by Trinity Ford
“And just what would you know about relationships, Mr. Hensley?” Della asked. “Why, I haven’t seen you with a decent woman yet!”
“Nor will you,” Hank said. “That is, until you decide to free yourself from that phony engagement and see what being courted by a real Texas man is all about.”
Della felt herself trembling at his bold words. Her face flushed red. She couldn’t help but look at Hank Hensley and know he was right. She did wonder what it would be like to be courted by a man who showered her with compliments, who didn’t need to put her off to the side as he scrambled to do business—a man whose dashing good looks and willingness to show generosity to others made it impossible to consider him all bad. But Hank Hensley wasn’t in the plan. It wouldn’t be fair to Milton Tidwell, who had paid for her passage here, for her to abandon him whenever the first man came along who paid her any attention. And besides, she viewed Hank as a scoundrel and a rogue and could never be happy with a man such as that. But she couldn’t help the feelings that stirred her inside—feelings that weren’t part of her plans for the future.
“You’ll find yourself waiting a long time, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, cooling herself off with the fan she brought out from her reticule.
“I’m willing to take a risk on you being wrong, Miss Owens,” Hank said. “As my good fortune reflects, all that time I’ve spent in Hell’s Half Acre have made me pretty confident in my ability to gamble.”
“Yes, well you’ve never been willing to gamble with your heart, Mr. Hensley,” Della said, fanning faster and looking away from those chocolate brown eyes that were boring into her own blue ones.
“There's a difference between being willing to do something and wanting to, Miss Owens,” Hank said, his voice taking on a less teasing tone.
“I’ll warn you ahead of time that regardless of your past success, this will put an end to your winning streak,” she scoffed.
“I wouldn't wager my pride if there was a chance I'd lose,” Hank said. “It won't take much to make old Milton fold.”
“Even if you do manage to ruin my engagement, it won’t change things between us,” Della said, determined to put an end to this troubling conversation.
“I look forward to doubling down on my efforts,” Hank said. “Looks like your endearing Mr. Tidwell is heading this way. If you change your mind about that dance…”
Della turned her nose up at Hank, but watched as he walked away. Somehow she couldn’t help but wish it were Milton walking away and that she could enjoy a dance with Hank, but she knew that was all wrong. She couldn’t possibly fall in love with a man who had wild, unpredictable ways—especially not one who spent his time in the company of uncouth ladies. Della struggled to bring her thoughts back to her present situation. She was engaged to Milton Tidwell—maybe not the man of her dreams, but a man who could provide stability and a solid plan for the future. Then, there was Hank Hensley—a man she wanted to despise, but who intrigued and excited her. There was a strong battle brewing between Della’s heart and mind—one that both scared her senseless and tickled her with delight.
Chapter 8
Hank was forced to skip church on Sunday to handle a dispute between the foreman and the construction crew on one of his new projects. He hated missing it—not only because he wanted to see Della, but he knew being absent provided more fodder for the Fort Worth gossip mill. What he really wanted was to see how Della would react to him after Saturday night. Hank could tell when a woman liked him, and although Della outwardly spoke as if she was repelled by his mere existence, he knew she was intrigued.
It wasn’t like Hank to steal another man’s woman—although he’d had his fair share of opportunities in the past. It wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, and while Hank had a long record of troublemaking in town, meddling in another man’s marriage was a transgression he wouldn’t even do when liquor was involved—at least, up ‘til now. He had to admit he was mighty captivated by the stubborn Miss Owens.
It wasn’t the same with Della and Milton. It’d be one thing if they were in love, or if Milton was even a bit worthy of a woman like her. But he wasn’t—and Hank wasn’t sure he was, either. The only thing he did know is that he found himself thinking about her during every waking moment—wondering if she was thinking about him, too. He wanted Della to let him spoil her and make her smile. It drove him nuts to think about her signing away her happiness to marry a man like Milton Tidwell.
“What now?” Hank asked himself aloud as he looked in the mirror and put on his hat. What plan could he conjure up to make Della see what a wretched life she’d have with Milton? Even if things didn’t work out for him and Della, Hank knew that Milton wasn’t the ultimate answer for her future. The whole way into town, Hank played each scenario in his head. I’ll just save her from a life of misery—show her a good time, he thought. But Della wasn’t the kind of woman who was looking to be entertained with dancing and drinking. Maybe I’ll court her for real, he considered, trying to picture himself settling down with a sensible woman for good. Hank shook his head. No, I’m not cut out for that.
He decided to forego the planning and just let the chips fall where they may. But Hank knew one thing…he’d never have a chance with her if he didn’t learn to show her another side of himself. He’d have to bare his soul, and that was something Hank Hensley had never done before. For the first time in his life, he worried that maybe his instincts about whether or not he’d win a wager could be wrong.
“Good morning, Hank” three ladies said in unison as he walked into the Hensley General Store, passing them on their way out. They were workers from Hell’s Half Acre—woman Hank doted on from time to time. He was sure from the look of disgust in Della’s eyes, she thought it meant something more.
“Want to pay their bills, too?” Della sneered.
“If they need me to, I will,” Hank shot back, before remembering his goal of putting an end to the teasing so he could show his true colors. “Everyone needs some help from time to time—like how you were lent a hand after that situation up in Massachusetts.”
Della was taken aback that he remembered that part of her life from previous conversations. “It’s just…well, you must know what everyone thinks when you pay their way,” Della said.
“People think a lot of things they shouldn’t,” Hank said. “Like you think it’s a good idea to blend in with the wooden walls. Why, if it wasn’t for your golden hair, I wouldn’t even be able to see you standing here.”
Della looked down at her dowdy, brown dress. Every one she’d worn so far had been some shade of brown, and Hank was tired of seeing her dressing like a servant. “I believe my attire is perfectly suitable for work here,” she said defiantly.
“Well I’m the boss, and I say it isn’t,” Hank said. “In fact, I’m ordering you to come with me so we can purchase some new uniforms for you to wear here. Roy? You got this?”
“Got it, boss,” Roy said, chuckling at the exchange between the two of them as he arranged some heavy sacks of flour on a shelf.
Hank grabbed Della’s hand, pulling her like a feather toward the door even though she pulled back with all the strength she could muster. He guided her across the street, carefully missing the mess the Longhorns had made a few moments before and dodging a wagon in the process. “Let go of me,” she ordered in a loud voice so that people were stopping to watch the spectacle.
Hank kept a grip until they reached the door to Beatrice Reynolds’ fashion store. “After you, my dear,” he said as he opened the door.
Della stamped her foot. “This isn’t a store for uniforms!”
Hank gently pushed her inside. “It is if I say it is,” he argued. “Besides, look at all the color in here. You’ll stand out to the customers wearing one of these fine dresses. ”
“Stand out like a silly fool,” she rebelled. “Honestly, let’s go back now. I promise to wear a colorful scarf tomorrow.”
Hank could tell Della wasn’t used to having a
nyone splurge on her or to the wide array of color and fine fabric of the dresses in Beatrice’s shop. He grabbed a light, sky-blue cotton, square-necked dress that he was sure would show off the delicate shape of her slender neck. Darker blue flowers stood out like bright Texas Bluebonnets against the lighter blue of the material and the waist of the dress was gathered and dropped down to a point in front. A pale, cream colored lace framed the neck, front bodice and around the bottom of the elbow-length sleeves. Delicate pewter buttons ran down the back of the dress and added a finish to the dress that set it apart from the normal work dresses of frontier women.
“Look, Della,” he commanded, pulling her in front of him, both facing the mirror. He held it up to her body so she could see the transformation for herself. “Look at how beautiful you are.”
“I’m not trying to look beautiful, Mr. Hensley,” she said loudly. “I’m trying to start my life over in this town and start a family…”
“With Milton Tidwell,” he finished her sentence with a sneer.
“Yes,” she shrieked. “With Milton Tidwell, if he’ll have me.”
“Even Milton Tidwell knows the dresses you’re wearing now won’t do,” Hank laughed. “Didn’t he buy you that dress I saw you wearing Saturday night?”
“Yes, he did,” Della admitted. “And it was very generous of him.”
“Milton Tidwell wouldn’t know generosity if it bit him in the behind,” Hank said.
Beatrice Reynolds heard the commotion from the back and emerged like an angry bull. “What in tarnation is all the ruckus?” she bellowed. “Oh, Mr. Hensley. I didn’t know that was you. What can I do for you today?”
Hank was always amused at the way people who talked behind his back treated him to his face—especially when he was about to spend a small fortune in their business. “Afternoon, Mrs. Reynolds,” Hank said. “You know Miss Della Owens, don’t you?”
“Why I certainly do,” Beatrice said a little too sweetly. “She was in here just the other day shopping for a gown for the Stockyards event. Although, I don’t recall if she bought anything.”
“No, ma’am,” said Della, remembering how Beatrice sneered when she told her she didn’t have the funds for one of her dresses. “It was a bit out of my price range, although you have beautiful fashions.”
“Price is no object for us today,” Hank announced. “We’re here to stock up on some pretty little dresses for Miss Owens to wear as a representative of the Hensley General Store.”
“Well I’m afraid I don’t have work uniforms, Mr. Hensley,” Beatrice said, confused.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Hank said, “but didn’t your husband, Otis, tell me you were the best seamstress west of the Mississippi?”
“Oh hush,” Beatrice blushed and waved her hand at Hank as if to dismiss the compliment. “I might have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“I want you to create a set of colorful and well-made dresses for Della here to wear to work every day,” Hank said. “Something she could wear anywhere!”
“Oh that’ll be a delightful project!” Beatrice said. “What fabric would you like? I have a nice selection right this way.”
Della shot a look of anger toward Hank as she followed Beatrice to the shelf with the samples. “This,” Della said, pulling out a dark green swath. “Or this.” Both samples were more suitable for an aging matron than a beautiful, young woman and matched the outfits she already had.
“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Hank said, grabbing the fabric and tossing it back on the shelf. “We’ll take these instead.” He pulled several colors out—bolt after bolt of material that were obviously for the more well-to-do and distinctive citizens of the town. The colors were those she seldom wore—blue, bright yellow and peach. Then, he began to grab laces and buttons meant for the most elegant of ensembles.
“That’s quite an array,” Beatrice said, taken aback as she headed to the counter to fetch her measuring book.
“Please talk some sense into him,” Della pleaded to Beatrice. “I can’t work in this attire.”
“If you were married to me,” Hank teased, whispering as he leaned in next to Della, “you wouldn’t have to work another day in your life if you didn’t want to.”
“I will want to,” Della retorted, obviously feeling flustered at Hank’s suggestion.
“I’m glad you’re thinking about our future, too,” he grinned.
“That’s not what I…” Della tried to explain before Hank interrupted her.
“See to it that you get all the measurements you need,” Hank hollered to Beatrice on his way out the door. “And make sure she goes home with that dress, too.” He pointed to the dress he’d held up to Della moments earlier.
“Will do!” Beatrice tittered with glee.
As he looked back through the window, he saw Della standing there, arms spread out to the side, as Beatrice took her measurements. It was fun getting to spoil Della against her will. Hank knew she’d never do anything for herself, and he was bound and determined to make her see what life could be like without the penny pinching, self-absorbed Milton Tidwell.
As he walked across town, Hank couldn’t help thinking about how Della would look in that blue dress—and what a shame it was that Tidwell wouldn’t appreciate it. Well, he would—and he’d make sure that Della knew just how much.
Chapter 9
Mornings at the General Store were always Della’s favorite time of the day. The air wasn’t too hot or humid and the streets were bustling with activity, which meant plenty of people stopping by for supplies. Every time she made a new acquaintance, Della felt more rooted in the community—something she’d always dreamed of experiencing. Even her home in Florida hadn’t been as welcoming and friendly as Fort Worth. It was if everyone was one big family—and even if you did have a few members of society you weren’t too fond of, it was no different from a real family where you had a sibling or uncle you wanted to distance yourself from.
Della had started making some very deep ties to several people. Roy and Mary had, of course, become like family to her. Millie and Annabelle were fast becoming two of Della’s closest friends. Even Mabel and Pastor Littlejohn acted like grandparents of the entire congregation.
But still, the one thing Della would have to have before this journey seemed complete was a husband who felt the same deep desire for a strong bond as she did. She wasn’t sure Milton wanted—or was even capable of understanding—something that precious.
Just as Della readied herself for the rush of customers coming from the depot soon, the door opened—a flood of light reminded her that she needed to sweep the floor. “Hello,” said the woman walking in. “Are you Della?”
“Yes, I’m Della,” she said. “And you are?”
“Hannah Radcliff,” she said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to introduce myself yet.” Della had seen Hannah at church before but she was always busy tending to her little ones.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Della said. “What can I get you today?”
“Oh, nothing,” Hannah said. “I’m not here to shop. I came to deliver an invitation to the Picnic for Pairs event being held at the new Trinity River Park. Annabelle mentioned you might be inclined to participate.”
“What is Picnic for Pairs?” Della asked.
“Surely you’ve noticed these wretched, uneven wooden sidewalks we ladies constantly trip over when we walk into any of the stores here on Main Street,” Hannah said, motioning toward the door. “And the way these streets are almost unbearable to be on after a heavy rain—ruts so deep it’ll break a wagon wheel plum in two and I won’t even mention dodging the Longhorn and horse droppings.”
Della nodded in agreement. She hated the drive to and from the store with Roy days after a rain had occurred and the mud dried in deep grooves that made it almost impassable. It was worse on Main Street, because there were so many wagons, and when one broke down, it caused quite a backup. The sidewalks were overdue for a replaceme
nt. She’d already fallen once, and every time she stepped up, she had to be extra careful not to let the bottom of her dress snag on the wood and rip it at the seams.
“Some of us ladies got together and thought we would raise money for these much-needed repairs,” Hannah continued. “Anyone and everyone can come and bring their own picnics, but the single women of the community will each create a picnic basket full of goodies in individual hampers that the single men, or the beaus, bid on. Whoever wins her basket gets to take her on a picnic right then!”
“That sounds delightful,” Della said. “Count me in! I’m certain Milton will contribute handsomely to this cause.”
“Perfect,” Hannah said, handing Della a paper. “Here are the details for the event. We thought it might be fun to have the ladies wear beautiful dresses instead of simple picnic attire. Not formal, but a step above what we wear on a day-to-day basis.”
Della noticed that Hannah was dressed in a plain manner like her. Since Beatrice hadn’t yet finished the dresses Hank had ordered for her, she was stuck with the work dresses she had brought with her. She did have the chartreuse dress Milton had bought and the lovely blue dress that Hank had bought her off the rack at Beatrice’s. She’d definitely wear the chartreuse dress to please Milton, but she loved the blue dress and when she brought it home she’d held it up to her and twirled in the mirror, much to the delight of Mary, who could barely drag herself away from the feel of the soft cotton and lace that adorned the dress.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” Della said.
“See you then!” Hannah waved cheerfully as she exited the store.
Della had gotten to spend precious little time with Milton since she arrived, and he didn’t seem intent to arrange it. The Picnic for Pairs event would be a time that they could be alone and she could impress him with her cooking and get to know the real Milton Tidwell. There had to be more to him than she’d seen so far.