New Way to Fly

by Margot Dalton

  Amanda was eyeing the woman with pained attention, picturing how a soft windblown haircut and some clothes that suited her wholesome fine-boned look would transform this woman. Possibly a rough slub-linen jacket in a raw oatmeal shade, and a longer soft wool skirt with a…

  Just then the object of her attention turned to look past Amanda at somebody across the room. Amanda gazed at the older woman’s face, stunned by the expression she saw there. Amanda forgot her criticism of the woman’s clothes, speculations about image improvement, everything but a wrenching sympathy and a passionate desire to help.

  “Having a good time all alone in the corner, Amanda? Come on, why aren’t you socializing and getting to know people?”

  Amanda turned to smile at her friend Beverly Townsend, who was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful and well-dressed women in the room. Beverly’s blue eyes shone with excitement, and her lovely golden face was glowing.

  Amanda suspected that at least part of Beverly’s glow was due to the young man behind her. Jeff Harris had paused to joke with a group on the other side of the archway while Beverly tugged impatiently at Amanda’s sleeve, trying to draw her friend out into the room.

  Amanda shook her head. “Beverly Townsend,” she teased, “this isn’t a college dorm party, you know. We’re both twenty-five years old. Don’t you think it’s about time you quit trying to line me up with eligible men?”

  “Oh, pooh, I’m not talking about men,” Beverly protested, though the mischievous sparkle in her eyes somewhat belied her injured tone. “I’m talking about potential customers. Come on, Mandy,” she whispered, leaning closer to her friend, “look at the clothes some of these women are wearing. Now, could they or could they not use some professional help with their image?”

  Amanda nodded. “Maybe,” she said, her eyes falling involuntarily on the tight leather miniskirt and black-spangled panty hose that swayed past Beverly at that moment.

  “Oh, her,” Beverly said with scorn, following Amanda’s gaze. “That’s Billie Jo Dumont. Forget it, Mandy, she’s hopeless. She doesn’t have the sense God gave a chicken, or she wouldn’t have come here at all today. It’s hardly even decent,” Beverly added, her blue eyes suddenly fierce.

  “Why not?” Amanda asked, bewildered. “I mean, it’s a truly tacky outfit, but you can’t really call it indecent, Bev.”

  “No, no, I was talking about her gall, coming to this party.” Beverly leaned closer to her friend. “See the woman by the archway, that nice little lady in the awful polyester pantsuit?”

  Amanda nodded, trying not to gaze conspicuously at the woman Beverly indicated.

  “Well, that’s Mary Gibson.” Beverly paused for dramatic effect, giving Amanda a pointed significant glance.

  Amanda looked at the other woman in puzzled silence. “The name kind of rings a bell,” she said at last, “but I…”

  “Bubba’s wife,” Beverly whispered. “Bubba Gibson.”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “The one who’s in jail? He killed somebody, didn’t he?”

  “He killed some of his horses for the insurance. If it had just been people he killed,” Beverly added, “folks around here would probably be able to forgive him. But horses, that’s something else altogether. Far, far more serious.”

  Amanda gazed at her friend, startled and appalled. “You’re kidding. Aren’t you, Bev?”

  Beverly considered. “Maybe a little,” she conceded, “but not much.”

  “And the girl in the leather skirt, where does she come into it?” Amanda asked.

  Beverly eyed her beautiful dark-haired friend with scant patience. “Come on, Amanda,” she said, sighing. “You’ve been living in Austin for months, and visiting out here all the time, and it’s all anybody’s been talking about. How can you not know what’s going on?”

  Amanda shrugged. “I don’t pay much attention to gossip,” she said. “You know that, Bev. I’m just not that interested in dishing the dirt.”

  “Well, it’s dirty, all right. The girl in the miniskirt, she was Bubba’s mid-life folly long before the mess with the horses. That little affair went on for ages, right under Mary’s nose, and everybody knew it. They were just awful, the pair of them.”

  Amanda’s blue eyes widened. She gazed surreptitiously at the gorgeous young woman with her pouting red lips and sumptuous figure, and then at the stiff middle-aged woman in the dowdy suit who stood near the archway.

  “The poor woman, Bev. How can she stand it?”

  “It can’t be easy,” Beverly agreed with a flash of the generous compassion that often surprised people who didn’t know her well. “And the worst part of it is that Mary’s such a darling. She truly is, Mandy. Everybody loves her. And she’s never said one word against Bubba, not once during this whole mess. If she has opinions, she keeps them to herself.”

  She keeps her agony to herself, too, Amanda thought. And it’s probably going to kill her, the poor woman.

  “Come with Jeff and me,” Beverly was urging in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “There’s lots of people I want you to meet. You can’t hide here in the shadows all evening, girl.”

  “Hmm?” Amanda asked, giving her friend a distracted glance.

  “I said, I want you to come with me and…”

  “Oh, right. Sure, Bev, in a minute, okay? I just have to…to find a powder room, and then I’ll come right out. Where will you be?”

  “On the patio. Just through that door over there,” Beverly said, pointing with a graceful scarlet-tipped finger. “Don’t get lost.”

  “I won’t,” Amanda promised. “I’ll be out right away.”

  She stood watching with an automatic smile as Beverly took Jeff’s hand, paused to give him a quick kiss and headed for the patio, dragging the handsome young man laughing behind her.

  After they were gone, Amanda took a fresh drink from one of the serving girls, exchanged a few cheerful remarks with the youngster and then edged toward the woman by the archway, who was gripping her elbows in white-knuckled hands and staring at the swirling crowd with a blank unseeing stare.

  “Hello,” Amanda said in her quiet musical voice.

  “My name’s Amanda Walker.”

  The older woman turned to look at her with a dismal expression. Then she smiled and her face was transformed. Mary Gibson had a luminous, childlike smile that lit her weathered features and shone warmly in her hazel eyes. Amanda swallowed hard and smiled back.

  “I’m Mary Gibson,” the woman said, extending a slim brown hand. “And I know who you are.”

  “You do?”

  “I saw you on TV. I think you’re just beautiful.”

  “Oh.” Amanda’s cheeks tinted a delicate pink when she thought how trivial her show about correct accessorizing must seem to Mary Gibson.

  But Mary didn’t seem at all troubled by the superficial glamour of Amanda’s presence or position.

  “That one outfit,” she said wistfully, “the one Beverly wore, you know, that was all white with a little trimming around the edges?”

  Amanda nodded, gripping the stem of her glass and smiling absently as a couple brushed past her, shouting loudly to someone across the room.

  “Well, I thought that was just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Mary said shyly. “And when you showed how the silver earrings highlighted it and brought out the turquoise tones, I could see exactly what you meant.”

  Amanda felt a quick rush of pleasure, and a surprising desire to hug the woman.

  “You know, I’m so glad to hear you say that. I wasn’t convinced that the image would translate all that well onto the television screen,” she said.

  “Watching those commercials of yours, it always makes me wish I was thirty years younger,” Mary went on in the same wistful tone. “It must feel so wonderful to wear clothes like that, and look pretty in them.”

  “Why would you have to be younger?” Amanda asked. “You’d look beautiful in clothes like that right now, Mary.”


  The other woman gave her a quick wary glance, as if fearful that she was being made fun of. But Amanda returned Mary Gibson’s gaze quietly, her lovely face calm, her eyes warm and sincere.

  At last Mary shrugged awkwardly and looked away into the crowd. “That’s just plain silly,” she said in a flat miserable voice. “I couldn’t wear clothes like that. I wouldn’t know the first thing about buying them, and even if I did, I couldn’t afford them.”

  “Buying clothes for people is my job, Mary,” Amanda said. “That’s what I do for a living. It’s what the television commercials are all about. And as for the prices, well, it just so happens…”

  She paused and set her wineglass on the tray of a passing server, then folded her hands behind her back and crossed her fingers childishly. Amanda always hated telling lies, even tiny little white ones, and she was about to come up with a real whopper.

  But she thought about Mary Gibson’s sad defeated look and the sudden childlike wonder of that glowing smile, and steeled herself to plunge on.

  “It just so happens,” Amanda said, “that I’ve had a bit of bad luck this past month, Mary. I bought quite a lot of things on spec for a woman who…who got sick, and has to spend a few months in therapy, and she doesn’t feel like buying anything new just now. So I’m stuck with them. And the odd thing is, this woman is just about your size and coloring. I think some of them would be perfect for you.”

  Amanda paused for breath and found Mary Gibson staring at her with that same wary cautious look. But there was something else in the woman’s eyes, too, a glint of hope and longing that nerved Amanda to continue with her story.

  Not that all of it was a complete lie. The clothes she was talking about did exist, all right. But they were Amanda’s own clothes, hanging in the bedroom closet of her apartment back in Austin.

  Amanda allowed herself a brief flash of private humor, thinking how aghast her New York friends would be if they knew that Amanda was proposing, quite literally, to give this virtual stranger the clothes off her back.

  But, Amanda told herself, they hadn’t heard Mary Gibson’s story. And they hadn’t seen that small shining smile of yearning. Besides, Amanda wasn’t being completely selfless. There was a plan forming at the back of her mind, a way that she might turn this generous impulse to her business advantage.

  “I couldn’t afford clothes like that,” Mary said finally, with a brief hopeless shrug. “They’d be far too expensive for my budget. Things are real tight around my place these days.”

  “You might be surprised,” Amanda said. “You see, I’m just starting out in business, Mary, and things are awfully tight for me, too.”

  At least that statement was the absolute truth, Amanda told herself grimly, pausing to take a praline from a tray carried by Virginia Parks.

  “So, what I’d be willing to do,” she went on, chewing the small sugary confection, almost overwhelmed by the delicious flavor, “is sell you a few of the outfits at cost, just to get them off my hands.”

  Mary hesitated. “How much would ‘cost’ be?” she asked after a moment.

  “Well, it varies, of course. One of the outfits I’m thinking of particularly is a two-piece suit, kind of a longer Chanel style, in a really soft wool that would be just lovely on you.”

  Amanda paused, feeling a tug of regret at the thought of parting with this particular suit, one of her personal favorites.

  “And how much would it be?” Mary asked.

  “Let me see…” Amanda pretended to calculate.

  “My cost, plus shipping expenses, less dealer tax…I could probably let you have it for around a hundred, if you decided you liked it.”

  Mary’s weathered face brightened. “Really? That’s a pretty good deal, isn’t it?”

  Damn right it is, Amanda thought gloomily. Especially since I paid more than nine hundred for it at Saks just a couple of months ago….

  But her face betrayed none of these thoughts. “I think it’s a pretty good deal,” she agreed quietly. “And if you liked, I could bring a few of the other pieces, too, sweaters and blouses and slacks, and you could try them on in private at home before you made a choice.”

  “Oh,” Mary sighed. “Oh, my, that’d be so nice. You know,” she added impulsively, gazing at the younger woman, “I think I really need something like this, Miss Walker. My life’s been…”

  She paused and flushed awkwardly, then continued. “The way things have been happening, my life hasn’t been all that good lately. And I could really use a little lift like that. Something to make me feel…better about myself, you know?”

  “I know,” Amanda murmured. “I know you could, Mary. Everybody needs a lift now and then. When would you like me to bring the things over for you to try on?”

  “Oh, any time, I guess. Would it be…would you be coming fairly soon?” Mary asked wistfully.

  Amanda nodded, considering the week ahead, reorganizing her schedule rapidly to accommodate another trip to Crystal Creek. If she could bring out the new winter outfits for Lynn McKinney on Wednesday, then she’d be able to…

  “Miss Walker?”

  Amanda smiled. “You’d better call me Amanda, if we’re going to be doing business together. I was just thinking about my week, Mary. Would Wednesday be good for you? Say about two o’clock?”

  Mary nodded, rummaging in her handbag. “That’d be real nice. Just let me find a pen, and I’ll draw a map so you can find my place.”

  “No problem,” Amanda said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I’ll be stopping off here and over at the Circle T. Someone can give me directions when I get there.”

  “Oh, it’s real easy,” Mary said. “I’m just a few miles out on the other side of town, bordering Brock Munroe’s place.”

  “What’s this?” A cheerful male voice came from the other side of the archway, beyond Amanda’s line of vision. “Mary Gibson, are you talking about me behind my back?”

  Mary smiled and turned away to peer at the newcomer, who was still hidden from Amanda. “Hi, Brock,” she said. “My, don’t you look spiffy, all dressed up in a suit and tie.”

  “I feel like a trained monkey in this rig,” the man with the deep voice said, reflecting such rueful distaste that Amanda smiled and leaned around the archway to see what he looked like.

  At the same moment he stepped forward to allow a server past him, and faced Amanda head on. His mouth dropped open, his dark eyes widened, and he stood rooted to the spot, staring at her with such obvious amazement that her pale cheeks became a delicate pink.

  But she collected herself almost at once, gave the man a polite smile and calmly returned his gaze.

  He was certainly an arresting physical specimen, several inches taller than six feet with a rangy muscular look and an impressive breadth of chest and shoulders to balance his height. His face was tanned and clean-cut, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes warm and alert as he continued to stare at Amanda. When she smiled, he grinned back automatically, one side of his wide mouth lifting in an engaging lopsided grin that showed a flash of beautiful white teeth.

  Amanda always noticed people’s hands. This man’s hands were hard and brown, probably as callused on the palms as old leather, but they were beautifully shaped, with fine square palms and long fingers.

  Amanda looked back to the man’s shining dark eyes. She was beginning to feel uneasy. Apparently Mary Gibson was also becoming uncomfortable at the intensity with which the man was staring at Amanda.

  “Brock, this is Amanda Walker,” Mary said finally. “Amanda, Brock Munroe, my nearest neighbor. He has a ranch right next to mine.”

  The tall man broke his gaze with a visible effort and extended his hand. Amanda took it almost reluctantly and felt her own hand swallowed in his firm grip. Brock Munroe’s hand was just as steel-hard and strong as she’d expected. And she was distressed by the sudden tingle of sexual excitement that shivered through her at his touch.

  “Amanda does clothes buying and TV commercials, thing
s like that,” Mary explained.

  “I know,” the man said abruptly. “I’ve seen her on television.”

  He was staring again, as if trying to memorize every line and detail of Amanda’s face.

  Or, Amanda thought in warm confusion, as if they were already well-known to each other, lovers meeting again after a long, long separation…

  Mary smiled at them and began to edge away, murmuring something about helping Virginia with the buffet, but Brock and Amanda were so absorbed in their sudden and surprising contact that they hardly noticed her departure.

  “So,” Brock said with that same abrupt tone, “what exactly is a personal shopping service, Amanda? What is it that you do for a living?”

  “I dress people,” Amanda said automatically. “I help them to select a balanced complementary wardrobe, and the proper accessories to achieve a total look. And then I price-shop the stores for them, over as wide an area as I’m able, as well as the catalogues from the better houses.”

  The man beside her nodded thoughtfully. Amanda looked up at him with a cautious critical eye, noticing for the first time that his suit had to be fifteen years old, at least, with its old-fashioned lapels and the awkward dated cut of the trousers. And that tie…

  Amanda couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was to see a man like Brock Munroe dressed this way. With his beautifully-formed body, he’d look just wonderful in a really well-cut suit.

  She stole another glance at his lapels.

  “Eighteen years,” he told her quietly.

  Amanda looked up at his face, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

  “This suit. I bought it eighteen years ago for my high school graduation. That’s what you’re thinking, right? That I look real tacky and out-of-date?”

  Amanda flushed and then realized with annoyance that this reaction had been as much of a giveaway as her earlier expression of distaste. “Clothes are my business,” she told the man stiffly. “I can’t help but notice cut and style. It’s my job.”