Boone

by Emily March

  “I’ll be thrilled to help you, Hannah. I’m sure we have something you’ll love. I assume you’re speaking of the McBride/Carruthers nuptials?” Hannah nodded, and Celeste continued, “It’s going to be a beautiful wedding. Are you a friend of the bride or the groom?”

  Hannah gave an embarrassed smile. “I haven’t met either of them, I’m afraid. I’m going as the groom’s cousin’s date.”

  “Not Tucker, I’m sure. So, Boone? You are dating Boone McBride?”

  “No. No. I’m not dating him. I’m just going with him to this wedding. As a favor.”

  “Ah.”

  Celeste’s friendly eyes gleamed with speculative interest, and Hannah wished she’d kept the whole date thing to herself. She braced for more questions, but Celeste surprised her. “Well, you’ll have a wonderful time. Boone will make sure you enjoy yourself. Aside from being a handsome devil, he truly is a special man and a treasure for our community. We’re fortunate he decided to move to Eternity Springs.”

  “He’s been very nice to me, but I don’t know him well.”

  “That sounds like an invitation to dish,” Celeste said, the speculation in her eyes warming to a mischievous twinkle. “What would you like to know about our little mountain town’s most eligible bachelor?”

  Hannah held up her hand, palm out. “To be clear, eligible doesn’t matter to me. I’m only a visitor to town. I’m not in the market for a relationship.” Been there, done that. Total devastation.

  “But you are curious about Boone?”

  She shrugged. “He’s interesting. I don’t think he understands the word no.”

  Celeste laughed. “A force of nature, that’s our Boone. When he sets his mind to something, there’s no naysaying him.”

  “I can see that.”

  “He loves nothing better than a good argument, but he’s one of the most generous people I’ve ever met. The man truly has a heart of gold. He’s loving and loyal and dedicated to his causes. But just so you don’t think I’m the president of the Boone McBride fan club, I will add that he has a reputation as a ladies’ man.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “I don’t think it’s exactly fair. He’s a healthy, single, social man who enjoys spending time with women. Why wouldn’t he invite a similarly unattached woman on a date? To a person, they said he was nothing but a gentleman—even if he is a bit of a scoundrel.”

  “Can a guy be both a scoundrel and a gentleman?” Hannah asked.

  “Boone can,” Celeste said, moving out from behind the counter. “Now, enough gossip. Let’s see what we have that might suit you.” Her gaze skimmed Hannah up and down. “You’re a size four?”

  Hannah shook her head. “Eight.” Although she had lost weight. “Maybe a six.”

  Celeste clicked her tongue. “We will see. Now, do you need something for both the rehearsal and the wedding?”

  “Probably. Again, I’m not sure what’s appropriate.”

  Celeste launched into a vivid description of what Hannah could expect on Friday night. She spoke about award-winning barbecue and Texans and a “lovable old codger” named Branch and a private concert by Coco.

  “The Coco?” Hannah repeated. “The pop star?”

  “Her roots are in country music, but yes. She’s Jackson’s ex-wife, and they share a child. A sweetheart of a little girl. Haley. She’s the flower girl.”

  “Oh! Of course. That terrible plane crash.” Hannah wasn’t much of a celebrity follower, but she did read the front page of tabloids and magazine covers while standing in line at the grocery store. “And Coco is singing at her ex-husband’s wedding? I thought theirs was an acrimonious divorce.”

  “Oh, it was, but tragedies have a way of changing people.”

  Hannah couldn’t argue with that. She’d seen it firsthand in work she’d done as a licensed therapist a million years ago, back before Sophie had been born.

  “Coco has come a long way, and she and Jackson work hard to work together as Haley’s parents. She’ll be singing at the rehearsal barbecue in a gesture of goodwill. She won’t sing at the wedding. The wedding is Caroline’s day.”

  “That’s nice,” Hannah murmured. Her attention was on the word barbecue. “What does one wear to a rehearsal barbecue in Eternity Springs, Colorado, that includes a private performance from a Grammy winner?”

  Celeste laughed. “It’s unique, I’ll agree. If I may suggest a way to tackle this, let’s find your dress for Saturday first. Then we can play a little bit for your Friday-night outfit. Do you have a budget?”

  Hannah named a figure, and Celeste nodded. “Excellent. We can work with that. Now, I have a basic black for you to try, but I want to show you a couple of others too, dresses that are perfect for a summer lakeside wedding. The styles are quite different, one classic, one more romantic, but I think they’ll look fabulous on you. If you’ll follow me?”

  Celeste led her into a large showroom with a dozen or so racks. “For the sake of space, we display one of each item. Let me show you what I have in mind for you.”

  She removed a simple black fit-and-flare style dress from the rack. It was similar to one Hannah had given to Goodwill during the purge of her belongings following the funerals. Hannah held it up against her and turned toward one of the full-length mirrors in the shop. “That should do fine.”

  “It’s totally appropriate, but…” Celeste pursed her lips and studied Hannah for a long moment before she nodded. “That dress reminds me of a column I’m writing for our local historical society. Are you familiar with the mourning practices of the Victorian age, Hannah?”

  Hannah drew back. Now, that was a question out of left field. “Um, not really, no.”

  “I know that it is perfectly acceptable to wear black to weddings these days, but I’ll admit to being a little old-fashioned about it. I’m originally from the South, and I still won’t wear white shoes before Easter or after Labor Day. I became interested in the custom of wearing black for mourning from books I read. Historical romance novels set in that era.” Smiling sheepishly, she added, “They’re a guilty pleasure of mine.”

  “Personally, I like the Scottish Highlander stories,” Hannah replied. The two women shared an understanding smile.

  “Anyway,” Celeste continued, “I did some research into mourning fashion for my column. In Victorian times, women were considered to be vessels of grief, and as such, they had strict etiquette rules to follow after the loss of a family member. Different rules for the mourning of a spouse, children, a parent, a cousin, or an aunt or uncle. The custom got a kick start after Queen Victoria’s beloved Prince Albert died.”

  “I recall that she mourned him until she died.”

  “She did. Theirs was a true, tragic love story. But back to fashion. Family members and only family members wore black—and it had to be a dull black, by the way. Nothing shiny or pretty or rich like this little black dress. I found it interesting that the color of full mourning was seen to shield wearers from society, allowing them time to grieve and come to terms with loss.”

  “What does come to terms mean?” Hannah asked, bitterness in her tone. “Forgetting? Getting used to it?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. If I may speak from a personal perspective here for a moment, I’ve lived a long time. I’ve lost many loved ones, and I’ve never gotten used to it. I hope I never do. When someone I love passes, it rips my heart in two. As well it should. The death of a loved one needs to matter. You need to bleed. That emotion honors both you and your loved one, and the relationship that you shared.”

  Hannah considered it. Celeste had a point. A good point. “That’s right. That’s exactly right. No one ever says that.”

  “Well, some people can’t think when they’re engulfed in emotion. And if it’s a new experience, that’s understandable, but the truth is that one should be proud of one’s scar tissue. It’s a testament to life. If one is blessed, one will reach the end of one’s life bearing the scars of many loves and loss
es.”

  “That’s a lot of pain.”

  “And joy. Don’t forget the joy. Love brings joy. One tends to appreciate joy more deeply when one has lived through intense pain.”

  Hannah knew the truth of that from her studies and professional practice. She had yet to experience it herself.

  Celeste clicked her tongue. “Oh, dear. I’ve gone off on one of my flights of fancy again. I tend to do that. But back to my historical society column—”

  Or perhaps, getting on with selling me a dress?

  “—in the Victorian Age, full mourning eventually gave way to half mourning, and women put away their black for grays, dark blue, and…” She shot Hannah a significant look. Then she selected a second gown from the rack—an off-the-shoulder silk sheath dress. “Purples.”

  Hannah’s heart gave a little lurch of yearning as Celeste gave the purple dress a fluff.

  “The black is fine, but I hope you will consider this dress. The color compliments your beautiful eyes. A dear friend of mine has violet-blue eyes similar to yours—Sarah Murphy.”

  “The cookie lady,” Hannah murmured.

  Celeste laughed. “Cookie, cakes, and bread. She’s quite the temptress. You’ll likely meet her at the wedding.”

  “Hmm.” Hannah’s gaze remained locked on the dress. Purple. A color. A dark color, but still a color. It’s not red or blue or white, though.

  What was it Celeste had called it? Half mourning? Silly term. Like being half pregnant.

  And yet, no way would she choose something, say, yellow, to wear. Yellow used to be her favorite color, but it was way too bright to suit her now. Hannah studied the purple dress. The style was something she’d have chosen once upon a time. “It’s pretty.”

  “Feel the fabric. It’s luxurious.”

  Hannah pursed her lips. Her wardrobe now consisted of jeans, shorts, T-shirts, and a single cotton pullover dress. When was the last time she had worn silk?

  When was the last time she’d worn color?

  She knew the answer to that question. She’d worn bright pink to the girls’ funeral, but that was the last time she’d donned any sort of color. Three years ago, when she left what had been her home, she’d kept only a handful of items from that life. She bought new clothes as she needed them, and while she hadn’t consciously decided to wear only black, that’s all she bought.

  What was it Celeste had said? Did black shield mourners from society? That wasn’t really how Hannah had looked at it. Black wasn’t a shield. It’s the color you get when you combine the girls’ favorite pink and her favorite yellow and the orange pumpkins they carried to collect treats on Halloween and the red dresses they wore to church on Christmas Eve. Add in the bright white of the snow where they made snow angels, and the green of grass stains on their knees, and the brilliant blue of the backyard swimming pool where the girls played every chance they got, and purple Easter egg dye on the kitchen table. The color you got when you mixed all those colors together—all the colors of life—and poured them into a grave? Black.

  Black wasn’t a shield. It was all she had left of life.

  “It’s a lovely dress, but—”

  “My other suggestion for you is this,” Celeste interrupted. She crossed to another rack of dresses and pulled out a chiffon froth of spring. A print of yellow roses against green leaves. It was wispy and romantic, and nothing Hannah would have selected to try, even in her other life, back when she’d worn yellow.

  She physically took a step backward. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s beautiful, but it’s not my style.”

  Celeste arched a brow. “Maybe it’s time you made a change.”

  From out of nowhere, tears pooled in Hannah’s eyes. She repeatedly blinked, trying to chase them away, to no avail. When they spilled from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, Celeste grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to her.

  “Hannah, dear, would you please indulge me a moment and have a seat at the bistro table? When you arrived, I was just about to have my afternoon tea. Please, join me?”

  Hannah wanted to turn around and flee the boutique. She’d come here to buy a dress, not spend an hour on a therapist’s couch. But if she ran, she still wouldn’t have a dress to wear to this stupid wedding.

  Of course, she could stand Boone up. She could sneak off in the middle of the night and go on to the next little mountain town. Except he’d been so kind to her, and she’d given her word, and she was looking forward to her fishing trip tomorrow.

  The path of least resistance was to take a seat at the bistro table. Besides, something about Celeste Blessing made her want to, well, listen.

  Celeste disappeared through a door and returned moments later carrying a tray filled with two glasses of iced tea and a plate of cookies. Hannah couldn’t help but smile. “Let me guess. Fresh Bakery?”

  “Yes. Sarah’s snickerdoodles.”

  It was a wonder everyone in this town didn’t have diabetes, Hannah thought even as she reached for a cookie. No willpower. She had absolutely no willpower. But dang it, she hadn’t had an appetite for sweets in too long to remember. She hadn’t had a desire for much of anything since the day her daughters died.

  Celeste said, “I believe it would be beneficial to explain our purpose here. I might mention that this resort is my baby. When I chose to add a boutique to our offerings here at Angel’s Rest, I did so for a specific reason. We are Angel’s Rest Healing Center and Spa. Healing is our focus, our mission, and we are here to help souls who have been injured or traumatized.”

  She paused long enough to choose a cookie, then continued. “Trauma changes a person from the marrow out. When healing occurs, that creates another change. We’ve discovered that it is an important part of the healing process for some of our guests to be able to acknowledge those changes in something as simple as a change in hairstyle or wardrobe. Whether it’s a significant change or a reaffirmation of their previous sense of style, it can make a real difference.”

  Hannah sipped her tea. Sweet tea. More sugar. She shouldn’t be surprised because she detected a note of the South in Celeste Blessing’s voice.

  It was easier to think about tea than deciding about branching out from black. She polished off her cookie and took another sip of tea.

  “Of course, sometimes a new dress or hairstyle is simply a new dress or hairstyle.” Celeste continued pleasantly. “Nothing wrong with that either. I have no wish to pressure you, Hannah. I simply wanted to allow you to take the measure of your emotional health at this point.”

  Hannah straightened defensively. “What makes you think I’ve suffered a trauma? I’m just a customer looking to buy a dress.”

  “Are you? I have a talent for reading people, but if I have misread you, you have my most sincere apologies.”

  Celeste pushed the plate of cookies toward her. Hannah took another one. Why not? She quickly polished it off.

  “Am I wrong?” Celeste asked, a gleam in her light-blue eyes that was both challenging and encouraging.

  Hannah sucked the snickerdoodle crumbs off her fingers and sighed. “No.”

  “Shall I show you what other dresses I have in your size?”

  She hesitated a long moment before deciding. “I’ll try the black. And I guess the purple.”

  Celeste’s beam of approval was like the sun coming out inside the shop.

  In the dressing room, Hannah stripped down and donned the black. It fit nicely and was an any-occasion type of dress. She’d had a similar one hanging in her closet for years. She really didn’t need to try the other one. This dress would suit.

  And yet Celeste Blessing’s argument about healing and change had struck a chord deep within her. Hannah eyed the purple dress as she slipped out of the black one and hung it on its hanger. Half mourning wasn’t the right term for the place she was. Shoot, yesterday she’d been ready to take a header off Lover’s Leap when Boone McBride showed up.

  Boone McBride. Gray eyes, broad shoulders, kind heart. He
’d survived his wife’s suicide. He was filled with color, filled with life.

  Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she reached for the silk sheath.

  The oh-so-soft fabric skimmed across her skin like a lover’s hands.

  A lover’s hands. Now, what had made her think of that particular simile? She couldn’t remember the sensation of a lover’s touch.

  Hannah made a snort of self-disgust and stepped into the dress, pulling it up and on. After a few contortions, she managed to get it zipped, and then she turned to face the mirror.

  It fit her like it was made for her. The dress was simple and sophisticated with short sleeves and a hem that hit just above her knees. It had a deep-vee neckline with black seaming details running from the shoulders to the edges of the slightly overlapping collar. From the other side of the dressing room door, Celeste said, “We have a three-way mirror here if you want to see the back.”

  Hannah stepped out of the dressing room, and Celeste clapped her hands and beamed. “It was made for you. I just knew it.”

  She chattered on about using jewelry to dress it up or down. Hannah’s fingers automatically went to the only necklace she ever wore—three entwined circles, each engraved with a name: hers, Sophia’s, and Zoe’s.

  At Celeste’s direction, Hannah turned this way and that, viewing her reflection from all sides. When she was shown a pair of pointed-toe, black leather flats, she tried them on without protest. They felt like butter on her feet.

  “These are perfect for a lakeside wedding and reception. Heels aren’t easy at the North Forty if the ground is the least bit soft. What do you think, Hannah?”

  “It’s a beautiful dress. I think … I think I’ll take it. The shoes too.”

  “Excellent. Now we can see about finding you something more casual for the rehearsal party. All right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Hannah headed back toward the dressing room, but just before she shut the door, Celeste spoke. “Dear, would you please do me a little favor, first? Try on the chiffon.” Even as Hannah opened her mouth to protest, Celeste shook her head. “No, no. It’s not the right dress for you to wear to Jackson’s wedding. But try it on.”