by Lisa Bingham
P.D. blinked, wrenched from her thoughts.
Through most of the dressing process, Helen had insisted that P.D. keep her back to the mirror so that P.D. would be surprised by the overall effect. Layer by layer, she’d been adorned in Victorian finery—a silk chemise and pair of pantalets, ivory thigh-high hose and lacy garters, and cream-colored ivory high-button shoes. This was followed by an embroidered corset cinched so tight that P.D. discovered immediately why women of wealth in the nineteenth century needed a ladies’ maid to help them dress—and why her shoes had been put on before the rest of her costume. She couldn’t have bent over to adjust her hose, let alone put on her shoes.
Over her hoop, Helen had dropped a flounced petticoat dripping with lace, then a full skirt made of ivory organdy embroidered with swirling soutache and ruffles made of silk habatoi. Last, she’d helped P.D. slip her arms into a matching off-the-shoulder boned bodice.
Turning, P.D. crossed the room to the full-length mirror that had been attached to the back of the closet doors, and she gasped.
“Helen, it’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful, honey. The dress is merely the frame.” She carefully pinned P.D.’s contestant number to the spray of silk millinery flowers at her waist.
P.D. stared wistfully at her expression, realizing that she looked every inch the pioneer bride. Her hair had been arranged into an upsweep with intricate braids and ringlets that dropped over one shoulder. A clip made of lace, pearls, and a feather had been pinned over one ear. Against the ivory of her gown, her skin appeared creamy and smooth—aided by the powder Helen had used to disguise the remains of her sunburn.
“The sisters are looking especially fine,” Helen remarked, referring to the way the corset had pushed her breasts up against the low, lace-bedecked berthe of her bodice. And her waist, sheesh! It looked tiny and delicate compared to the fullness of her skirts.
“I thought my dress and corset were supposed to be black and red?”
Helen’s eyes twinkled. “They were smoke damaged in the fire, and much as I tried, I couldn’t get them clean. So I changed my mind about the whole ensemble at the last minute and used the other pieces as your pattern so that we wouldn’t need to worry about alterations.”
P.D. fingered one of the silky ruffles. “You did all of this in four days?”
“And I had a grand time doing it. Nothing better than a marathon of sci-fi movies and costume creation. Some people do heroin, I do fabric.”
P.D. turned and enfolded her friend in a hug. “Thank you so much.”
Helen’s embrace was tight and scented with lavender. “My pleasure, sweetie.”
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.
“There’s Elam,” Helen said. She hurried to the bed to retrieve a lacy shawl, a pair of elbow-length gloves, and an ivory fan made of ostrich feathers. “The judges for the costume contest will be hidden in the crowd watching you throughout the evening, so keep your back straight and your movements slow and genteel.”
“As if I had a choice in this corset,” P.D. muttered.
As soon as P.D. had tugged the gloves up to her elbows, Helen opened the door.
Dear heaven above, how was she going to survive the evening?
Elam stood resplendent in tailored trousers and a frock coat with a black jacquard vest embroidered in gold and ivory. A crisp white shirt with an intricately tied cravat emphasized his tan and the blunt angles of his jaw, and a gambler’s hat finished the outfit.
But what held and kept P.D.’s attention was the way Elam was looking at her. His eyes suddenly blazed with passion … and more, so much more. If she didn’t know better, she might have thought that he was beginning to fall in love with her a little bit, too.
With some effort, he wrenched his gaze from P.D. and sent a flicking glance toward Helen.
“Do I have to wear the hat?”
“Yes!” P.D. and Helen said in unison.
He sighed, but when he looked back at P.D. again, it was clear he didn’t mind.
“Shall we?” he asked, holding out his arm.
P.D. moved toward him in a rustle of organdy and lace.
“You two have fun tonight, you hear? But don’t do anything to mess up your outfits. I expect both of you to win,” Helen called out as they slipped from the room.
P.D. felt as if she and Elam had entered another dimension as they strolled down the walkway through the period-inspired hotel bungalows. And she must not have been the only person to think so, because when they maneuvered around a young woman and a little girl, P.D. heard the child whisper excitedly, “Look, Mom, there’s another princess!”
In the distance, they could see the carriage house, where the banquet would take place. Huge doors had been flung open to the courtyard, where dancing had already begun. Tea lights flickered from mason jars that were hung from the tree branches, and fairy lights had been strung to the arbors, making the whole space look as if it were illuminated by lightning bugs. P.D. waved when she saw that Manny’s band had been hired for the gig.
“It’s so beautiful,” P.D. breathed.
Elam stopped her, framing her face in hands sheathed in white cotton gloves.
“You’re beautiful,” he insisted. He bent to kiss her, softly, sweetly—and she would have automatically melted into his embrace if it weren’t for the fullness of her skirts. “You make my heart beat faster every time I see you.”
The sentiment was so achingly romantic that P.D. could scarcely breathe. But Elam didn’t seem to require a response because he slipped her hand around his arm and led her forward.
“Let’s dance.”
Never, in her wildest imaginings, had P.D. thought that Bliss’s Desperado would dance—with anyone, anywhere. But she found it even harder to believe that he was dancing with her. The moment he drew her into his arms, she melted against him like a stick of butter in the sun, regardless of the fullness of her skirts. Soon, with a bittersweet country-western tune floating into the air from the band in the corner, she found her head on Elam’s shoulder and his arm around her waist, his other hand laced intimately with her own.
For a while, they rocked together, hardly moving. And for a few minutes, P.D. could believe that this was real, that she’d finally found a man who wanted more from her than compassion or friendship. Closing her eyes, she could convince herself that this was the place where she belonged, her true home. In Elam’s arms.
Maybe there was a chance for them after all.
The music segued into a faster song, forcing P.D. to draw back.
“Should we go get something to eat?” Elam asked.
She nodded, even though food was the last thing on her mind.
Inside the carriage house, a buffet line had been set up along each of the walls, with dozens of smaller round tables in the middle for eating. P.D. preceded Elam through the line, her appetite returning when she saw prime rib, rolled chicken with asparagus, shrimp, and glazed ham. There were grilled vegetables, new potatoes in cream, and three kinds of salads. Once they moved to a table, there were homemade rolls and corn muffins heaped in a basket, along with gravy boats filled with exotic sauces.
It wasn’t until they reached the table and P.D. set her plate down that she realized she had a problem on her hands.
“What’s the matter?” Elam asked, holding out her chair.
P.D. looked around for anyone who looked like a judge before saying, “How am I supposed to sit down in a chair with this contraption on?” She gestured to her hoop skirt.
“That one lady in the Games got hers into a camp chair.”
P.D. rolled her eyes. “And it took her twenty minutes to wrestle with her skirts enough to do it. And I don’t have just a chair to contend with, I’ve got to get my skirts under that table.”
Elam leaned close. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled the chair out a little farther. “Go ahead. Sit down.”
With Elam firmly holding her chair so that the yardage wouldn’t push it ove
r, she managed to lift her skirts ever so slightly so that the hoop would collapse enough for her to sit. Then, she was left with the conundrum of how to scoot forward so that she wasn’t a foot away from the table. But just when she opened her mouth to tell Elam to push on her chair, he moved away and pulled his own chair even with hers. After taking his seat, he pulled the table into place over her lap.
“Nicely done,” Helen said cheerfully. “Mind if we join you?”
She and Syd took their places and the men adjusted the table again so that Helen’s lap was covered as well.
“And who says chivalry is dead,” Helen commented gleefully.
Within minutes, Bodey and his date joined them, then Jace and Barry, who was wearing a scowl along with his Sunday jacket, crisp snap-front shirt, and string tie.
“What’s wrong, Barry?” Elam asked when his youngest brother took his seat.
“Jace wouldn’t let me wear my coonskin hat.”
Bodey’s lips twitched, but he covered his amusement with a napkin.
“Where is it?” Elam asked.
Barry sat slouched in his chair, ignoring his food.
“He’s got it stuffed in the back of his waistband where he thinks I can’t see it,” Jace said. “I keep telling him that Davy Crockett would not have worn his hat to dinner.”
“I don’t see why not,” Barry mumbled. “It’d keep his hair out of his eyes.”
“Davy wanted to make sure the tail of his hat didn’t drag in the gravy. That’s why he’d put it on as soon as dinner was done,” P.D. offered.
At that thought, Barry perked up. “So I can put it on after I eat?”
Elam looked at Jace, who rolled his eyes. “Sure. Then you can ask P.D. to dance. Davy always wore his hat when he danced.”
Barry looked hopefully at P.D. and she saw a trace of Elam in his features as well as little-boy hopefulness. Not for the first time, she wondered what he would have been like if the accident hadn’t trapped him into perpetual youth.
She smiled tenderly. “I’d love to dance with a gentleman who has the finest hat in the county.”
As Barry began to eat as quickly as he could, P.D. felt an ache in the center of her chest. This is what it would be like to be part of a real family, one with siblings who shared mutual goals and genuine affection for one another. Yes, sacrifices were made, but they were always made for the right reasons.
“Hey, Barry, I got you something,” Elam said.
“Is it a present?” Barry breathed, as if saying the words might jinx them.
“Yep.”
Barry scowled at Jace. “You said he wouldn’t be able to bring me a present ’cause there wouldn’t be any stores.”
Jace shrugged. “I stand corrected.”
Barry’s scowl morphed into a confused frown. “You’re not standing up.”
“Then I sit corrected,” Jace offered smoothly.
Elam reached into one of the vest pockets and withdrew a smooth round rock.
Barry blinked, clearly disappointed. “A rock? We got rocks on the ranch, Elam.”
“Not like that one.” Elam pointed to his offering, which was oddly round and smooth. “That’s a geode.”
“A jode?”
“A geode. Take that home and very carefully whack it with a hammer—Jace or Bodey can help you. There should be a surprise inside.”
“Like an egg?”
“Kind of. But this rock will have sparkly crystals inside.”
“You’re sure?” Barry asked doubtfully.
“Pretty sure. But you won’t know until you crack it open.”
Barry rapped it against the table experimentally, his nose wrinkling in thought when it didn’t split as easily as an egg. But he carefully put it in his pocket, then returned to his food.
After a few minutes, Elam said, “Barry, I was wondering if you’d like to come spend a few days with me up at the cabin.” Elam looked up from the roll he was spreading with butter and sweet strawberry jam. “I’m going to need some help this week getting all of my stuff unpacked and moving in the furniture. How about a sleepover?”
Barry’s eyes grew huge and a forkful of chicken hung suspended in front of his mouth. “Really? You want me to do that?”
“Sure. We haven’t been seeing enough of each other lately.”
“C-can I come tonight?” Barry asked.
“I don’t know how late this thing will run, so why don’t I pick you up bright and early tomorrow? We’ll go to the Corner for breakfast then maybe head over to Logan to look at some new beds. If you’re going to spend time at my house, we might as well set up a place for you in the cabin. You can have your own room.”
Barry’s smile could have lit the ballroom. “That’d be good, Elam, really, really good!”
“It’s a deal, then.”
Barry quickly shoved the last of his food into his mouth and bounded to his feet. Dragging the furry raccoon hat from beneath his dress shirt, he tugged it over his head then rounded the table, stopping by P.D.’s seat and bowing deeply. “May I have this dance?”
Obligingly, the others moved the table so that P.D. could stand, and she followed Barry outside onto the dance floor.
She couldn’t account for the way that Elam’s actions had touched her. She clearly remembered when Barry had asked Elam to bring home a present. P.D. hadn’t given it another thought, but Elam must have been looking for something special from the very beginning. Then, in telling Barry that they needed to go hunting for a bed … Elam had made it clear he wanted his little brother to feel welcome in his home.
Drat it all, she didn’t think she could grow to care for this man any more than she already did, but he’d surprised her yet again.
“P.D., did you hear? I’m going to get a new bed in Elam’s house.”
She squeezed his hand. “I heard, Barry. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I’ve been missin’ Elam a lot lately. But the other day, he took me to the Corner, an’ now he wants me to come to his new house.”
“And you’ll have your own room there.”
“Are you going to help us move?”
P.D. hesitated. There was nothing she would rather do, but she also found herself reading between the lines of Barry’s remarks. It had been a long time since he and Elam had connected. Maybe he would like some “alone” time with Elam more.
“I’ll think it over, Barry. It sounds like fun.”
“We could get you a bed, too. Then you could come on a sleepover with us.”
And there was nothing she would rather do.
What would it be like to be a part of a family like this? To know that, simply through accident of birth, you had a group of people who gave you unconditional love and support. True, the Taggarts had experienced a lot of tragedy, but they’d pulled through it to become stronger than ever.
“P.D.?” Barry asked, not quite meeting her eyes. “Please say you’ll come to the sleepover.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend time alone with Elam?”
“Yeah, sure. But …”
“But what, Barry?”
“But he’s a boy and …”
“And what, Barry?” she prompted, confused by the sudden twist in thought.
Barry bit his lip, but finally said, “When I was little, I had a sister, too.”
P.D.’s heart lurched. Sometimes she forgot that in the same accident where Barry had been injured, his parents and twin sister, Emily, had been killed.
“I miss having a sister.” Barry blinked up at her. “Could you be my sister? Just for pretend?”
P.D. suddenly realized that there were ramifications to her relationship with Elam that she had never considered before. Although she’d been welcome at the Taggart home and had interacted with Barry on numerous occasions, she had always been there as a “friend.” How confusing would it be if P.D. suddenly appeared at Elam’s house for “sleepovers” then disappeared again, only to return to “friend” status.
She squeezed Barr
y’s hand. “Tell you what, Barry. I’m going to have to think about whether or not we should pretend that I’m your sister. It might be a little confusing for Bodey and Jace. And, well, then they’d want to be my brothers, too, probably.”
Barry’s eyes widened. Clearly, he didn’t want to lose his exclusive claim to P.D.
“While I’m thinking, though, I think you could call me your buddy. A buddy is more than a friend. A buddy is the person you would choose to have as your brother or sister if you could.”
Barry suddenly grinned. “Oh-kay!”
They danced for a few more minutes—or rocked rather. P.D. moved from side to side in her voluminous skirts while Barry tried out some of the moves he’d seen on television. But within a few minutes, the frown reappeared between Barry’s brows.
“What is it, Barry?”
“Do you have a hammer in your purse?”
She did her best to keep the amusement from her expression. “Sorry. I don’t think Helen thought to pack one in my bag.”
“Would Elam have one?”
Heavens, all they needed was for Barry to search through Elam’s suitcase.
“No. I’m pretty sure he didn’t think to bring his tools—and the truck he brought doesn’t have a tool box in the back.”
Barry worried his lip with his teeth. “I want to see what’s inside my rock. Elam says there’s a ’prise inside.”
P.D. thought for a minute then said, “Maybe you could find a bigger rock somewhere and try hitting it with that.”
Too late, she realized that she probably should have waited until the song was over, because Barry dropped her hands. “I’ll ask!” Then he bolted toward the carriage house.
“Barry!”
He barely paused.
“Tell them I’ll be back in a little while.”
“’Kay!” He waved to show he’d heard.
Suddenly, he veered off the path toward one of the ornate mounds of flowers situated around the perimeter. She saw Barry bend, then straighten again, struggling to carry a hefty boulder.
“That should do the trick, Barry,” P.D. murmured to herself as he staggered into the carriage house.
As she watched him disappear inside, his tall, gangly body at odds with his mind’s childlike innocence, she felt a frisson of gooseflesh. She’d grown to love Barry over the past few months. Despite what she’d told him, she already regarded him as the closest thing to a little brother that she’d ever had. And she wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Which meant that she needed to think things through very carefully. She wanted to pursue her relationship with Elam, but the two of them were going to have to work out the best way to do that.
