by Jane Porter
Taylor pressed her lips together, fighting the sudden urge to cry. “Good,” she said huskily. “That’s great news.”
“So you think you can manage the ball?”
Her eyes felt hot and gritty and she swallowed hard. “Should I just meet you there?”
“You don’t want me to pick you up?”
“Well, if we’re just friends, it seems silly to make you leave your own hotel to come get me.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t. You’re quite nice about things like that, and I still appreciate you taking the time to return my phone to me last night.”
“Friends do nice things for each other.”
She struggled to smile but couldn’t. Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she wanted to climb into her bed and pull her covers up over her head and cry.
And she didn’t even know why she wanted to cry. It’s not as if she liked him. It’s not as if she had any feelings for him, either…
“So I’ll pick you up,” he said after a moment. “How does five forty-five sound?”
“Good,” she said.
“Great. It’s a date.”
Troy walked Taylor back to the library parking lot. He waited until she’d safely left before he started his SUV.
He’d eaten dinner but he needed a drink.
He was staying at the Graff tonight, and he could easily get a drink there. It’d be convenient to pull up to the hotel, have valet take the car, and be done with it. He’d get served fast in the bar, too, as the staff at the hotel knew him and jumped to please him, but Troy wasn’t comfortable with all the jumping and scraping. The constant display of deference put him on edge. For God’s sake, this was Marietta, Montana and he wasn’t a Rockefeller but a Sheenan.
One didn’t bow and scrape to a Sheenan. Sheenans got into scrapes. Sheenans were tough and practical. Sure, Troy had made some money in the fifteen years since he finished college, good money, money didn’t make a man, and money certainly didn’t define him.
Troy drove down Main Street to Grey’s Saloon.
No one at Grey’s bowed and scraped. Grey didn’t tolerate airs. The only one at Grey’s Saloon with attitude was Grey himself, the surly bastard.
Troy stepped from his SUV, pocketed his keys, entered the corner building, and took a seat at the bar. Tonight it was Reese behind the counter and Reese poured Troy a shot of whiskey, neat, before giving Troy space. Good man.
Troy nursed the whiskey for a bit, welcoming the space and quiet. After a bit, Reese returned and they talked the way men liked to talk, about not much of anything, which was the best sort of conversation because it was never too personal and, therefore, never too uncomfortable. Men didn’t need to share their feelings, not like women.
“Another one?” Reese asked, approaching Troy and gesturing to his empty tumbler.
Troy nodded and slid the glass across the counter.
Taylor Harris kissed like a pin up. Her lips were soft and sweet but she kissed with heat.
There’d been serious heat in that kiss. Serious chemistry, too.
Troy hardened again, remembering.
“You’re in town for the ball,” Reese said as he placed the fresh whiskey in front of Troy.
“Yeah.”
“Who are you taking?”
Troy shifted. “Taylor Harris.”
Reese frowned. “Do I know her?”
“She’s the new librarian.”
“The librarian?” Reese shot him an amused glance. “Not your usual type.”
Troy chose not to dignify the remark. He took a long drink from his glass. The whiskey burned going down, a good kind of burn. “So are you going Friday night?” he asked Reese.
“To the ball?” Reese shook his head. “Not my thing.”
“Apparently it’s not a lot of folks’ thing.” Troy grimaced. “Seemed like a good idea back in the fall, but I’ve been away from Montana a long time. I’d forgotten that folks here aren’t into fancy dress balls.”
“Especially in the dead of winter.”
“Winter’s harsh this year.”
“Winter is harsh here every year.” Reese leaned against the counter behind him. “I guess it’s easy to forget the twenty below zero wind chill when you don’t even need a coat in February in San Francisco.”
“Oh, you need a coat in San Francisco. But just a thin one,” Troy retorted. He raised his glass. “To all the idealistic bastards in the world with more balls than brains.”
“The world needs idealistic bastards to balance out the assholes and realists.”
“Which one are you?”
Reese smiled darkly. “What do you think?”
“I think there’s a tender idealist buried somewhere deep inside you.” Troy grinned crookedly. “But I won’t tell anyone.”
“And I was just about to compliment you for doing a good thing here in this town.”
“The ball?”
“The Graff.”
“Huh.”
“Marietta didn’t need the Graff, but you’ve done something this town can be proud of. And that’s a good thing.”
“Maybe you should have been my date Friday night,” Troy said.
“You are pretty, but you’re not quite my type.”
Troy laughed. “I’m crushed.”
Taylor couldn’t wait for work to end Wednesday. She was looking forward to meeting up with McKenna and going dress shopping at Married in Marietta, because now Taylor needed a dress, too.
It’d been a long time since Taylor did something like this. Even longer since she’d needed to dress up for something. For the last couple of years she’d been focused on work, and getting Doug the help he needed. There hadn’t been time for dates or dances, and in trying to be responsible and mature she’d also somehow lost being young and fun.
Maybe for one night she could just forget about being Doug’s guardian and remaining on guard and keeping a vigilant watch. Maybe for one night she could cut loose and leave Hogue to worry about Doug and she could just relax…have fun. She wasn’t trying to ignore her responsibilities. She just wanted a mini break. A chance to dress up and play. Surely it’d be okay for just one night.
Taylor must have looked at her watch a dozen times between three and five, and the minute hand never seemed to move. She felt as if she’d gotten a case of spring fever, but finally it was five, and Louise, aware that Taylor was going to the ball with Troy, shooed her out the door, promising Taylor she’d lock up since Margaret had gone home with a toothache earlier in the day.
Taylor headed home to change from her trousers and knit sweater set to jeans and a peach cotton sweater that was cut boxy and loose in a boyfriend style, before combing her hair and leaving it loose.
Hoping she was dressed appropriately for a girl’s night out with McKenna, Taylor drove to Married in Marietta on Front Ave and snagged a parking spot just a block from the store.
Taylor had never been inside the little boutique before, but passing through the front door was like entering another world, an overtly feminine world with a pale plush carpet, soothing neutrals, glittering chandeliers and delicate French inspired furniture.
A sales associate came forward to greet Taylor and offer assistance. “I’m looking for a dress for Friday night,” Taylor said.
The sales clerk gestured to the long wall filled with fluffy and shimmering white gowns at the back. “That is our bridal area,” she said, before pointing to four rolling racks of gowns in pink, coral and red, “and over there are the formal gowns we’ve ordered in for the Valentine Ball. We have a little bit of everything here, and I do have more sizes in the back.”
Taylor thanked her and headed for the rolling racks of rose and ruby gowns, some filmy and chiffon, others short and fitted, while others sparkled with sequins and embroidery. They seemed to have something for every taste, and hopefully every budget since Taylor didn’t have much money.
“Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Mc
Kenna said, a little breathless as she appeared at Taylor’s side, her cheeks red from the cold. She quickly began peeling off her heavy outer layers. “TJ gave me fits tonight. He decided he didn’t want me to go out and made quite a scene.”
Taylor turned to McKenna, worried. “Will he be okay?”
“Yes. He just likes throwing his weight around.” McKenna grimaced as she placed her coat and scarf and gloves on a fragile white chair. “He’s only four but he’s already all Sheenan. Not sure why I thought he’d end up with any of my DNA.”
“Until last night, I didn’t realize his dad was Trey.”
“Troy told you?”
Taylor shook her head. “Louise.”
“Not a planned pregnancy. But then, my life doesn’t seem to follow any logical plans.” McKenna shrugged and turned her focus to the racks of dresses. She rifled through the nearest rack before pausing at a strapless, fitted peach gown covered in sequins that gave way to a silk skirt at the thigh. “How pretty. So romantic.”
“I’ve never worn gowns like these,” Taylor said, “at least, not since the Hopeville High prom, and even then, I chose a simple off white dress that seemed classic and elegant. At least, I thought I looked pretty and elegant until I got to the gym and realized the dress looked like a sheet off my parents’ bed.”
McKenna laughed and pulled out a short, miniscule pink sequin cocktail dress. “I think I wore something like this to my prom.”
“Very sexy,” Taylor said.
“Mmm. Short, tight, sexy with the highest heels I could find. I wanted to drive Trey crazy.”
“Did he love it?”
“No.” McKenna hung the shimmering pink number back on the rack. “He was livid.” She looked at Taylor, and scrunched her nose. “He wasn’t my date. We’d broken up the week before but I refused to sit home crying. So my brother, Quinn, the baseball star, found a date for me, and I went to my prom looking like a million bucks with one of his friends. It made Trey nuts.”
“Did you and Trey get back together after the prom?”
“We did, towards the end of summer. But broke up again by Christmas. Didn’t date again for a year since Trey was competing on the circuit.” McKenna’s smile faded. “We were impossible. Our relationship was impossible. We shouldn’t have ever let it go on as long as we did.”
McKenna turned back to the rack and quickly flipped through more gowns but Taylor had seen the tears in McKenna’s eyes.
“But you’re happy now, right?” Taylor asked, worriedly. “You’re newly engaged and getting married later this year, so it’s okay?”
McKenna held a sleek dark pink gown against her slender frame. The long dress was cut asymmetrical with one shoulder strap and a sequin starburst at the waist. McKenna might not be a dress girl, but she was certainly drawn to gorgeous sexy gowns. “What do you think?”
Taylor noticed McKenna hadn’t answered her question. “Very pretty. And that dark coral pink looks great with your hair.”
“They always say redheads shouldn’t wear pink, but I don’t believe in following rules.”
“I think it’s gorgeous.”
“So explain to me why you’re not going to the ball,” McKenna asked, handing the dresses to the sales clerk who carried them to a dressing room.
“Well, actually…I am going…now.”
“Good! Great. So you’re dress shopping, too. Let’s find some things for you to try on. Have you seen anything you like? What’s your style?”
“Inexpensive?”
McKenna gave Taylor a pointed look. “No woman wants to look cheap.”
“No, I know, but I don’t have a big budget.”
“I’m sure we can find something pretty that won’t break your budget. So what do you like? Long? Short? Fitted? Full? And are you a pink girl, or red, or apricot or purple?”
“I like red better than pink,” Taylor said. “And apricot better than purple. And I don’t know about the rest. Just pretty. I don’t want to look like I’m wearing a sheet from my mother’s bed.”
“Got it.”
For the next half hour they tried on dress after dress, and took turns posing and turning in front of the tall mirror.
In the end McKenna chose the stunning pink asymmetrical gown with the starburst at the waist as it hugged her curves and set off her dark auburn hair, green eyes, and flawless, luminous skin.
“What about you?” McKenna asked. “What are your favorites?”
“I like the red lace cocktail dress,” Taylor said, “and the ivory dress with the bronze sequins at the bodice. That was really pretty, too.”
“The red lace dress is what old ladies wear to hide their jiggly upper arms,” McKenna said, “and the ivory dress is pretty, but it looks like a bargain priced dress. Something for teens to wear to their prom. You’re twenty-six and in June you’ll be Marietta’s new head librarian. You need a dress with wow factor, something that screams stylish, sexy, and sophisticated.”
Taylor shook her head. “Not sexy. Definitely not sexy. Stylish and sophisticated is good enough.”
“Why not sexy?” McKenna demanded, flipping through more hanging gowns, this time on a search for Taylor.
“Um, I’m not… sexy, and even if I was, I couldn’t go to the ball looking too sexy. My date wouldn’t like it.”
McKenna turned to face Taylor, hands on her hips. “What? Why not?”
Taylor shifted from one foot to the other. “My date isn’t a… date. We’re really just friends, and so we’re just going as… friends.”
“I don’t get it. Who are you going with?”
Taylor had wondered when this question might arise. “Troy.”
“Troy Sheenan?”
Was there any other Troy in Marietta?
Taylor nodded. “Yes.” She avoided McKenna’s gaze, not wanting to see laughter or mockery in her eyes, because of course Troy wasn’t the right man for Taylor. Troy was… well… Marietta’s Most Eligible Bachelor. And probably San Francisco’s Most Eligible Bachelor, too. “Jane set us up—”
“I knew Jane had said you were going.”
“I didn’t think it was a good idea to go with Troy, but anyway…we are.”
“You and Troy.”
“Yes.” Taylor’s heart thudded, trying not to think about Troy or the kiss, because the kiss had been so good and hot and sweet and sexy all at the same time. “But we’re not a couple,” she added hurriedly.
“Maybe you should be a couple. He’s lovely,” McKenna said firmly. “And you are, too.”
“But there’s no… chemistry,” Taylor said, remembering Troy’s words. “And he has to have chemistry. You know.”
“How do you know there was no chemistry?”
Taylor blushed. “He kissed me.”
McKenna’s eyes widened. “And…?”
“I thought it was really good.”
“Not surprised. He was voted best kisser his senior year of high school. And of course, I never kissed him, but Sheenans are good lovers, so, you know.”
Taylor glanced around to be sure the sales clerk wasn’t listening. “Apparently I’m not a good kisser, though. Troy said… you know.”
“Troy told you that you weren’t a good kisser?”
“No. He just said… we could be friends.”
“Of course you can be friends. You don’t want a lover who doesn’t care about you.”
“He’s not my lover. He’s not even attracted to me.”
“And he said this?”
“No. But it was implied.”
McKenna gave her a strange look. “Not sure your logic is all that sound, which is fine. No one ever said a woman has to be logical all the time. But the one thing that is clear, is that we need to find you the perfect gown for the ball. Yes?”
In the dressing room, armed with another stack of gowns, all handpicked by McKenna, Taylor tried on one after the other. They were all beautiful dresses, all far more sophisticated than Taylor would have selected for herself. A st
unning ruby red ball gown with full skirts and a plunging décolleté; a long, form fitting red sequin gown with small padded shoulders that left her entire back bare; a sweet gown in blush with avant garde roses stitched at the bodice and fluttery folds of fabric falling to her feet.
So many beautiful gowns and yet none of them felt right. She couldn’t imagine going to the ball in any of them. And then, right when Taylor didn’t think she could try on another dress, the sales clerk pushed a dress through the curtain and insisted Taylor try it on. “This was in the back,” the girl said. “It’s a small size, but you’re tiny and young enough to pull the look off.”
Taylor warily eyed the gown with the red circle spangles. It was not a quiet little dress, nor a sleek sophisticated gown. It was… eye catching. Maybe even show stopping. It was a dress better suited to a stage or runway…
“It’s not me,” Taylor said, poking her head out of the dressing room. “It’s just too much.”
“Put it on,” McKenna said.
“Do,” the sales girl agreed. “I think you’d look beautiful in it. You have the right coloring with your dark hair and eyes. How can it hurt to give it a try?”
A few minutes later Taylor stepped from the dressing room and turned to let the sales girl zip up the back of the dress.
She shot McKenna a quick glance as she took a place before the tall mirror. McKenna’s eyes were wide, and she was smiling, broadly.
Taylor looked from McKenna to the mirror, and studied her reflection.
And then she did a slow twirl in front of the mirror, unable to believe she was looking at herself.
She looked… incredible.
It was the dress, of course. And the gown’s tulle wasn’t exactly pink, more blush or nude, and covered with those glossy red spangles and moved and shimmered and reflected the light.
Taylor put a hand to the deep V-neck bodice, and then to the full skirt.
“It’s… pretty,” she said softly, a bit awed by her own reflection.
“Stunning,” the sales clerk agreed.
“That’s the dress,” McKenna added.
“I think so,” Taylor agreed, before reaching for the tag that hung beneath her arm. She blinked, shocked by the price, and read it a second time, making sure she hadn’t read it wrong. $3,900.
