The wedding gown had an empire waist and long sleeves.
“It’s beautiful,” her mother said. “We really need to go try on dresses. This week, girls. As it is, there are going to be limitations. We don’t have months and months to wait for something to be made.”
“What size are samples?” Montana asked.
“Usually ten or twelve.”
“Then that would work.”
Montana joined her sister on the sofa and they flipped through the magazines, looking at dresses.
“We’re going to have to figure out if we’re having bridesmaids,” Dakota said absently. “Nevada, you’re going to be our mutual maid of honor, right?”
“Sure.”
She’d assumed she would be part of the wedding, although she hadn’t known as what. Her chest tightened a little as she thought of her sisters both getting married while she stood by and watched.
They were both so happy, she reminded herself. They deserved this and she wanted them to have perfect weddings. But every now and then she wanted that for herself, too. A happy ending, love, children. Someone to be in her life.
Not surprisingly, her thoughts drifted to Tucker and the night she’d shared.
Not him, she thought sadly. He believed love was a trap. Convincing him otherwise was unlikely. Unfortunately, he was the first guy in a long time who had captured her interest. She would have to make sure he didn’t capture her heart.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE BEAUTIFUL FALL AFTERNOON brought out both residents and tourists, Nevada thought as she and Cat strolled through the center of town on Sunday afternoon. The leaves were changing, bringing bright reds and yellows to the trees, dressing up the streets. Fool’s Gold was a place that celebrated every season, every holiday. Although it was several weeks before Halloween, storefronts were a mass of pumpkins and ghosts. Windows had been painted, harvest baskets stood by open doors, and at the center of town was a Thanksgiving diorama with Pilgrims and Native Americans sitting down to a turkey dinner.
The display had been around for as long as Nevada could remember. The clothes were a little tattered and the mannequin faces needed a fresh coat of paint. Still, it was traditional and, in its own way, beautiful.
“I don’t know,” Cat said doubtfully, eyeing the Pilgrims. “They’re not inspiring.”
“The town puts them up every year,” Nevada told her. “It’s tradition.”
Cat looked at the square, turning in a circle as she took in the buildings and the open space. “I think you could do better. Fool’s Gold is such a special place. I can feel the feminine energy. I’m filled with inspiration.”
The temperatures were mild for early October. Mid-sixties, with plenty of blue skies. Mornings were crisp and the higher elevations were already getting frost.
Cat was dressed like everyone else, in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Still, she managed to look more glamorous, more perfect. Maybe it was the fur-trimmed vest, or the designer boots. Maybe it was the way her layered dark hair cascaded down her back. Maybe it was how the sun seemed to focus on her high cheekbones and wide eyes.
Cat had called a couple of hours ago and insisted they spend the afternoon together. Nevada had been hoping for a repeat with Tucker, but had agreed to meet her friend instead.
Cat turned away from the diorama and smiled at Nevada. “I feel the call of Mother Earth.”
She spoke seriously, as if Nevada should understand what she was talking about.
“What is she saying?”
“To create something wonderful for this town. Let’s get a latte.”
They walked back toward the main street. Cat nodded and smiled to nearly everyone they passed.
“Don’t you love how the mountains reach up toward the sky?” Cat asked, linking arms with her. “The silhouette as dusk approaches. The colors are magical. I don’t do much with color. I’ve thought about painting, how that could be new for me. But what if I’m not brilliant?”
“Do you have to be?” Most people were happy to be good at something. Brilliant was a whole new level.
Cat turned to her, tears in her eyes. “It’s who I am.”
Nevada came to a stop. “I’m sorry. I was being flippant. I can’t completely understand who you are and what you do.” Talk about stupid, she thought. Cat wasn’t like the ordinary mortals she shared space with. Yes, she was egotistical and self-absorbed, but she was also gifted in a way very few could understand.
“It’s all right,” Cat told her, sniffing delicately. “I’ve thought of trying to paint. I have, in private. It’s just that everything I do is judged so harshly. The critics, the art world. They’re ready to pounce, ready to say I’ve reached my pinnacle and am now in decline. I’m not ready to be finished. I live for my work—I can’t stand the thought of that being taken from me.”