“That dress is a good choice on you,” said Mrs. Dumbarton. “It gives the illusion that you have something in the way of hips. You want the gentlemen to see that so they know you can carry plenty of babies."
Honey inhaled and exhaled through the tight bland smile. "Thank you for the advice, Mrs. Dumbarton.”
The funny thing was, the woman was truly trying to be helpful. The end goal of all this fuss was another piece of jewelry; a few carats worth of an engagement ring.
Most modern-day debutante balls were no longer about the marriage mart. In New York City, many of the women coming out were already successes in their own right. In the big cities, the balls were more of a networking opportunity to meet and greet the movers and shakers of upper-class society.
But that was New York. This was Montana. And the truth was, Honey was husband shopping.
Jackie Onassis had been a debutant, and she'd married a Kennedy. True, John cheated on her, a lot. But it had happened after they were married, and she'd been locked into the security of the union.
Unmarried women had it hard back then and today. Divorced women had it harder. Honey had no intention of becoming one of those kinds of women.
She had her sights set on Beau Bryant, the most eligible bachelor in the whole state. His family was wealthy, so Beau wouldn't be after Honey’s trust fund. He would be handed his own business once he finished college. And when he did, he would need a high society wife to be on his arm at events, to run his household, and to stand beside him in this society. Honey had been trained for just that job.
In fact, she’d been trained for only that job. At twenty-one, she had bypassed college in favor of spending time at high society dinner parties and charity events. It cost about the same, but she was far better educated to handle the role in life she’d chosen.
She was ready to leave the uncertainty of her home and find some job security. All she needed to do now was get Beau to escort her to the debutante ball. Then her future would be secure. She had the dress, she had the accessories, she just needed to ask the man.
It was the only non-traditional thing about the entire process. Tomorrow, there would be a Bachelor's Brunch. After mingling and getting a feel for each other, the women would take the initiative to ask out the men.
Honey had no plans to mingle. She’d walk in wearing the outfit she’d planned, zero in on her quarry, and monopolize all of his time. The competition was small but fierce. She truly only had a few girls to worry about.
Hayley Tyler was having an affair with the gardener, so she wasn't truly interested in marriage. Sienna Bell had her sights set on college and a career. Honey's only true competition was Quinn Ford.
"Honey, don't you look a picture," said Quinn as she sashayed in an off-white mermaid gown that accentuated her paid for bumps.
“Me? Don't be silly,” said Honey. “You're going to outshine everyone in that gown."
Bland smile met bland smile. And it was on.
"I hear you still don't have a date to the ball," said Quinn.
"Well, no. Not yet. I’d like a chance to meet all the bachelors at the brunch.” Honey knew better than to tell her frenemy the name of the bachelor she was most interested in. “At the brunch, I plan to see who would be most interesting and who I have the most in common with. It would be dull to spend the night of the ball talking with someone who had nothing in common with me.”
"That's a very good plan,” said Quinn. “Well, I'm headed off to brunch with Mrs. Bryant. She wants to introduce me to her son. Have you met him? His name is Beau. Our fathers go way back."
Honey clenched her teeth. Her bland smile dipped. But she grabbed hold and yanked it up before Quinn could see that she’d gotten under her skin.
“I think I'll try your tactic and see if Beau and I have anything in common,” Quinn was saying. “If we do, you'll see us together at the brunch this weekend. Tah.”
Honey pressed her hands to her dress, uncaring of whether she got a stain on the fabric. All was fair in balls and bachelor hunting. She just had to hope that Beau was smart enough to see through Quinn’s facade on his own. But come tomorrow’s brunch, the pearls were coming off, and it would be all-out war.
Chapter Three
Mark brought the horse down from a gallop and back into the corral. He hadn't grown up riding the magnificent creatures having been born and raised in an inner city. But over the past two months, he'd taken to riding like he'd been born to it. Too bad he'd only have a couple more weeks to ride whenever he pleased.
"You're looking good up there, soldier."
Mark turned to grin at Dr. Patel. The man was one of the pastors of the town's church, but he was also the psychologist on the ranch. Mark had often wondered if the two professions contradicted each other. But Dr. Patel brought a certain spirituality to how he healed ailments of the mind.
He’d certainly helped Mark his first few weeks there. Now Mark was managing his PTSD symptoms. Too bad Dr. Patel wasn’t a financial planner because that’s where Mark really needed the help.
"I was just here for the ride," said Mark, as he brushed the horse down. "I let her take me where she wanted to go."
Dr. Patel laughed. "Keep that attitude with human women, and you will be successful in your love relationships."
Mark had no desire to be in a love relationship at the moment. Even if he had been looking for someone, he couldn't possibly take care of them financially. He would never have a wife and family without being able to take care of all their needs. He was, for all intents and purposes, unemployed and not easily employable.
With only a high school diploma and an honorable medical discharge from the military, there wasn't much he had to offer. What little he did have, he funneled right back to his family, trying to keep their heads above the rank waters of poverty.
"I'm gonna miss this place," said Mark, as he finished putting the horse back in its stall.
"You won't be going far,” said Dr. Patel. “As I understand it, you and the sergeant are opening a recruitment center in town."
That was the plan. But they were having trouble securing a location. It was always something with the zoning in this town. Be it the zoning of the location they were looking for the recruitment center or zoning restrictions of the ranch that said all inhabitants had to be married if they planned to live on the land permanently.
Like all unmarried, enlisted soldiers and veterans, Mark and Chase had only been allowed to stay on the Purple Heart Ranch for three months to convalesce. As neither man had any intention of following the tradition of the soldiers who'd come before them and marry a woman for the keys to one of these houses, they would be out on their rears in less than a month’s time.
Mark looked off into the distance where the cabin he’d been staying at rested. It was the nicest place he'd ever stayed in in his life. It housed two bedrooms, which he had all to himself. Even though he often found himself sleeping on the couch as he'd done back at home in his parents’ two-bedroom apartment that they shared with his two other siblings.
“I wouldn’t worry,” said Dr. Patel. “Miracles happen every day in this place.”
"We're working on the location,” said a familiar voice.
Sergeant Colin Chase marched over to them. The man had a march that the JROTC cadets would envy. The sergeant moved with his shoulders back, head high, and long, evenly spaced strides. His walk was much like a certain terminator he’d been nicknamed after.
“See,” grinned Dr. Patel.
"In fact,” Chase said when he reached them, “I just found a possible building for us to put the recruitment center in. It's owned by the Sugar Daddy company and a man named Henry Dumasse.”
Dr. Patel wrinkled his nose. It was a rare occasion to see the man show distaste. Mark had assumed the doctor’s optimism knew no bounds. But a line seemed to have been drawn around the name of Dumasse.
Mark chuckled to himself. If someone placed a strong emphasis on the wrong part of Mr. Dumasse’s
name it would come out sounding highly inappropriate. Mark caught the smirk on Chase’s face. Apparently, the ever-present middle schooler was alive and well in both men.
"You know him?" asked Mark.
"Not well," said the psychologist. “I knew his wife a long time ago. She and her daughters would attend church. But Mr. Dumasse never did.”
Dr. Patel looked off into the horizon. He often did that in sessions when he was deep in thought. Mark had also caught him gazing off during his church sermons. After the pregnant pauses, he would say something profound that touched Mark and the rest of the parishioners deeply.
When Dr. Patel turned back to them, he simply shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t the reaction Mark expected. Not for a man of the cloth who believed every soul could be saved.
“His daughter, Ginger, still attends church,” Patel continued. “She's a great asset to the community. And his younger daughter is very involved in charitable work. She helped fund the Sunday school program my wife runs.”
"Maybe we can talk to them," said Chase. "Let them know what a great thing this center will be for the youth in the community.”
“Dumasse is a hard man to get in to see,” said Patel. “But I know where he will be. He'll be at a brunch tomorrow.”
Mark frowned at the term. He’d never understood the purpose of brunch. Why take two meals and smoosh them into one? Especially if you weren’t poor? Brunch was a rich man’s meal.
“My wife happens to have some tickets to the event if you two would like to attend."
"That sounds great," said Chase volunteering the two of them.
Mark held back. The ever watchful sergeant had missed something in Patel’s gaze. Mark had seen that look in the doctor's eye before. Right before Brandon Lucas met his wife Reegan Cartwright. And then again before Reece Cartwright proposed to Elsbeth Barrett. Patel had a hand in most of the marriages arranged on the ranch. It was a touch Chase and Mark had studiously avoided their time there.
"You'll have to wear your uniforms,” Patel was saying.
"Not a problem," said Chase.
Mark stood quietly. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the other shoe to drop. Or rather, for the cupid’s bow to let loose its arrow. He bounced on his toes in preparation to duck.
"You might get picked up by rich women,” Patel grinned.
Now Chase was catching up. His eager grin turned upside down. “What exactly is this brunch?"
"It's called a Bachelor's Brunch. It happens before a debutante ball. It's where the young ladies who are about to come out into society go to find an escort for the ball."
Mark took two steps back. He'd already shut down when the good doctor had said they would be high society women. That was another phrase for stuck up, rich girls. Mark did not mix with that breed unless they were out slumming. He'd done that once and gotten burned for it when the woman pretended she didn't know him the next day.
He knew why she’d shunned him after their rendezvous. He wasn't from money, and the copper smell of the pennies he pinched clung to him like cheap cologne. But Chase held his ground. He turned to Mark with a look of determination.
"We gotta go," said Chase.
"You’re welcome to go,” said Mark, taking yet another step back. “But not me."
"We're in this together. I need you to have my back. Especially with those dimples.”
Mark swatted Chase’s hand away from his face.
“We don’t even have to talk to any women,” said Chase. “We can just go in and meet with Dumasse, tell him what a great thing the recruitment center will be, and ask for him to consider leasing the building to us.”
"What if a woman asks us to be their escort to the ball?”
Chase raised an eyebrow.
Mark pursed his lips.
Then the two men burst out laughing.
"Yeah, right," said Mark. "Like they'd choose one of us."
"I don't see the joke," said Patel. "The two of you are good, strong, courageous men. Any woman would be blessed to have you as an escort."
That's why Mark liked the man. Dr. Patel was a believer when it came to love. Especially when he was trying to direct one of his patients to heal their wounds with the elusive emotion.
Mark’s unit had come to the ranch as a four-man fire team. Brandon and Reece were both happily married, and those marriages had truly healed their wounds. But the ranch had already rehabbed both Chase and Mark without brides. They now had a different mission.
Unfortunately, it looked like their path would meander into a day of bumping elbows with the rich folks to accomplish their mission. Fine, he’d suck it up. Besides, there was no way a man like him would get chosen to escort one of the high society ladies anywhere.
Chapter Four
It appeared like a castle in the sky. Only there were no turrets. The Dumasse Estate was one of the first mansions built in the state of Montana. Honey's family's money was old, nearly as old as the state itself.
The Dumasses had started out as farmers but not humble ones. They'd bought up most of the fertile land in this and neighboring towns. Once they had a monopoly, her forefathers then leased the land to the farmers who made their way west. Later, during times of tumult and depression, the Dumasses bought back that land and raised the rents.
Landowning was only a small part of their fortune. Sugar beets were the family’s bread and butter, or rather, bread and honey. The turnip looking plant was used to make granulated sugar, brown sugar, powdered sugar, and more.
That elixir was packaged up and sold as part of the Dumasse Sugar Daddy company. Sugar was a mainstay of modern life. It was in everything, which meant that walking out of a grocery store each shopper would be taking home a bit of Dumasse into their cupboards. Her father’s reach was everywhere.
Honey’s driver pulled the luxury car up to the gates of the sprawling property. Once upon a time, this land had been crops. But her grandfather had not preferred the working men and women of society be so close to his humble abode. So, the land had been turned and was now miles of private, manicured pastures.
It took a few minutes to drive the long road through those pastures to the massive plantation style mansion at the epicenter. Once at the massive front steps, the driver came and handed Honey out. He went to take her bags, but Honey stayed him. It was only four bags this shopping trip. She could manage.
She was eager to get inside to her room and decide which dress would go best with the shoes she’d picked out for the Bachelor’s Brunch tomorrow. The one she had purchased yesterday would no longer do now that she knew Quinn was on the warpath. So, after her fitting for her ball gown, she’d made a couple of stops to find the perfect cocktail dress to fit her plans.
Honey did allow the driver to open the front door for her. It was a massive oak, likely one hundred years old. Even with her hands-free, she often had a hard time getting into the door of her home. The door made a creaking sound as the hinges gave way. The squeak died out beneath the raised voices coming from the hall.
Both Honey and the driver halted on the threshold. The driver, being a good servant, averted his gaze and affected a dispassionate smile as he bowed and closed the door behind them. Honey, being a dutiful daughter, plastered on her bland, unaffected smile as her father's booming voice shook the plaster.
"Do you have any idea what your little antics are doing to my reputation?" Henry Dumasse bellowed.
"Do you have any idea that my career has nothing to do with your reputation?"
Honey recognized the even-toned voice. Her sister had had the same upbringing as Honey. They both knew that women were not to raise their voices or show too much emotion, especially in the face of men. Most definitely not in the face of their father.
Like Honey, her older sister, Ginger, had been sent to finishing schools. There they learned manners and deportment. But only Honey had actually finished school. Ginger had always had a different vision for her life.
"I'm not asking yo
u for any of your money," Ginger said, exasperation slipping through her inflection. "I'm not even asking for your vote."
"Good. Because I'm voting for your opponent," said their father. "Women have no place in politics. They don't have a head for business."
Honey stayed frozen in the foyer. Whenever people argued, she had a habit of staying as still as a bug in hopes that they wouldn't see her. Just like when her mother and father used to argue. Only, her mother never actually opened her mouth to defend herself. She’d just take whatever her husband had dished out to her in poised silence.
"You forget that I was at the top of my class in high school and college,” Ginger countered her father’s assertion.
"Useless degrees.” Honey could imagine her father’s meaty hand slicing through the air at the ridiculous notion. “Not worth the money I paid for them."
"You didn't pay for college, I earned a scholarship."
Ginger’s words were clipped. Her voice had also raised an octave. Honey could hear them both breathing hard. Still, she held her place, clutching her bags tightly in her fists.
Though she would never run. Not like her sister had. Not like her mother had.
"I don't know why I even came here," said Ginger. "Maybe out of some delusional hope that you would support me, not with your money, but with ..."
Ginger let the sentence drift off into the abyss that had struck up between the two of them. Her older sister had reached her majority, so she didn’t need her father’s money. Her trust fund was now in her possession. Every once in a while, Ginger would return home to try and bridge the distance with her father. Henry Dumasse would always take another step back from his eldest child.
Honey knew her father had a good heart. He'd kept a roof over her head. He’d made sure she’d had the finest clothes. He’d made sure she ran in the most elite circles. Wasn't that how parents showed love? By providing.
Their father had provided for his two girls even through his disappointment of wanting boys to carry on the family name and business. He’d never let them forget that they'd failed him from the start at their births. That’s why Honey was determined to be a success and marry the son he never had. Well, one of the reasons why.
Every Step He Takes Page 2
