website development. So I guess you could say I’m a digital jack-of-all-trades, an IT media nomad who learned pretty quick that the emerging gig economy is the way of the future. My last job was freelance designing for a video game company. This recent gig, the one I’m flying to Jackson for, will primarily have to do with constructing a social media presence and doing a bit of PR work for a small startup company.”

"Oh my God! That’s fascinating,” Susan says with wide eyes. “I work in advertising myself. If you don't mind, can I ask who you will be consulting with in Jackson?"

"The Seven Group. It's a hospitality company."

She whistles. "Oh my. That's a big deal. I hope you get the job. No, in fact, I know you’ll get it!"

A big deal? Maybe for Wyoming. Being stationed in San Francisco for the past several years, I've had the opportunity to collaborate with some of the biggest companies in the world.

“How long are you going to be there for?”

“The ad for the job said six weeks. But I don’t know. We’ll see. I don’t have it yet.”

“Oh. The coldest, darkest time to be in Wyoming. I hope you brought warm clothing.”

“Actually, I didn’t,” I confess. “I’m from the Bay Area. I’ll have to buy some when I get there.”

It’s probably a good time for me to be there: cold, dark and desolate. A perfect metaphor for my broken heart right now.

Susan then leans into me conspiratorially. "I guess the company’s president, or vice-president or something, is supposed to be a real ladies man. He's got quite the reputation in Jackson. Everybody knows about him. My daughter calls him the 'Dan Bilzerian of the mountain west.' Something weird like that. She also lives in Jackson—she is a ski instructor at Jackson Hole."

"Oh, that's wonderful! I mean, about your daughter being a ski instructor. She must be pretty good. I didn’t mean to imply it would be wonderful working for a shameless womanizer."

She laughs and touches my arm, eyes glowing. Immediately I love her. I love moms, even though I've never had one.

"Oh I don't know. Might be kind of exciting,” she says wistfully. “Are you seeing anyone? Married?”

I glumly shake my head ‘no.’ I don't want to think about Noah.

I knew that landing a job in Hollywood was a big break for him after struggling for so long as an independent movie director...but he left at the worst possible time, right after my father’s heart attack. I knew I had to try and understand his decision, but at the same time, I couldn't. I still can’t. Leaving me in my darkest hour.

It sucked returning to our empty apartment night after night. It was lonely, it was empty, and it was still $1800 a month, just one more strain on my finances. On top of the prescription bills and doctors’ fees and insurance vampires.

And the worst of it all? He put our engagement on hold. That's what really made me doubt he would ever come back.

It stung like hell.

He called it a 'break,' but I still don’t know what to think about that. All I know is, it felt more like being thrown away. Discarded. Unloved.

“Well, I’m sort of seeing someone,” I correct myself. “Like so much of my life, it's complicated with my fiancée," The plane starts bouncing again. "He…he had to leave because of his career."

A big jolt hits us, and I almost yelp out loud. My companion doesn't make a sound. She's staring out the window.

Thinking we’re probably getting a little too deep into my life, Susan changes the subject. "God, it feels like we've been flying this holding pattern for an hour. Is this weather
ever
going to clear?"

"I hope. I just want off." That last quake made my stomach lurch.

"Oh my. Look at this view."

I scrunch over and look out the window. The sun is setting. There's a beautiful magenta-orange blanket of clouds under us. In the middle, below a thin cloud break, a tiny, barely-visible cluster of buildings lies at the end of a long highway; mountains surround it. Snow blankets everything, and high rocky peaks jut out in every direction around the town and the small valley it's tucked away in.

The sight calms me a little. At least I'll be touching down in a place that's pretty. Or should I say stunning?

But also small, cold and in the middle of nowhere.

Everyone says Jackson is full of movie stars and rich people, but it is so diminutive and remote I can’t for the life of me understand why. Where's the big city with all its excitement and shiny baubles?

DING
. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman," the pilot's voice comes crackling over the intercom.

The passengers quiet down. I close my eyes. Finally!

"A weather window has accorded us an OK from the tower to land. We'll be on the ground in ten minutes. Thank you for your patience. Please remain seated with you seatbelts secured as we descend through the turbulence."

"They don't got a choice," a man sitting across the aisle drawls in a thick Texas accent. He's decked out in expensive outdoor wear. "I used to work in aviation. This puppy's low on fuel."

The aircraft endures yet another terrible rocking episode. My stomach churns, and Susan takes my hand. Oh Jesus Christ.

Half an hour later, I'm walking unsteadily into the terminal while she rubs my back.

Then I'm vomiting into a trashcan, white-knuckling the edge because it's the only thing holding me up.

"Oh. Oh, poor thing,” Susan says awkwardly, wishing she could help but nevertheless keeping her distance.

It burns. The room slows and stops. My eyes scan the terminal for the nearest bathroom while I think, ‘
I’m never flying again!
’ Spotting one, I hurry over as fast as I can.

The fluorescent lights in the bathroom are cold and bluish. I take a moment to stare at my haggard reflection. My face is hollow, my lipstick is all smeared, and my eyes are staring at something I don’t recognize.

Is that me?! When did I start looking so…so old?

"Feeling better," Susan asks, gently patting my back.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, trying to convince myself. I’m really not, though.

I rinse out the vomit and brush my teeth. The water tastes metallic. A void in my stomach indicates I’m hungry, but the last thing I can imagine doing at this time is eating.

Tying my hair back up, I take a final look at myself and make a promise:
I'm going to stop feeling bad for myself. Noah's not coming back. Deal with it!
And when I’ve finished acing that interview tomorrow afternoon I'm going to go out to some smoky, Wyoming cowboy bar and try to let loose. I'm going to be crazy, just once. My future's gone, Noah's gone...what's the use of inhibitions? Maybe I'll fall in love with a cute cowboy or something...

Unfortunately, the pep talk doesn't cheer me up. Not in the least. I'm simply not that kind of girl, not even close.

Who am I kidding? No, I'm not going out by myself. More likely I'm passing out in my hotel room after a glass of wine.

Besides, it's dumb to hope for romance and love and excitement—I haven't had either in forever. What’s the use? Hoping never makes anything happen.

Luckily, working hard does make things happen. And right now I've got to bust my ass to pay the bills and keep my father alive.

"
Y
ou skipping out already
?" asks Vince Cullen, my cousin and business partner.

I'm always amazed at the sheer volume of stuff on his giant desk. Piles and piles of papers and books and files. His computer monitor is in the corner, displaying some convoluted master spreadsheet I'm sure only he understands.

Our offices are old, creaky and historic. Built in 1861, the ground floor was a saloon back in the Gold Rush days; and the upstairs, where our offices are, was a flophouse.

We're not moving. Vince likes the connection to the past. Always has. But if it were up to me I would tear it down and erect a sleek, energy-efficient, brand new high-rise.

The floorboards creak under my boots as I pull up a chair and sit down. I can hear our secretary and former skiwear model, Jacey, talking down the hall. She's on the phone while tapping steadily away on her keyboard.

Vince is the brain behind this operation. He handles all the office duties and bureaucratic minutia involved in running our little empire. Me, I'm the front man, the pretty face, the smooth talker who does the schmoozing and deal making. I guess we were always different, ever since we were young kids, growing up together on his father's cattle ranch. I miss that place. It was on the fringes of the ever-expanding development around Jackson Hole, the local ski resort, and he had to sell out. Our old childhood ranch is a subdivision now.

At that time Wyoming was changing and growing by leaps and bounds. You could say Vince and I adapted.

Long story short, Vince and I now own a good chunk of the tourist business in Jackson. We cater to the every need, whim, impulse and desire of those rich enough to vacation, ski and party in the Grand Teton mountain range.

Of course, there's all kinds, but your standard Jackson tourist comes in two flavors: there's your old-money Prep getting away from stuffy, crowded New England for some mountain air (all that sailing and incest can't be healthy); the other type is the big, loud Texans who made their fortunes in the oil business. Old money and new money. Cultured and crass. It all comes together here.

And we're making a killing!

We've got a construction company, a hotel, several bars and restaurants, a couple of recreational pot dispensaries. And if all goes well, we'll be a major investor in a new ski resort being built one state south, in Colorado.

“If”
is the key word. The deal is nowhere near sealed. And I know it's stressing Vince out.

"Are you listening? Hello? Earth to Clif—what exactly did you do all day?"

It infuriates him when I ignore him.

‘Don't get your panties in a wad, again,’
is what I'd usually say before turning tail and walking to the bar next door.

But he looks especially pissed this evening.

First thing I did this morning was India. Then I skied fresh powder for a couple hours with some business contacts; the chairlift is like the golf course around these parts. Then I had a couple of meetings at a nearby coffee shop. And then I finally made it to work...that was an hour ago.

"You know. Usual shit. Met with Donny and Jim earlier on the slopes. Discussed a financial proposal with a new client over lunch. Why? You seem a little peeved."

"I don’t know. Maybe it’s this latest expense report,” he sighs sarcastically, holding up a sheet of paper. “It's pissing me off, Clif. You sure lived it up that last business trip to Vegas."

"I can rein in the spending if you think it's frivolous."

"Frivolous?! Spending five thousand dollars on strippers is frivolous? Do you think?"

Geez, what's with him tonight?

"Okay, okay. I'll rein it in."

"You sure as hell will, Goddamnit! And what are you doing hiring strippers? I sort of thought Clif Jackson, the most loved-to-be-hated bachelor in Wyoming could find a date in fucking Las Vegas of all places."

Good lord is he angry! This isn’t like him. Vince has always been a cantankerous, obsessive-compulsive guy, but he’s not usually this unreasonable.

Then I think back to that night in Vegas, with our clients from Japan. Yeah, that was a good one. "The strippers were for our clients," I explain, waving it off like it's nothing. The expression on his face hasn't changed though.

"Stop grinning like an idiot!” he barks.

Oops. I didn’t know I was.

“You know, while you're out drinking and putting your dick in every girl with an IQ low enough to let you, I'm sitting right here, in this very office, actually working to get our Colorado development off the ground!" Vince's western drawl comes on strong when he's angry.

"What are you doing working this late anyway? Quit stressing about Colorado. There's nothing I can do until I meet with Donny again tomorrow. Pull the stick out your ass and live a little. Drinks are on me tonight, amigo."

"Clif, I can't! I’m up to my eyeballs in work! I’ve got a major deadline to meet regarding the environmental assessment that’s due next week! I’ve got to interview a consultant in ten minutes, you know, to help us with web development and shit, the shit you were assigned to do to help get Caddis Flats off the ground. You act like none of this is a big deal. But you know what? The entire fucking future of our company is riding on this! I’m so stressed out about this girl, I found her last minute, and not only that but she’s not even formally trained in media relations or communications or anything! Her saving grace is she works relatively cheap and is loaded with good references. I hope to hell she works out, otherwise we’ll both be moving into cardboard boxes under an overpass somewhere! She flew in last night. I'm going to be interviewing her in ten minutes. So no, I don’t have time for a drink because I’m picking up your slack, as usual!”

Ah. So that's what this is all about.

Shit.

Truth be told, I had been slacking on the social media stuff. I actually had half a mind to hire someone to help me because I was beginning to think it was a little over my head, especially the public opinion side of things for our development down south. Seven Group is about to turn the tiny vacation community/artists colony of Coal Butte into a winter sports mecca and business retreat to rival Jackson Hole. The major hang up, however, is the proposed workforce-housing development: basically affordable housing for all the lift-ops, line cooks, dishwashers, bus drivers, first-year ski instructors, and other low-wage staff the new resort would need.

We can't do a damn thing about the economics of tourism, but we have to do our best to get our employees affordable places for them to live where they work. Naturally, some of the “local" vacation-home owners don't want the riff-raff in their valley and filed a lawsuit to block the development. The town council is voting on our proposal in a few short weeks, and if we don’t win them over our little multi-million dollar deal is sunk.

And we'd lose everything. Even the shirts off our backs. Too much is at stake for this to fail.

"I'm sorry, Vince,” I reply sincerely. And I mean it.

He leans back in his chair, his face relaxing. "Forget it. Just do your thing at that meeting tomorrow and fucking nail it. Without Donny's money, none of this will happen anyway."

"Alright. I'm sorry. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the situation under control. Actually, I know I do." Okay, so that was a big fat lie—there are still a few issues to work out.

Vince waves it off. I grab my coat and turn to leave.

"Clif, wait."

I circle around, one hand already on the doorknob.

"You know, we're not kids on my father’s ranch anymore. I wish I could act like you, but I can't. I got responsibilities. Jacey schedules my time down to the minute every single day. That's how the world works when you're not a kid anymore."

"Yeah, I know."

"I don't think I made myself clear. Dammit, Clif, you gotta grow up."

"Yeah, Vince. Okay."

I walk out and close the door quietly behind me. Then down the hall I go for a goodbye squeeze from Jacey before heading down the antique mirrored staircase to the ground floor. There are a couple of bullet holes in the mirror; supposedly Jesse James left them there.

I pause for a second to look at myself and ruffle my hair until it looks right. I smile.
You handsome bastard
. I can hear the roar of voices from the bar next door. The place has got to be packed. Hell, I might as well get a beer before dipping out somewhere quieter. Could use a little mojo for that deal I gotta pull off tomorrow.

Vince thinks it's pretty much sealed...but only I know the real truth.

Without a loan from Donny Gambino, sleazy casino mogul and mediocre skier, our whole Colorado venture is doomed. We've already promised money we don't have, signed contracts our little company can't possibly fulfill. Our only hope now is for Donny to come through with fifteen million dollars.

And all I have to do is not fuck up tomorrow.

The babble from the bar goes up and I relax a little. I like pulling high-stakes deals anyway. I love that moment of truth: whether it's in the boardroom, on the slopes, or in bed with a girl.

Vince wants me to bring it down a few notches, settle down some, stay out of trouble. But hell, I'm not sure if that’s even possible. I used to think that trouble followed me. After all, I've been kicked off horses, wrecked cars, pissed off all the wrong people, almost drowned in rivers chasing after livestock, fought a few men who were bigger than me.

Then Vince told me I was following trouble, not the other way round. And that I'd pay for my arrogance some day, just I wait.

But I'm still waiting on that day of reckoning to happen.

What's a grown-up life like, anyway? I don’t want to bust my ass daily just so I can drive home and fuck the same woman. I don’t want to get fat lounging on the couch all evening, watching other people pretend to have adventures on TV just because I'm spent after a hard day at work to do anything else. And I'm certainly not going to deal with the ungrateful little shits that my 2.5 kids are bound to turn into.

Grow up? To hell with that!

I know I'd be a real catch, if I ever let one catch me. I know because they've all been trying. I'm not complaining; in fact, I'm enjoying every second.

Money, notoriety, all the women I can (and can't) handle...who in his right mind would ever give that up? Besides, then all these gorgeous women wouldn't love to hate me. And all those dudes on Instagram wouldn't be jerking off to my lifestyle every day.

A lifestyle they'd never have the balls to live.

And that includes Vince.

I'm once again smirking at my own expression, trying not to chuckle. I do that a lot. What can I say? I'm happy. How could
Life
get any better than this? I came up from nothing, and now I've got it all.

Grow up? Never!

I’ll never be a poor cowboy again. Not for love. Not for adulthood. Not for nothing.