“There must not be too many North Dakotans in there, then.”
“I don’t think there are. I think all this pomp and circumstance scared them away.”
“Probably possible. I guess if you want the natives to attend, the dress code needs to be a little more relaxed.”
“Overalls and flannels?”
“A parade might help, too.”
“Are you saying for our wedding, you want a parade? Isn’t something like this enough?”
A thrill shot through her, bouncing at her toes and careening back up through her body. Her cheeks heated. But there was something on his face, something she couldn’t read. She thought he might tell her but something else came out of his mouth.
“You are going to marry me?” His voice held a teasing note as his eyes skimmed over her red cheeks.
“In overalls or a white dress, I don’t care which. As long as the preacher says you’re mine.”
“I think he’s going to say that you’re mine.”
“We belong to each other?”
They laughed softly together.
He kissed her forehead, and his lips lingered there. “This would have been a perfect night if you’d been with me the whole time.” He pulled back, releasing her, putting a little distance between them, taking her gloved hands.
He looked down. One finger touched the punch stain. “What happened here? That’s not blood, is it?”
“Oh, no. I think that’s punch.”
“You think?” He laughed. “Where have you been all evening?”
She realized she’d never told him about her sister and the dress that Beth had decided to take from her and that Nell was serving. She opened her mouth to do so, strangely reluctant.
He spoke first. “Never mind. I’ve seen this dress. I just didn’t realize it was you. I danced some. I never thought that you couldn’t. I wish I had known. I would have given you lessons over the last month.” His teeth flashed in a grin she couldn’t resist. “I know I’m talking too much. I’m a little nervous.”
She rubbed her thumbs over his hands, wishing she’d left the gloves off. “Don’t be. I—”
“Hey, Ryder. There you are.”
Ryder jerked in surprise, like he had forgotten there was anyone else around. “Hey, Brad. Glad you could make it. This is—”
“Hi,” Brad said, without giving Ryder time to finish. “Roxie is looking for you. She wants you now.”
Brad gave Nell an apologetic look. “I have to take him. She’s got some last-minute instructions, and she’s kind of freaking out.”
Nell nodded. It was fine. She’d have the rest of her life to explain to Ryder why she was wearing a maid’s uniform when he chose her. There were no stipulations in the will that she couldn’t be.
“I need to run off anyway.” It was time for her to give the dress back.
“See you in a bit,” Ryder said as Brad grabbed his arm and practically dragged him away.
Nell smiled to herself. Roxie could have that effect on people. She could be a little scary.
She went back up the grand staircase, across the hall, and down the back stairwell that came out just by the pantry. Beth had requested she do that so people wouldn’t know they’d shared the dress. Nell understood.
Beth was waiting in the pantry. “Hurry up,” she hissed as Nell stepped in.
“I thought I was in plenty of time,” Nell said, but she pulled her gloves off and kicked her shoes off while Beth grabbed her scarf and untied her mask.
“No. You’re late,” Beth whispered fiercely as she threw the mask and scarf over her arm.
Nell turned so Beth could get her zipper. She pulled it down, and the dress slid softly off of her. The air in the pantry felt as cold as outside, and Nell shivered in her undergarments, eager to get her maid’s uniform back on.
Beth put her hand on the doorknob. “If you scream, I will make sure that Dad will never let Vinton go anywhere with you again.”
She slipped out the door and closed it behind her. One second later, the lock clicked and the overhead light shut off, plunging her into cold darkness.
RYDER BREATHED OUT slowly, trying to ease his racing heart. He scanned the crowd once again. He was supposed to go to his potential bride. He couldn’t just call out her name. That was fine. It didn’t bother him at all to walk around the crowd and pick Nell out from it. No problem.
Except he couldn’t find Nell in the crowd.
That fact had his heart racing. He had to pick someone. He didn’t have a choice. Or he lost his business and his fortune.
Roxie would get the fortune if she managed to sell herself at auction, and he would be fine with that. But the business would be gone. Roxie didn’t want it, and his uncle had probably known that she’d just give it back to him if she somehow inherited it.
So it wasn’t included in Roxie’s inheritance.
His eyes swept the milling people again before landing on the large clock on the wall.
It was time.
Roxie stepped out on the stage designed for that purpose. Ryder stood behind her on the side, his palms sweating. Why couldn’t he find Nell? Where was she?
He swept the crowd again for a glimpse of pink. Nothing. A lot of black. Some red. A few bold colors and even white. Hers was the only pink he’d seen all night. Where was she?
Roxie had finished her speech and turned toward Ryder. This was supposed to be where he walked down into the crowd and took the hand of his choice.
Except...
A flash caught his eye floating along the side. Pink. He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been in plenty of nail-biting situations in his business before, but nothing that had him sweating like that. Of course, there had never been a situation like the one he found himself in currently.
He walked down the two stairs. The crowd parted for him. He didn’t dither. He wasn’t interested in the drama. All he cared about was getting to Nell.
Thankfully he was tall and could see over the crowd. She stood regally along the side, waiting for him.
It was odd, but the closer he got, the harder it was to walk forward, like an invisible force was pushing him away. Later, he remembered and found it odd. Later, he would blame it on the shoes.
Nothing would keep him from Nell, and he barely noticed that he pushed through the air like it was as solid as butter at room temperature.
Finally, he stood in front of her. Something felt off. He tried to look closer into her eyes, but she had them cast down. Probably all this attention embarrassed her. Nell wasn’t a woman who sought attention.
But the dress was hers. The shoes were the ones he gave her. She lifted her hand to tuck a piece of her short blond hair into her scarf, and he saw the punch stain on the wrist of her glove.
It was Nell. Of course it was. He was just having a really bad case of cold feet. He didn’t know why. After all, he had never been more sure about anything in his life. There wasn’t another woman in the world he’d rather marry. She was the one for him.
But his hand felt like it held a fifty-pound lead ball as he lifted it up, taking the hand with the punch stain on the glove.
In a loud voice that boomed across the silent ballroom, he said, “Let it be known tonight. To fulfil the requirements of my uncle’s will, this woman is my choice.”
A cheer went up.
Calls of “Unmask her” sounded out.
He took the scarf and pulled it off her short blond hair.
The spark that normally flared between them was absent. He chalked it up to nerves and their audience. Nell’s eyes were still on the floor.
“Look up, sweetheart.” He picked up the string that lay on her white neck and pulled. Her mask fell off just as the white neck penetrated his consciousness. Wrong. It was all wrong.
But it was too late. The crowd was cheering, the orchestra had started to play the song they were supposed to walk onto the stage to, and Michelle tilted her head up and smiled triumphantly into his eyes.
NELL STOOD IN THE DARK pantry wearing only her underwear. Her throat froze and she did too, for a minute.
She clenched her fists. No. She was not going to let Beth win. Not this time. Although she suspected this wasn’t just Beth.
Not that it mattered. Whoever was trying to keep her down wasn’t going to succeed. Not this time.
Anger and determination burned in her chest. She would allow her family to treat her like a servant for Vinton’s sake. She would choose to serve. But she would not be relegated to a dark pantry because of some mean, jealous person, and she definitely would not sit and sulk.
The ice in her throat melted.
First she had to find a way out. She felt around in the dark, unable to see a thing. Cans of vegetables, spices, a big bag that felt like a fifty pound sack of flour. Her hand swept by it all. At the end there were a separate set of shelves. She’d been in there a few times and she was pretty sure the bottles she was feeling now were cleaning supplies. A package of rags. Paper towels and extra toilet paper. A utility knife and a small box that maybe had a screw driver set in it. Nothing she could wear and nothing big enough to pry the door open.
She kept moving until her hand reached the end of the shelves. It only took a couple more seconds to find the door knob, cool and smooth under her hand. Immovable.
She twisted harder. Sometimes locks on inside house doors weren’t the sturdiest, but she’d never tried to break one open. This one didn’t budge.
Faint sounds came from the kitchen. Music. Some laughter. She could probably yell and get someone to come unlock the door eventually, but she didn’t particularly want to be found in the pantry with no clothes on. But she would scream and bring the house down, if she didn’t figure something out in the next sixty seconds.
A small bit of light shone from the crack under the door. Her eyes had adjusted and she was now able to make out shapes near that end. Glancing around, she confirmed what she’d remembered: no windows, and a small three inch wide by twelve inch long vent. Not big enough to even get one leg in.
She grabbed the knob and rammed her bare shoulder against the door. Pain shot down her side and the door didn’t budge.
Time to make some noise. As much noise as she could.
“Help!” she cried. “Let me out!” She pounded on the door, not caring that whoever came was going to see more of her than she wanted to show. But it was almost time for Ryder to choose and she needed to be out.
She pounded and yelled until her fist hurt and her throat was raw. Why wasn’t anyone coming? Probably no one expected to be locked in the pantry. But there was also a lot going on, and the moment that everyone had been waiting for had almost arrived.
Biting back tears of frustration, she kicked the door with her bare foot, sending a jolt up her ankle, but making a nice, solid thump. Still, no one responded.
She grabbed the knob and twisted as hard as she could. She’d never broken into anywhere, but she’d changed a few door knobs in her time. They were flimsy and poorly constructed. Not like the ones on an outside door, which were much sturdier.
It didn’t move. Frustrated, she kicked and pounded and screamed. Someone had to hear her.
But, after doing it for what felt like forever, no one had come. She lay her forehead against the door, not wanting to admit defeat, but not able to think of anything else she could do. Her whole body hurt, especially her throat. Impatience churned up her back. The need to move, to escape made her want to tear at her hair and scream. She needed to be out there. Needed to get out.
She took a breath, trying to calm herself. She had to think. Throwing big fits had never helped her in her life before. They weren’t going to help now, either. The self-control that she’d exercised her whole life, when she’d pushed what she wanted to do aside, and did what was necessary or right, settled over her, pushing the burning cloud of irritation and impatience aside.
The only way out was through the door. How could she get it open?
She twisted suddenly, an idea flashing through her mind. She’d changed door knobs. If she had the right tools, she could take the door knob off.
There was a small tool kit over by the cleaning supplies.
Her eyes had adjusted to the point where she spotted the small box easily. What were the chances of there being a screwdriver, and one the right size, in the set?
Taking a quick step, she grabbed for the little box. Her hands shook so badly, she knocked it off the shelf and it banged to the floor, skidding.
A scream of frustration backed up in her throat. She pushed it down, dropping to her bare knees and making her hands go slow and steady as she felt for the box.
Her fingertips brushed it. She bent even further, reaching under the shelf and securing a hold on the plastic container.
Yanking it back she fumbled with the latch, lifting the lid. She held it closer to the bottom of the door and the light that shone weakly in.
She needed a small one – if the knob was even the same as the ones she’d changed in her own house.
It didn’t matter. She had the tools and she’d figure it out. All the years of having impossible situations dumped on her, all the time she’d spent trying to fix things or handle things or make things had taught her to persevere. She didn’t need to throw a fit or be the loudest mouth in the room. All the years of trials that she’d suffered, cultivating a sweet spirit and a happy attitude, doing what she’d been told, even when her heart wanted to rebel, had prepared her for this moment. She could do it. She could figure it out, because, look at what she’d already done.
The thought calmed her and gave her confidence.
She pulled a screwdriver out and tried to fit it in the hole. Only, there was no hole.
She uttered a word she didn’t normally use. She’d forgotten the screws to keep the knob on were on the same side as the lock.
Pushing away the desire to throw the screwdriver into the far corner of the pantry, she gripped it tighter and tried to think. There had to be another way...
Feeling in the box for the smallest screwdriver, she slipped it in the center hole, which had been made for the little tool that could unlock the door. It went in neatly.
Moving it slowly and carefully around she searched for the narrow groove it needed to fit in before she could twist and unlock the door.
She closed her eyes. In the dark it didn’t matter if they were open or not and took a deep, calming breath. The end of the screwdriver clicked into place.
Nell smiled.
She twisted and the lock popped back.
Grabbing the knob she was about to yank the door open and go rushing out when she remembered she had no clothes on.
She didn’t want to take the time to run upstairs and change. Cracking the door, she used the light to frantically scanned the pantry shelves. Her eyes skimmed by the toilet paper – she could use it if she had to - and landed on the fifty pound sack of flour.
Using the utility knife, she sliced through both ends of the bag and dumped the flour on a heap on the floor.
She stepped into it. It covered her. Barely. Better than a bikini at the beach, but it also said “unbleached flour” across her stomach.
A part of her wondered if it would matter to Ryder that she was wearing a flour sack. A bigger part of her wanted to go somewhere and find something, even jeans and a t-shirt, that would be more flattering.
But common sense said that she’d been locked in that pantry too long to waste any more time.
She ran through the kitchen, which was completely empty – no wonder no one had heard her – her bare feet pattering on the floor, and rushed to the ball room where the kitchen staff were all lined up at the doorway.
Nell pushed through. Her bag rattled and crackled as she brushed by. Ignoring the odd looks she received, she reached the edge of the crowd in time to see Ryder standing in front of a woman wearing the pink dress Nell had just had on.
At first she thought it was Beth, but the hair curling out fr
om the scarf was blond. Her suspicions were confirmed when Ryder removed the scarf and untied the mask.
Michelle.
The choice was binding. That’s all Nell could think as she stood at the back of the ballroom.
She wanted to say she couldn’t believe Beth had done this to her, but honestly, it was all too believable.
Her body felt numb. She supposed the anger would come. She’d fought it all her life. Her mother, so sweet and patient, had wanted her to be the same.
But surely her mother would understand that this, this could not be ignored. Maybe, this was what happened when she allowed her sister to have whatever she wanted.
Even as those thoughts ran through her head, she knew she wouldn’t go back and change it. Never. Not a thing. Not if it meant she wouldn’t have Vinton. She’d put up with it all again.
Except for this pain in her chest that had started to morph into something big and hot and burning.
Every part of her wanted to walk up, grab Michelle by her hair and do something really horrible to her. But it wasn’t right. Her next impulse was to curl into a ball and hide from everyone, nurse her wounds, and wait for the pain in her chest to ease.
Her normal reaction was to put her head down and do what needed to be done.
She wasn’t sure what that was, in this case. Was there a “right” reaction? That’s what she’d always tried to have. It was what her mother wanted.
Usually that was to keep the peace and don’t make waves.
Her feet turned.
“Nell!”
She stopped.
Ryder hadn’t chosen Michelle on purpose. He’d been tricked just as she had been. She wasn’t angry at him, and she didn’t want to embarrass him.
Turning, she searched the crowd. It seemed to part until there was a path between them. Ryder at the front of the room, standing by the steps, her at the back.
Michelle was already on the platform, waiting, a little smile hovering around her lips, her carriage as regal as ever.
“Don’t walk away.” His voice carried across the now-silent ballroom.
She put her hands out, palms up, asking without words, What else is there for me to do? He would lose it all if he didn’t turn around and walk up those stairs to the woman in the pink dress who waited at the top for him.
Cowboys Don't Believe in Fairy Tales Page 17
