Even after that kiss ended, he couldn’t bear to let her walk away, so he’d grabbed her back, held her for an extra stolen minute, almost smiled when she told him to stop kissing her, because even as she said the words, her body didn’t back them up by making a move to leave his arms.
Damn it anyhow! You shouldn’t have done that!
He was angry with himself, and with her, and more confused than ever. He knew what he saw last night. He saw Jane and Paul sitting alone, holding hands, Paul making cow eyes at Jane, and leaning in so close to her face, he was either kissing her or inspecting her pores. And while, no, Lars had to admit he hadn’t actually seen the lip-lock, there was little doubt in his mind as to what had happened between them.
So how come Jane had been so indignant? And why did it make him feel like maybe he had jumped to some hasty conclusions based on circumstantial evidence? He sat back in his chair taking a deep breath and letting it out in a forceful, frustrated sigh.
“That bad?” He looked up to see Margot, the portly costume person, standing in front of him.
“Aw. Women!” He shook his head, standing up. “No offense. A woman. One very exasperating woman.”
“Miss Amaya?” she guessed.
He shook his head. “Jane.”
Margot looked down at her coffee, her lip trembling. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lindstrom. Miss Amaya made me say it. I wouldn’t make trouble. I hate that she made me.”
“Wh—” Lars cocked his head to the side, watching her. “Wait a second. What are you talking about?”
Margot’s anguished expression doubled, and her shoulders fell.
“You kissing Miss Amaya in her underwear. She made me tell Jane.”
Lars closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring in anger and frustration as he realized what Margot was saying. “Samara made you tell Jane that you saw us kissing.”
Margot swallowed, nodding nervously.
“But we weren’t kissing,” he said.
“Oh,” said Margot, biting her lip. “Well, I said I saw you and Miss Amaya alone in the trailer and Miss Amaya was only wearing her underwear. Maybe she said the part about you kissing, or—”
“What else did she say?”
“Oh…well, she said you ripped off, um, her, um clothes. And she said you were going to, um, pick up where you left off when you got to Jackson Hole.”
Lars nodded at her, trying to keep his simmering fury under control.
“She said I was going with her to Jackson Hole?”
Margot nodded.
“Anything else?”
Margot shook her head no, looking sorry.
“Hey, Margot,” Lars asked, and she looked up at him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, I think you helped things. I know you did. Thank you.”
Her eyes brightened. “Jane’s the best, Mr. Lindstrom.”
“I know it,” he answered, offering her an encouraging smile.
Her words this morning suddenly made a lot more sense, and Lars was determined to set things right today.
***
Taking a seat in the very back of the van, Jane stole glances at the back of Lars’s head as they drove out of town, using the quiet time to try and figure out what exactly was going on between her and Lars.
This kiss they’d shared this morning had been intense, passionate perfection, but the emotions swirling around it—propelling them to one another so fiercely—were so much messier and hard to divine.
She shivered, raising actual goose bumps all over her body, remembering the demanding way he’d claimed her on the misty sidewalk, how much she’d liked it. She knew he was angry with her, but she was okay with that, because she was furious with him too. And somehow, in the midst of that mutual rage, she’d wanted so badly to comfort him, to connect with him, and by gently touching him, she had felt his anger segue to tenderness, and it had filled her heart to know that the feelings between them were still so potent, so real.
No matter what happened between Lars and Sara in Jackson Hole, there was a certain satisfaction Jane felt in knowing that there was still some serious heat and emotion between her and Lars. Sara hadn’t won. Not entirely. Lars had met Sara, and—most likely—made out with her, but he still felt something real for Jane, and that made her, strangely, happy.
Not to mention, Nils and Paul had vehemently denied Lars’s interest in Sara.
The intensity of this morning’s kiss and his friends’ refusal to believe Lars and Sara were together was making Jane start to question things.
Was he going to Jackson Hole or not?
Was he into Sara or not?
Frowning as she recalled Margot’s admission yesterday, Jane tried to remember the specifics of what Margot had seen. She’d walked in on Lars and Sara alone, and Sara was only wearing underwear. But Jane realized that Sara had supplied most of the details about how physical she and Lars had gotten—about kissing and touching each other. Those tidbits hadn’t come from Margot, but from Sara. And it was definitely possible that Sara was lying, because she lied whenever it suited her purposes, and hurting Jane was one of Sara’s reasons for living.
Jane rested her head on the glass beside her as they drove under the Roosevelt arch and into Yellowstone.
What exactly had Margot seen?
Because, as Ray pointed out yesterday, Lars wasn’t acting like a man obsessed with Sara.
And Paul had been so insistent that Lars would never leave Gardiner while his family was coming to town, and Jane had never actually heard Lars accept Sara’s invitation.
What did Lars mean this morning when he’d cried, I saw you!
Saw what? What would make him so angry? So…jealous? She hadn’t hung out with any men except Ray, who was gay, and…Paul. Paul, with whom Jane had shared coffee in the café last night after Maggie and Nils went upstairs. Could all of that teeth-clashing, growling anger possibly have been about Paul?
Looking into the rearview mirror at just the right time, Jane’s eyes slammed into Lars’s, and she could feel it in her gut, in her heart, in every cell of her body: unfinished business. He slid his eyes back to the road, but Jane felt it as surely as the noon bell in every western movie…a showdown was coming.
***
Samara wore her hair in a complex arrangement of loose braids with a garland of white flowers, soft, natural makeup, a short, floral peasant dress in a gauzy fabric with a brown suede belt and high-heeled brown suede sandals. Lars couldn’t imagine her looking more different than she had on the first day of the shoot when she was in black, white and grey with sharp, angry makeup and black leather combat-style boots. She looked soft, luscious and innocent, neatly concealing her true nature, which he now knew to be scheming, lying and vicious.
Sitting next to him on the way to the shoot, Samara had been unable to engage him in conversation, because Lars had nothing to say to her, and was even less eager to listen to her stupid nonsensical chatter, and her annoyingly high-pitched giggle all the way to Yellowstone Lake. Thank God for his imaginary rash. Since this job was essentially completed after today’s shoot, with the exception of airport transfers on Monday afternoon, Lars would not be spending an extra second of his time with her, and he certainly wouldn’t allow himself to be caught alone with her ever again.
Jane was another matter. He wanted to spend every available second alone with her from now until her plane taxied away, and if there was any chance he could convince her to stay for a few extra days, he’d press his advantage. He wouldn’t think about goodbyes right now; right now he just wanted to get things with Jane back on solid ground. He didn’t care if she’d kissed Paul, as long as she wanted to be with him now, and he’d tell her that the first chance he got.