The bottom line? Women were scarce.
Second, Lars wanted to see some changes in his work life before he settled down. It was time for a change, a promotion of some kind. It was time for Lars to be treated like the man he was: like thirty-three percent of Lindstrom & Sons, not less.
Heck, he knew Yellowstone better than most seasoned vets of the tourism trade, definitely better than Nils, and possibly better than his pop. He had studied his facts, explored on his own and spent thousands of hours learning about the park firsthand. He didn’t want to be relegated to the odd jobs and annoying errands, although he had to admit that once in a while they had their perks.
Jane.
She was something.
Aw, she wasn’t the prettiest girl Lars had ever seen, but she was cute. She was the cute girl who might live next door, whose bedroom window you’d want to slip into if she’d let you. She surprised the heck out of him, saying unexpected things, making him laugh and shake his head with her unpredictable comments. He loved watching her taking pictures and by the looks of that camera, he suspected photography was more than just a hobby for her, which intrigued him. And yesterday, when she finally thawed out, it was like the sun had come out after a day of gray gloom, and Lars realized again how much he liked spending time with her.
There was something else he was starting to understand about Jane: her relationship with her cousin was complicated. She’d tried to give him that speech yesterday about how she was only friend material, implying that Samara was the girlfriend material. Lars wasn’t buying that. Sure, Samara was pretty. He’d seen the same pictures everyone else had. But, how pretty could she be in real life? Weren’t all of those pictures airbrushed and edited before they hit the magazines, anyway?
He understood the issue at the crux of Jane’s situation: she was a normal-looking person who was first cousins with a supermodel, and that had to be difficult for her. But it didn’t matter to Lars. He liked Jane and that’s all there was to it.
And to Lars’s thinking, it wasn’t all that different from any other complicated family relationship, like being a thirty-year-old man who was still treated like some untried teenage kid by his older brother and father.
Huh. Jane and I have more in common than she knows. We’re both working for family members who think they’re more important than we are.
Lars checked his watch. In the past hour he’d finally made some headway on the mystery of the mama bear and her cubs, and he was pretty sure he’d figured out the reason for her gradual migration. Lars would warn Nils and Pop not to hike out too far anymore in this particular area.
He hitched his pack farther up on his back and headed to his truck. He’d need a shower and shave before tonight, and he was planning to pack a blanket and some wine too. He smiled, thinking of Jane’s reaction to the small herd of bison from yesterday morning. Man, he’d love to see her face when a mama grizzly and her cubs lumbered across the valley.
He threw his pack in the truck and almost started to worry when it took three times until the engine finally turned over. He made a mental note to get the truck looked at soon and hoped he’d have a chance to show Jane the grizzlies.
***
Jane didn’t bring any “fancy” clothes on location shoots because she preferred to be comfortable while she was working. Even though she had access to Sara’s enormous wardrobe, Jane was a five-foot-six size ten, and Sara was an almost-six-foot size zero. Her cousin’s fabulous clothes would be of little use to Jane.
Jane looked through her options: two pairs of jeans (one that needed washing), a pair of beat-up khaki cargos for shoot days, and a tired denim skirt from college. She picked up the skirt and slipped it on. It was old-school L.L. Bean—nothing mini or micro or sequined or trendy about it—two front pockets, two back pockets, front middle zipper, and it fell to right above her knees. The edges were frayed from copious wear, and it was as soft as flannel too.
Next, she surveyed her tops: two black camis, one white cami that needed washing, a cream V-neck t-shirt, her green cardigan and a Boston College sweatshirt. Sexy choices, Jane. Wow.
She took a deep breath and sighed, picking up one of the black camis and slipping it over her head. Well, it wasn’t glamorous, but the lines were okay. The black was slimming, and with her black sandals, it was the best she could do.
Next, she rummaged through her bag for makeup, but predictably she had none. Just some mango lip balm and some tinted moisturizer that she must have gotten as a sample. It was better than nothing. Jane swiped some on. She put her diamond studs in her ears, which had been her gift to herself when she’d lasted for one year as Sara’s assistant.
She squirted some mousse into her hands and smoothed her curls back from her face, deciding to leave her dad’s Red Sox cap in her room. Felicity? Fat chance. Maybe the hair, but that’s where the similarities ended.
She shrugged into her green cardigan, slipped her feet into the black leather sandals then looked in the mirror.
If Lars had asked her out on a date in New York, she’d have put on a black dress, had her hair styled professionally, pulled out some of the makeup samples collecting dust in her bathroom and brightened her face. She’d have had tons of sample shoes to choose from and cute sweaters in her size sent to her from exclusive designers. She’d have had a fighting chance to make an impression before Sara got to him.
No, Jane. You wouldn’t have a chance, fighting or otherwise. That’s wishful thinking.
Her reflection wasn’t a revelation, but she definitely didn’t look as dumpy as she usually did. In fact, she looked sort of fresh and young. Thinking in terms of editorials—which she never did for herself, but often did for her cousin—she had a certain girl-next-door appeal. Modest appeal, but appeal, nonetheless. She smiled at herself, timidly, unsure, and saw how the color of her sweater caught the green in her eyes. She’d never noticed that before. Her skin had tanned a little yesterday in the park, which gave her a little glow. She tilted her head to the side, feeling just the slightest bit of unfamiliar pleasure in the girl looking back at her.
Is this how it would be if I could get away from Sara? Would I stop judging myself so harshly if I weren’t always standing next to her?
She sighed. Better not to tease herself with what could never be. It would be a cold, lonely world without Samara, thin comfort though she was. At least with Sara she had something, and something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?
A light rap at her door meant Lars was here.
Most of the time, she amended, something was better than nothing.
***
I want to kiss her.
It was the first thought in Lars’s mind when she opened the door, looking cute as hell in a short skirt and that green sweater that made her eyes greener than green. Her hair was pushed back off her face, but her curls were unruly behind her sunglasses, which perched like a hairband on top of her head. She looked cool but casual. Lars was smitten and his body tightened on its own.
“Heya,” he said.
“Heya,” she said, offering him a shy smile.
“You look really pretty.”
Her eyes were wide and green, and a little pink crept into her cheeks.
“Thanks,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. It was hard for her to accept his compliment, he could tell.
“When’re you going to get used to it?” he asked.