Abby Wheaton peeked around the back room doorway, her green eyes sparkling. “I just sold the last to Reiman House. Your timing’s perfect.” She pushed the curtain aside, carrying several dresses. “Let me hang these before they wrinkle then I’ll be right with you.”
Rhia set her basket on the counter and went to the empty display table where Abby started to lay the dresses. The scent of freshly ironed cloth rose from the neat stack. “Here,” Rhia said, “let me hold them while you hang them. It would be a shame to see them wrinkled.”
Scout padded over to the stove and lay down as Rhia took the dresses by their hangers. She handed them to Abby one by one, admiring each while Abby hung them. Rhia found herself wishing for at least one of the pretty garments Abby had made. Ready-made dresses was an idea Abby had brought with her from the East. “These are really lovely, Abby.”
Abby looked over at her, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “You know, I let those britches fool me for a while. You’d love to be able to wear dresses.”
Rhia laughed, her nerves showing in the shakiness of her voice. Abby had stated a fact not a question and now Rhia felt a bit like an unmasked bank robber. She shrugged, pretending indifference. “Daddy taught me never to buy on credit. If this year’s wool prices stay where they are, maybe I’ll be back for one of these,” she said, but it probably wasn’t wise to step out from behind the mask.
“Oh, I remember the penny-pinching days.”
That was what was nice about Abby. Though married to the town’s banker, a man of means, she came from working stock, the daughter of a Pennsylvania coal miner. She knew what living without meant.
Rhia came to a dress that looked like it might fit her. She hesitated and took a moment to gaze at it. “Raul and I plan to start shearing tomorrow,” she said, hearing the wistful tone in her voice and praying Abby hadn’t.
Abby took the dress and looked over the pretty blue frock, giving Rhia an extra moment to covet it. If she bought anything, it should be new shears, not an impractical dress she shouldn’t wear in public.
“Are you coming to the spring social?”
The tinkling of the bell over the door made Rhia glance over her shoulder. She nearly sighed aloud. Dylan Varga. She couldn’t remember a day since meeting him when she hadn’t loved him. He was her best friend’s older brother and, with womanhood, her puppy love had deepened and begun to fill her entire being. Unfortunately, she might as well be part of the shelving for all the notice he gave her.
Maybe if I dropped the disguise that’d change. But that presented complications. She’d promised her father to make Adara a success, which meant living alone. She couldn’t fail him. That was far more weighty a worry than risking a final rejection from Dylan.
She glanced Dylan’s way again, holding the remaining dresses in front of her like armor, hoping to avoid that stomach-flipping effect his nearness always caused.
Dylan took his hat off, his black hair shining in the sunlight, and closed the door. Then he smiled. Oh, no. Now she even felt it when all he did was smile in her direction.
“Good day, Mrs. Wheaton,” he said, then to Rhia he added with a grin, “You thinking of buying a dress, Rowdy? You don’t want the sun to fall out of the sky, do you?”
She notched her chin. Rowdy. He’d named her that the first time he had to rescue her when she’d climbed too high in a tree. She’d liked it, that pet name he called no one else—but it had grown tiresome. His sister wore pants while working at Belleza, their family sheep ranch. Her pants were the more costly Levi Strauss jeans. At $1.25 a pair, Strauss’s jeans cost what an acre of good Texas land did. Farrah’s father could afford what Rhia couldn’t.
That her clothes didn’t reflect the real her rankled. She wasn’t a tomboy like Farrah. She wanted to dress like a woman but her position as a woman alone wouldn’t allow it.
“Actually,” Rhia heard Abby say, “we’re looking for the right one for Rhiannon to wear to the spring social. I hope you’ll be escorting your sister since your mother and father won’t be attending.”
His golden eyes widened at Abby’s whopper but he refrained from any smart-mouthed comments about Rhia wearing a dress and attending a dance. “The don won’t step foot on the Rocking R because I work there,” Dylan replied. “He demanded Alex Reynolds fire me. Alex being Alex refused. Still, I don’t think the don would forbid Farrah from going. I doubt she’d want to go, but I’ll ask.”
“Oh, she’ll come,” Abby assured Dylan. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I need to get Rhiannon settled in the back. Come along, lovie.” She ordered compliance with a look. “I’m sure Mr. Varga won’t mind waiting a moment.”
Stunned, Rhia stared at the back of Abby Wheaton’s head then followed meekly. What would it hurt to try on one or two of Abby’s pretty frocks? She didn’t have to buy one. Thankful Dylan wasn’t too close, she walked past him. Having him too near was another thing that caused her stomach to do that strange dance. Surely she could outlast Dylan’s business there. It would give her a chance to wallow in all that pretty finery.
“Abby, I told you I can’t buy a dress,” she whispered. “You know how Daddy felt about credit. And are you sure Farrah is going? She hates socials.”
“Oh, she’ll be going or my name isn’t Abaigeal Kane Wheaton,” Abby said, stepping close and working at the buttons of Rhia’s oversize shirt. “You’re leavin’ here with a dress. We’ll take a little bit each time out of your egg money till it’s all paid off. You won’t even notice it missing. I know what it’s like to be ashamed of my clothes. You deserve this. Don’t be denyin’ you want to go. Or that you want to be impressin’ that big lug out there. Callin’ you ‘Rowdy.’ I never heard such a thing. Now strip and try on one these dresses. I’ll be right back with a crinoline after I’ve waited on him and sent him on his way. We’re going to knock him senseless come the fourth,” Abby whispered.
Rhia stared after Abby. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. Especially since Rhia had never wanted anything as much as she wanted to knock Dylan senseless with that blue dress and what she looked like in it. Rhia hurried to get it on praying it fit—forgetting all the reasons it was a bad idea.
Chapter Two
At almost dusk on April 4, Dylan waited impatiently in the gig outside his parents’ hacienda. His mother had stuck her head out the door for just a moment to ask him to wait there. Which really meant the don still wouldn’t receive his own son.
She’d also told him Farrah had asked her friend Rhiannon Oliver to ride along. It was going to be a bit of a tight fit in the two-person gig.
God, at least Rhia always managed to scrub off the stink of working with sheep. He knew that smell having been forced to care for them while growing up. Instead he always caught the faint scent of wildflowers whenever he was in the same room with her.
Strange.
He looked up and saw his mother staring out at him from Farrah’s upstairs bedroom window. He smiled and blew her a kiss. His thoughts swung back to her and her difficult position between the warring men in her life. And guilt followed. He couldn’t imagine being separated from his own child and he was sorry for his part in her heartache. But he had to live life his way and that didn’t include sheep ranching.
His mind slid to his sister. What had sparked her attendance tonight? Farrah’s pretty face and tall stature managed to make her in a pair of Levi Strauss’s blue jeans a sight most of the men around Belleza and Tierra del Verde enjoyed seeing. Of course, knowing they’d be looking elsewhere for work kept the men on Belleza from acting on any attraction they felt toward her. Farrah’s prickly demeanor took care of the rest.
Farrah’s surprise companion tonight put them off with her appearance alone. Unlike Farrah, Rhia had always been too plump and too unkempt. From a couple years after her mother’s death, every time he’d seen her, she’d had a beat-up old Stetson
rammed down on her head. She made herself real inhospitable to a man, no matter that she was a good, hardworking person. To his knowledge no man had ever given Rhiannon Oliver a second look. Of course, he doubted Rhia minded. All she seemed to care about was following in her daddy’s footsteps running Adara.
The door opened and his mother came out again. He jumped down and went to her. God, he’d missed her.
“The girls will be along,” she said. “Your father said I could come get a hug.”
Dylan wrapped his arms around his mother and held her for a long moment. “Cabra vieja,” he growled.
His mother whacked him on the shoulder as she stepped back. “Who are you calling an old goat?”
“The don.” He kissed his mother’s smooth cheek. “Certainly not the prettiest woman in the state of Texas.”
She clearly fought a smile. “Flattery won’t get you out of hot water. You should be ashamed. He’s your father.”
“You’re right, but I loved my grandmother too much to call him a son of a bitch.”
“Language,” she scolded. “One of you has to bend first. He’s not going to live forever, then it’ll be too late.”
“Talk to him. He’s the one who refuses to compromise. He won’t even let me into the house so I can talk to him. I’d have been happy to stay. He’s the one who needed to bend. Instead he escalated this. He disowned me. All I asked for was a piece of land to raise horses.”
His mother sighed and stroked his cheek. “I know. You have your life and dreams just as he did when he left Spain.” She forced a smile. “He had to give up his dreams for you the way his father did when we came here. But enough talk of problems. Smile. You’re the luckiest man in Tierra del Verde tonight.” She stepped to the side. “You’ll be escorting the two prettiest young ladies in Texas to the social.”
Dylan looked first to Farrah walking toward him. She did indeed look like a lady for once with her chestnut hair waving around her shoulders and wearing a pretty dress instead of jeans.
Then his eyes slid to Rhiannon as she drew closer.
His heart turned over in his chest.
She was dazzling. Not a bit plump. And the dark-as-night hair she usually kept hidden under that beat-up hat was so silky it even managed to capture the last dying rays of the sun. It hung down her back in adorable waves and framed her face while flirting with the breeze. Her creamy complexion made his fingertips yearn to touch its softness. He was suddenly grateful to that hated old hat for the shade it had provided. Her ebony lashes, thick and full, framed her cornflower-blue eyes.
She wore a pretty blue dress with a full skirt he’d swear was the same color as her incredible eyes. The sash around her middle accentuated her slender waist and hips. He retraced the path of his perusal back up to her eyes where he found himself ensnared.
Why had he never noticed how pretty she was? Why had he never noticed her at all except as someone to tease? “Rhia? Where the hell have you been?”
Her chin notched up. “I’ve been ready to leave for an hour. Farrah and your mother were arguing over her dress. Why blame me?”
“No. No. I’m not. I meant…uh…where did you come from?”
She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “From Farrah’s room?” she said real slowly the way folks talked to someone not quite right in the head.
Maybe he had lost his senses. He’d certainly lost his touch. He was usually a lot more polished with a woman who’d caught his eye. But then again, the soiled doves at the Golden Garter weren’t exactly a good test of his prowess.
“I meant you look…nice,” he finished, knowing that wasn’t a strong enough word but settling. As tongue-tied as he felt God alone knew what might have popped out.
Silently he took Rhia’s hand to help her into the gig he’d borrowed from Alex. And nearly gasped. What the hell was that? If his eyes hadn’t told him different, he’d have sworn her touch had set his hand afire. By handing her up first he’d insured that she’d be pressed close to him in the two-seat gig. He ought to be able to untie his tongue on the way so he could charm her into walking in on his arm.
A few hours later Dylan watched from the side of the room as yet another admirer claimed Rhiannon for a dance. They were like bees drawn to the last flower of summer. He’d only gotten to partner her in one dance and that had been a square dance.
Checking his watch, he realized the night was nearly over. He tried to take comfort from the knowledge that she’d walked in on his arm and would be leaving the same way. But it didn’t help that George Bentley had her hand in his as the caller signaled them to allemande left then promenade.
Finally Bentley had to let go as they each moved on to other partners. Dylan felt better about it as it was Joshua Wheaton, the town’s banker and husband to the miracle worker who’d made Rhia’s pretty blue dress.
Funny, Dylan wouldn’t have thought Rhia could dance—if he’d thought about her at all. Or that she’d be so delicate and pretty under what she usually wore. He ached to hold her in his arms and wished he could claim her for a waltz.
He looked across the handsome gold room with its gas chandeliers and wall sconces. They made the place almost as bright as day. Alex Reynolds stood near one of the open windows.
Dylan walked over and breathed in the scent of the early blooming wildflowers. Alex was his boss but he’d become more friend than employer since Dylan had played a part in rescuing Alex’s wife from a kidnapper. “Do you think those yahoos know how to play a waltz?” Dylan asked, nodding toward the piano player from the Golden Garter and the three others sawing on their fiddles.
Alex grinned. “They’d better. They promised to practice it all this week. I have the last dance reserved with Patience. It’s supposed to be the waltz. You going to try for a chance to lead out the belle of the ball?”
Dylan followed Alex’s gaze to Rhia. She was the belle and he wanted her in his arms. He found himself moving back toward the dance floor, making sure he stood right where Rhia and her partner stopped. Quickly stepping forward, Dylan cut off George Bentley’s approach. “This is the dance you promised to me,” Dylan lied.
Miraculously Rhia didn’t call him on it. She did look confused, though, when she said, “Oh, yes. I suppose I must have forgotten.” Her breathing was a bit labored, too. He should lead her to the lemonade table to cool off but he was feeling selfish. He wanted her all to himself.
The little quartet struck up an odd version of a waltz. Though he’d heard it played more expertly, it was sweet music anyway. Because Rhia was in his arms, looking into his eyes.
“I can’t believe I finally have the belle of the ball all to myself.”
“Hardly a belle and I doubt this is as grand as a ball. You’ve visited both sets of your grandparents. Farrah told me how grand everything is in England and Spain.”
He grinned. “Tonight, my belle, here with you like this, it all seems pretty grand to me.” He couldn’t seem to curb the things he said to her any more than he could take his eyes off her. “You look so beautiful tonight. I’d like the opportunity to get to know you better, Rhia.”
Chapter Three
Rhia stared up at Dylan aware of everything in the room and nothing except the feeling of being held by him. The musk-and-lime scent of his nearness. The sparkle in his golden-honey-brown eyes. The security of his strength surrounding her.
She didn’t know what to say in answer to the words she’d dreamed of hearing almost her whole life. “You’ve known me since I was six years old,” she finally managed to say. “I hardly remember a time when we didn’t know each other.”
He shook his head. “I’ve known the girl running tame after Farrah. I’ve let her ride along when I took my sister into town. I’ve waved to her across the street. I’ve teased her and called her Rowdy. But I don’t think that’s who you are. There’s
more to a person than recognizing them or even knowing they like the ices at Reiman House or the licorice at the General Store. I don’t know your hopes. Your dreams.”
And I don’t know yours, either, she thought as she stared into his rich, honeyed gaze. Really all she knew about him these days was that he and his father were on the outs, but not why. And she knew that being near him flustered her, made her nervous. But not in a way that made her feel…afraid. It was an exciting kind of nervousness. Like riding full out while a thunderstorm was bearing down on you.
But she never courted danger.
She was careful. Farrah said too careful. She planned each move she made. Until she’d looked at a blue dress and thrown caution away with her disguise.
Rhia forced herself to examine why she’d done what she had but she came to no conclusions. Dylan’s proximity seemed to scramble her thoughts and tie her tongue in knots. Yet his words hadn’t thrilled her as she’d thought they should. Why?
The music came to a halt and she was saved from needing to make further comments when the voice of their host thanked the men on the instruments and all the guests for coming to celebrate spring.
The evening was over.
Farrah rushed up then. “The band played longer than planned. We should be going. Papa will be waiting up and you know how grouchy he is when he’s kept up so late.”
Rhia wanted to protest but Dylan, who’d continued to hold her in his arms, abruptly let her go and jerked back. The loss of his heat made her shiver in the warm room. She felt instantly bereft and resentful of her friend’s intrusion.
“I’ll bring the gig around,” Dylan said. “The stable boys are probably harnessing up the mare right now.” He nodded to them and walked away.
“You certainly made use of all those dance lessons Mama forced on us over the years,” Farrah said, looking a bit cross.
Rhia considered her friend. “She forced them on you. I liked them.”
Weddings Under a Western Sky: The Hand-Me-Down BrideThe Bride Wore BritchesSomething Borrowed, Something True Page 9
