by Leigh Tudor
Loren had soon learned the physically fit Amazonian woman didn’t attend her classes to learn self-defense but rather to acquire a sense of womanly self-confidence, confiding to Loren a deep and abiding love for Edgar as early as second grade.
However, Sue Ellen was more accustomed to lifting feed bags and dealing with local farmers while working at the feed store than knowing the first thing about how to capture Edgar’s attention with her womanly wiles.
Edgar was a math teacher at the high school. He was skinny and nerdy and just as oblivious as to how to engage with the opposite sex as Sue Ellen.
After one particularly aggressive class, Sue Ellen pulled Loren to the side, whispering that it was common knowledge that the two older Ingalls sisters were highly regarded by the male population of Wilder and asked her to teach her the secret to attracting the opposite sex.
Thankfully, Becky Waterman was close by.
Because Loren hadn’t the faintest idea.
In a state of panic, she grabbed Becky by the forearm and pulled her into the conversation, having no idea how to give this woman advice on how to turn on the sex appeal. To her relief, Becky was able to share with Sue Ellen some basic tips on how to garner a man’s attention. And right now, Loren wished she had paid closer attention.
Something about making lingering eye contact.
Whatever advice Becky told Sue Ellen seemed to have worked, considering how close the couple they were sitting to one another and how Edgar had his arm awkwardly hanging off the back of her chair.
Loren narrowed her eyes, wondering if they were going to engage in any kinky stuff tonight. For the life of her, she just couldn’t picture it and then cringed as she envisioned Edgar throwing a small ball into the air and telling Sue Ellen to go fetch it.
“This okay?”
Loren jumped a little as Alec nodded toward a table close to the back as he removed his jacket.
“Oh, yeah. Perfect.”
“You okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.” She removed her own jacket, second-guessing the black, button-down shirt dress she wore with her new cowboy boots. She touched the pearls at her throat, wondering if they made her look ridiculous or provided an element of sophistication to her outfit.
After the makeover debacle, she literally threw on the closest items she could find in her closet that didn’t have stains or wrinkles. She didn’t make it all the way down the stairs with the first two outfits, as Madame Garmond stood waiting for her, shaking her head and pointing for her to turn around and try again.
Funny how Madame Garmond’s critical eye and mannerisms mirrored Cara’s. Or was it vice versa?
Honestly, it was as if Cara was standing at the foot of the stairs, judging her clothing choices as opposed to distracting Mercy with an impromptu grocery run.
For that matter, why exactly was Loren so tolerant of Madame’s scrutiny? She had no more resilience to the older woman than Mercy and Cara, and she wasn’t sure why.
Madame deemed the first outfit unacceptable as the cropped top exposed her midriff.
Madame sighed heavily. “Mon Dieu, it’s forty degrees outside and you’re dressed as if you’re about to visit the beach. What message does that send a young gentleman?” Madame asked, her arms folded, one over the other, with one set of fingers thrumming against her bicep.
Loren’s finger shot in the air, “Oh, I know this one. That I just got fitted with an IUD?”
Madame was less than amused.
Loren stomped back up the stairs, contemplating trouncing down the steps in a red corset and booty shorts. But decided she didn’t have time for shenanigans and chose what she thought was a much more subdued option: an electric blue bodycon dress she’d picked up at clothing store in Waymore.
She only made it to the first step when Madame said in a stern voice, “Please explain how a circumspect young lady exits a vehicle in such a dress without exposing her lady bits?”
“Underwear?”
Madame’s eyebrow shot up, unimpressed.
Loren ran her hands down the side of her dress admiring how it clung to her body. “I believe I’m agile enough to descend from a pickup truck without embarrassing myself.”
“Not in that indecent ensemble. Do you not watch TMZ?”
“Yeessss.” No, but Loren was going to google it as soon as she got back home.
Finally, when she descended the staircase in her shirt dress and cowboy boots, Madame pursed her lips. “I guess that will have to do. It’s a bit short, but not as short as the prior atrocity.”
And just when Loren was about to make another snarky comment, the strangest thing happened. Madame cleared her throat, and said, “You’re a lovely young woman with vast potential. That needs to be recognized, most of all by you.”
Loren swallowed hard as she made it to the bottom of the stairs. Feeling self-conscious, she began to straighten her perfectly straight skirt in order to avoid looking the woman in the eye. “You think I have potential?” Oh, God, now she sounded like Mercy, all warm and gooey over a random compliment from a near stranger.
Mercy, the bullshit-meter-detector, who could spot subtle manipulation in the form of empty platitudes with pinpoint accuracy. Yet after only one thinly veiled compliment from Madame, Mercy was scrubbing the refrigerator while humming a tune with an earnest look on her face.
And here was Loren, unable to deny the warmth that spread through her solar plexus and into her heart at the older woman’s kind words.
There was an ever so slight softening in the older woman’s eyes. “Certainement, ma chère. You are a lovely young woman who has the opportunity to prove her worth by the way she comports herself.”
Loren’s confidence in her attire returned at the memory of the conversation and instead of hopping up in her seat at the high-top table, she gingerly stepped up, while pulling her dress down to ensure she wasn’t giving anyone a glimpse of her panties. Or lady bits.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Alec said, resting his elbows on the table.
“Just a lot on my mind.”
“Anything you want to talk about?” He began to roll up the sleeves of his navy-blue shirt and Loren watched in fascination at the veins that ran up his forearms.
Were men even remotely aware of the mystical power of the forearm? Lord knew she’d caught plenty of them staring at her cleavage and wondered if they understood that forearm porn was ten times more seductive. Of course, you had to have the right forearms.
Aware she was staring, she glanced away. Then remembered Cara’s dating tip to “be mysterious and create intrigue.” “Nothing to be concerned about. Just some international concerns that I’m working through.”
That was good. The reference to international affairs had an air of mystery and intrigue.
Alec smiled at her and she thought she’d lose her mind while gazing at his dimples. How weird might it be for her to lick one of them?
“Oh yeah? Espionage for an underground spy agency?”
Loren’s eyebrows rose. Whoa. Not a perfect hit, but still too close to home.
“Funny.” Loren forcefully chuckled. “No, I have a new houseguest, she’s of French descent, raised in England, and I’m just working through her idiosyncrasies.”
There. No lies. Maybe not so mysterious, but whatever.
“Short visit, or will she be languishing at the house for a while like Vlad?”
He seemed agitated.
Loren shrugged. “I’m not sure. Cara is quite close to Madame Garmond. She was her primary caregiver when we lived with my uncle.”
Before he could dredge up any questions about Dr. Halstead that would only lead to more lies, she jumped out of her chair, tugging her skirt down as a nervous afterthought.
“I’ll order our drinks. What’ll ya have?”
“I can order our drinks; I’m not a total Neanderthal. Sit down and let me grab Gus.”
“Nope, I’m already up. Name your poison.”
Alec seemed unsure,
but conceded with his shoulders lowering. “Guinness, and tell Gus we’ll be ordering food, too.”
“Wow, you’re actually going to feed me. Big spender.”
“Thought I’d splurge on some appetizers as long as you don’t order one of the fancier wines.”
“My,” Loren said with her hand to her chest, “you certainly know how to woo a lady.”
He gave her a slight grin which made her little heart zing. They were exchanging banter rather than hurling insults at one another. That was a good sign, right?
Then she remembered another dating pro-tip her dear little sister had imparted; “Do Not Pursue Him.” She immediately dropped her saucy smile. She wasn’t pursuing him. She was just getting him a drink. Making sure a person was hydrated was not pursuing him. She made it to the bar as she argued the point to herself and felt a nudge at her side.
Becky was standing next to her with a huge Cheshire cat grin. “So, you and Farmer Ted? And you said he didn’t want to plow your field.”
“Trust me, there are no sweaty farm chores going on here. Just two people on a casual date.”
“So, he literally asked you on a date. I mean, he specifically used the word ‘date’?”
“Yes, he used the word ‘date.’” Loren eyebrows raised. “Why? Are we not on a date? Is the word ‘date’ some sort of euphemism for something strange and kinky?”
“Oh no, a date is a date,” Becky assured her, her eyes jutting back and forth between Alec and Loren. “But a date with Alec Wilder is more akin to an urban legend. You’ve heard about it but haven’t actually seen it with your own eyes.”
“That’s being a bit dramatic.” Loren tried to capture Gus’ attention.
“Do you not understand the significance of Alec Wilder asking anyone on a date that takes place in Wilder? You’ve broken through his proverbial testosterone ceiling. You’re the first woman he’s asked out on a real date since his wife dropped her basket.”
“Ex-wife,” Loren corrected. “What do mean ‘dropped her basket’?”
Becky took a sip from her cocktail. “It’s a Southern term for when someone loses their ever lovin’ mind.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It’s supposedly less crass than coming right out and calling someone batshit crazy.”
“Huh, I guess it is more amenable than saying that someone is psychotic, diagnosed with delusional disorder, or even schizophrenic with homicidal tendencies.”
“Once again, rather specific examples, but yes, people from the South are all about preserving one’s delicate sensibilities.”
“That’s kinda nice.”
“So, are you going to let him plow your field tonight?”
“Ew, and no, and could we discuss sex without involving farm references?”
Becky turned slightly to glance at Alec. “If I were you, I’d have dirty barnyard sex with him. Who knows if you’ll get another chance?”
“What? You don’t think I’ll get a second date?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it. You said I better have sex with him because it’s the only chance I’ll get.” Loren pointed at her neck. “It’s the pearls isn’t it? I look ridiculous wearing pearls in a bar.”
“Puleeze. You’re in Texas. You can ride a mechanical bull clutching your pearls wearing a string bikini and no one would think twice about it.”
“Well, since you seem to know everything about everyone in this town, do you happen to know if Alec’s . . . you know . . . kinky?”
“Kinky?” Becky’s voice rose, and then she chuckled.
“Shh, keep your voice down. Yes, kinky. Does he like to do weird stuff during sexy time?”
“Okay, if I can’t discuss sex without using farming references then you can’t refer to it as ‘sexy time.’ But to answer your question, no idea. Marisa and I weren’t friends.” She tilted her head. “But when I think back to before he enlisted, during high school, I don’t recall rumors of any sexually deviant behavior.”
“Mercy told me that you said that some men like rough sex.”
“Oh, you’re talking about Lucinda Packett and that Newberry guy.”
“So, it’s true. Mercy said something about gags and ropes . . . and other stuff.”
“What? You thinking Farmer Ted is going to ask you to get freaky with him?” Becky smirked and then barked out a belly laugh.
“Stop laughing,” Loren said, glancing back at Alec, who was now in conversation with someone sitting in her chair. And that someone was a female, laughing at something he said and wearing the very same electric blue bodycon dress Madame had deemed inappropriate.
Loren grabbed Becky by her forearm and twisted her so they were both facing the bar with their backs to the offensive scene.
“Who’s that woman?”
Becky started to turn and Loren yanked her arm. “Don’t look.”
“How am I supposed to tell you who she is if I can’t look?”
“Okay, you can look but don’t be obvious.”
Becky sipped on her drink as she turned slightly while Loren remained ramrod straight, facing the bar.
Becky turned ever so slowly back around. “That woman, my dear friend, is nothing but trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“That is Marybell Simmons.”
“Amarilla’s mother?” Loren gasped. “I thought she was having an illicit affair with her pool boy.”
Becky’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Marybell is screwing the help? Where did you hear that?”
Loren squeezed her eyes shut, angry with herself for revealing the secret. “You can’t tell anyone, Becky.”
Becky scoffed. “Just because I know a lot doesn’t mean I blab a lot.”
“Promise you will not repeat what I’m about to tell you.”
“Girl Scout’s honor.” Becky sipped on her drink, again peeking behind her. “But you’d better hurry up because Marybell’s running her coffin-shaped fingernails up and down your date’s arm.”
Loren glanced back just as Marybell laughed and grabbed Alec’s forearm.
Oh, hell no.
That was her forearm.
She’d called dibs.
Loren’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“That dress is doing her no favors,” Becky snarked as she took another sip of her drink.
“It’s indecent,” Loren sneered. “How does she expect to get in and out of her car without flashing someone?”
“Think that was her intent.” Becky nudged Loren. “So, whatcha gonna do?”
Loren stared at her target. “Right now, I’m counting kill zones.”
Becky chuckled, assuming she was joking,“Where you at?”
“Two hundred and thirty-four. Nine of which are less invasive with little to no blood. The others would be considered sloppy, but oh, so gratifying.”
“Remember,” Becky said, “the objective is to score a second date with Farmer Ted. Dismembering Marybell, the mother of Cara and Ally’s newfound friend, Amarilla, might not be conducive to that goal.”
“She’ll never know what hit her,” Loren said as she made her way back to her date, laser-focused despite the haze of anger welling up in her chest. As her pace remained steadfast her vision changed from 3-D objects to geometric patterns and shapes. A common occurrence when scoping the kill shot.
Becky hissed loudly before she was out of hearing range, “Just remember, nobody looks good in an orange jumpsuit.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It is not knowledge, but the act of learning, not possession but the act of getting there, which grants the greatest enjoyment.”
—Carl Friedrich Gauss
German mathematician and physicist who made significant contributions to many fields in mathematics and science
* * *
“Oh, hey, Miss Loren!”
So close. She was literally seconds away from confronting her quarry when Lenore Sterling began waving her over to her and Henr
y’s corner of the bar.
Loren wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting. The fact that she’d have to slip her knife back into her cowboy boot or that Lenore Sterling was actually smiling as opposed to sneering at her.
Visions of Marybell Simmons gasping for breath while wearing her bodycon dress, that if she were honest, looked better on the promiscuous whore than her, would have to be put on the back burner.
After all, she was now a delicate Southern gentlewoman. And it would be rude to dismiss Lenore’s waves, regardless of past slights.
Diverting her path to destruction toward the opposite corner of the bar, Loren pasted a smile on her face. “Well, hello there, Lenore, Henry. Isn’t the weather lovely tonight?”
Lenore clung to Henry’s arm as if it were a life raft. “Why, yes, it is. And you’re looking beautiful tonight.”
It was all Loren could do to refrain from looking shocked at the woman who made their initial move to Wilder a difficult one, letting everyone know of their revealing attire during their visit at the 7-Eleven and rudely contemplating their questionable career choices. Not to mention ensuring she never worked at Henry’s magical hardware store.
“Th-thank you, Lenore. I see you’ve been to the hair salon today. It looks lovely.”
The woman lifted a jiggly arm to pat her hair. “I splurged at The Hair House for date night with my handsome husband here,” she said, winking at Henry as he smiled back and patted her arm.
Henry gave his wife a nudge which made Lenore squirm in her chair and Loren increasingly uncomfortable before Lenore said, “I owe you and your sister an apology.”
Loren’s eyebrows lifted.
Lenore took a sip of liquid courage and continued under Henry’s watchful eye. “I made some assumptions about you and your sister before getting to know you. And for that, I am sorry. The next time I see Mercy, I will be sure to tell her the same.”
Curiosity just about killed Loren, and before she could ask why the change of heart, Henry offered up an explanation. “You’ve been a good friend to our daughter, Savannah. Gave her good advice. She’s doing great at her new job, and Lenore and I have the house all to ourselves.”
