Most women didn’t joke with him; they lowered their lashes and flirted.
Most women would have taken off the cap and the sweatshirt, run a hand through their hair and at least tried to show off their assets, but she didn’t seem to care how she looked.
Most women wouldn’t have gushed over 60s music—hell, they wouldn’t have known any of the words, either.
Most women wouldn’t have admitted to eating a piece of sugary, fattening candy, and if they did? They would have been suggestive with that stupid lollipop, rather than just sucking on it like a good ol‘ piece of hard candy from a penny store.
Lars turned into a parking space in front of the storefront that read “Lindstrom & Sons: Yellowstone Tours,” and cut the engine, resting his hands on the steering wheel as an unlikely conclusion took root in his mind.
She didn’t flirt. She wasn’t trying to impress him. She wasn’t putting on airs. And she wasn’t trying to seduce him.
Huh. Why not?
It hit Lars like a ton of bricks as he put the pieces together, and he sat back in his seat, a little stunned, a little bemused, and maybe even a little impressed.
She doesn’t want me.
As he identified this reality, impressed shifted quickly to bothered.
Wait. She doesn’t want me?
And bothered was swiftly followed by the compulsory reaction of any confident man in the face of such an ego-bruising realization:
Challenge accepted.
You don’t want me? Well, we’ll just see about that, Jane Mays. We’ll just see.
CHAPTER 2
“Lars!” His father looked up from the desk where he was sorting client files and grinned. “How’s the New Yorker?”
“Fine,” Lars grumbled, plopping down in the loveseat across from his father’s desk and feeling ornery. “Kind of a smart-ass.”
The store-front offices of Lindstrom & Sons were simple and serviceable: in the front of the office was a small table with six chairs for client meetings, and beside that, a simple khaki loveseat and glass coffee table on which a handsome leather album sat with the words Lindstrom & Sons: Adventures embossed on the cover.
The rear half of the office had two prominent desks and several file cabinets lining the walls over which hung photos of Pop, Nils, Lars, and Erik leading various tours of Yellowstone. Two doors in the back led to a washroom and a small kitchen that had a table for two and a Keurig that made the worst coffee in Gardiner.
“Smart-ass, huh?” His brother Nils came from the back room stirring a cup of coffee and took a seat at the desk behind their father. “Code for: She’s immune to Lars’s famous charm. Ha ha! Wonders never cease!”
Nils plunked down at his desk and picked up a Nerf football, throwing it over their father’s head in Lars’s direction. Lars caught it easily and tossed it back. He didn’t have his own desk, which grated on him most days. If he needed to handle paperwork, he was left sitting at the conference table in the front window which, more or less, broadcasted to the world: There’s Lars Lindstrom, not important enough to have his own damn desk.
“She’s here for work, Nils, not pleasure,” Pop said, without looking up. “I’m sure she has more important things to do than make eyes at Lars here.”
He winked at Lars over his glasses then went back to sorting the files. “Mess of work getting all these magazine people sorted out.”
“Can I help?” Lars asked, leaning forward.
“Nah, Midten. Me and Nils’ll handle the business. You’re our face man. You handle the talent and the locations.”
Face man. Don’t you see I can be more than that?
But Lars wasn’t in the mood to face off with someone else today.
“I’ll drive out with her tomorrow to check out the locations. They chose Sheepeaters, Old Faithful and Yellowstone Lake. Had to convince ’em of that one. They considered Hayden, but I told ’em I couldn’t guarantee sightings.” Hayden Valley was home to a good number of Yellowstone wildlife, but Lars didn’t like it for a photo shoot. Without animals grazing it was unimpressive, and the animals were too unpredictable.
“Sounds good,” his father mumbled, distracted by work.
“Have to go pick up Jane at five,” Lars said, wondering if she’d wear her baseball cap at dinner. “Said I’d take her to a restaurant for supper and then to the BW. She had fifteen bags to unpack for the model. Can you imagine?”
“Fifteen bags? For a week?” His father looked at him over his glasses. “I will never understand these city people. All you need is a backpack and a duffel. Don’t even need the duffel for less than a week.”
Lars smiled to himself, thinking of Jane’s leather backpack and beat-up leather bag. His father would probably like Jane.
“Call her “the talent,” son. They like it better.”
Lars rolled his eyes. He knew to call Samara Amaya the talent. He didn’t need a reminder. Just an excuse to treat me like a baby. Grr.
“When’re Erik and Kat getting to town?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Week from today. Erik said they’d leave at dawn, so probably here by Saturday lunchtime. Same with Jenny-girl and hers. Magazine people leave for the airport on Friday night and the talent’s headed down to the resort in Jackson Hole for Saturday and Sunday.”
Lars’s little brother Erik and his wife Katrin were having their twin daughters, Dagmar and Heidi, baptized at Grace Church in Gardiner next Sunday, which meant that next weekend would be packed to the gills with family time while Samara Amaya and Jane Mays enjoyed the delights of the five-star Amangani Yellowstone Resort.
And thank God. Lars could use some time with his family. His very, very Swedish-Norwegian family.
Only once in a while, although he would never admit it aloud, it felt slightly embarrassing to be so overtly ethnic. It made him feel protective and defensive at once. If Miss Smart-Mouth thought that the cottage all trussed up like the suite at a grand hotel was provincial, just wait ’til she heard his father’s outdated style of speech. Then again, she didn’t seem snotty like that, and Lars liked it that she was with famous people all the time but somehow managed to seem so normal.
“Midten, all okay?”
His father regarded Lars with his own ice-blue eyes. Lars realized he’d been frowning in thought.
“Ja, Pappa.” Lars looked at his father’s aging face with love and nodded, “Allt är okej.”
His father smiled, returning to his work.
Lars caught Nils staring at him and raised his eyebrows, but Nils shrugged, throwing the football back to his younger brother.
Lars caught it, then got up, grabbing a Lindstrom & Sons embroidered fleece jacket from the coat tree by the front door. “Guess I’ll go make sure the BW has a room ready for Miss—for Jane.”
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Nils cautioned merrily, and Lars turned and threw the football back, hitting Nils squarely in the forehead before pulling the door closed behind him.
***
Jane was unpacking bag number six when she remembered her phone was still off.
“Craaaaap!”
She ran into the little living room area and fished it out of her backpack, turning it on.