Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes

by Beverly Barton

  “Brent?”

  He paused, glanced over his shoulder and waited for her to speak.

  “I really do want to go with you. We could still—”

  “I don’t give spoiled little debutantes cheap thrills. If you want to go slumming, find yourself another cowboy.”

  Brent unlocked his truck, got inside and started the engine. Jenna stood in the parking lot and watched him back up and drive off. With anger and humiliation boiling inside her, she turned to her roommates.

  “How could y’all do that to me? You ruined everything. I’ve lost him, and it’s all your fault!”

  Chapter 2

  As the owner of the Mission Creek Creations dress shop for more than thirty years, Margaret McKenzie had been dressing generations of debutantes. Her own grandmother had been a seamstress and owned a dress shop in Scotland over seventy-five years ago. As her mother and grandmother before her, Margaret took great pride in her work. And during the past ten years, since she lost her beloved husband, Kyle, to a fatal heart attack, her dress shop had become the center of her world. With no children of her own, she had turned to her life’s work for solace and direction. Then two years ago a special young girl came into her life—Mary Clark, whom she took under her wing after Mary’s parents died. She had hired the dear, sweet girl as her assistant, teaching her the dressmaking trade. Shy, quiet and rather plain in appearance, Mary didn’t make friends easily. And despite Margaret encouraging her to date, Mary’s lack of self-confidence confined her to a lonely life.

  Margaret glanced at her assistant, quiet as a mouse, going about her duties, practically fading into the background and unnoticed by those around her. How Margaret wished that she had been blessed with the magic power to transform the little brown wren into a colorful bird. But her fairy godmother talents were limited.

  The front door of the shop opened and in breezed Nelda Wilson and her daughter, Jenna. Now those two were definitely colorful birds. Both beautiful, petite, self-confident blondes, with money, good breeding and social standing in the community. Years ago she had designed Nelda’s debutante ball gown and now she had the privilege of creating Jenna’s. She had been designing clothes for both mother and daughter for years and felt that she knew them quite well. As well as any servant could know an employer. And that was the way Nelda Wilson treated those she considered socially beneath her—as servants. But Jenna didn’t have her mother’s cool arrogance. The girl possessed a warmth and friendliness sadly lacking in her parent.

  “Good morning, Margaret,” Nelda said. “We’re a bit early, but Jenna is eager to try on her gown.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Wilson,” Margaret said. “I’ll have Mary fetch it for me and Miss Jenna can put it on for her fitting.” Margaret motioned to Mary, who immediately scurried to the storage room.

  “I put the finishing touches on the gown last night.” Margaret ushered her customers farther into the shop. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. Wilson.” She turned to Jenna. “Come with me to one of the dressing rooms. You’ll need help getting into your gown.”

  Mary emerged from the storage room, holding the lovely hand-embroidered, white silk garment on a padded satin hanger. Each tiny, cream flower and delicate beadwork that accented each floral design had taken hours of hand-labor, most of it Mary’s.

  Margaret opened the pink louvered door, then followed Jenna into the dressing room. While Jenna stripped down to her panties and bra, Margaret removed the dress from the hanger. Only she knew how special this dress was. For only she knew the magical secret that lay hidden within the garment. In the large, airy workroom at her home, she had sewn a little pocket into the folds of the gown and placed three red rose petals inside the pocket. Occasionally and only for certain young ladies, Margaret would do this, making sure the color of the petals specifically fit each girl. Red roses indicated passion. And as she had placed the petals in their secret place, she had made a special wish for Jenna. For it was passion that she sensed in Jenna and it was passion she knew this young woman needed in her life. Passion would lead her to her true love.

  Margaret assisted her client into the heavenly creation, one she was most proud of for its beauty and perfection in form and design. An excellent match for Jenna Wilson. As soon as Margaret zipped up the dress and closed the top hook, she opened the dressing room door and shooed Jenna outside to the mirrors.

  Most of her young clients were ecstatic the moment they saw themselves in the mirrors, but not Jenna. She stared at herself, forced a weak smile and pivoted slowly so that her mother could inspect her.

  “The dress is lovely, Mrs. McKenzie,” Jenna said. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re quite welcome, my dear,” Margaret replied. “Creating this dress for you was a pleasure. You look divine in it.”

  “Yes, she does, doesn’t she.” Nelda circled Jenna, scrutinizing the gown from every angle. “You’ve out-done yourself, Margaret. But I believe the waist should be just a little tighter and the neckline lifted some. Jenna is generously endowed so we don’t want her displaying too much flesh, do we?”

  Margaret waited for Jenna to put up a fuss about her mother’s instructions, but the young woman remained silent, almost as if she didn’t care. Obviously the debutante ball wasn’t the most important thing on Jenna’s mind. Now what could be more important to a young woman than the upcoming ball? Margaret wondered.

  Jenna wished her mother would leave things alone. The dress was absolutely perfect and didn’t need a thing done to it. But Nelda Wilson was an overbearing, bossy woman who always needed things done exactly her way.

  The sooner she could get out of this gown and away from her mother, the better. She’d slept fitfully last night, with visions of a cowboy named Brent disturbing her sleep. Even now she could feel his lips on hers, his arms around her, his body pressed intimately against her. Just thinking about him made her go weak in the knees. If Dana and Katie hadn’t interrupted them, she’d have spent the night in Brent’s arms. This morning she would be a woman—a woman with a past. A one-night stand with a rugged, good-looking cowboy could have been a memory to cherish for a lifetime, especially if she wound up in a miserable, loveless marriage.

  “I’ll see to the changes,” Mrs. McKenzie assured Nelda. “Otherwise, you approve of the gown?”

  “Yes, it’s an exceptional garment,” Nelda said, then without realizing she was being rude to Mrs. McKenzie, she turned to Jenna. “You simply must make a decision about an escort soon. You could have your pick of just about any young man. Why must you be so stubborn?”

  “I’m not being stubborn,” Jenna said. “I just can’t decide which suitable man on the list you gave me is someone I could tolerate for an entire evening.”

  “Jenna! What a thing to say. Whatever will Margaret think of you?” Nelda looked to Mrs. McKenzie as if expecting her to comment.

  “Young people these days. I would never have spoken to my mother in such a fashion.”

  “Jenna, my dear, why don’t you let Mary mark the alterations,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “Just go right over there.” She then turned her attention to Nelda. “Mrs. Wilson, would you care for some refreshment? We have lemonade and iced tea.”

  Jenna breathed a sigh of relief, thankful for a momentary reprieve from her mother’s constant nagging. She knew that sooner or later she’d have to make a choice about an escort, but how many other debutantes had been given a list of men from which to choose? It wasn’t that she didn’t like most of the guys on the list. Heck, she’d known nearly every one of them all her life. But if she was going to have to endure this “coming out” ball, she’d really like the privilege of choosing her own date.

  And if she could find him, she knew exactly who she’d ask. A long, tall drink of water named Brent. Although he’d looked a bit scruffy last night, she bet he’d clean up real good. Put that man in a tux and every deb at the ball would be drooling over him.

  But she could hardly ask him to be her escort when she had no idea where he
was. He’d said he was working on one of the local ranches—but which one? What could she do, hunt him down? Go from ranch to ranch asking for a guy named Brent? Maybe that’s just what she should do. And she knew exactly which ranch she’d start with—the Carson Ranch. After all, she’d been friends with Fiona and Cara Carson since they were children.

  “Would you turn around, please, Miss Wilson?” Mary requested.

  “What? Oh, sure.” Jenna turned. “How are you, Mary?”

  “Me? I—I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

  Jenna grasped and lifted a small section of the material where it covered her hip. “Did you do this beautiful embroidery?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Mary dutifully kept her head lowered as she made the adjustments for the alternations.

  “So, do you enjoy working for Mrs. McKenzie?”

  “Yes, very much. She’s taught me a great deal.”

  With a glass of iced tea in her hand, Nelda Wilson left Mrs. McKenzie’s side. Lowering her voice to a whisper, but still audible to those near her, she said, “Jenna, you mustn’t be too friendly with the hired help.”

  Jenna gasped. She glanced at Mary, knowing that the young woman had certainly heard Nelda. Mary’s shoulders slumped a bit more and her head bowed a little farther. If she rebuked her mother in front of Mary and Mrs. McKenzie, she’d probably only embarrass Mary. How could her mother be so unfeeling?

  Thankfully, a new customer entered the shop, taking everyone’s attention off Nelda and easing the tension that permeated the room.

  “Ms. Delarue. How nice to see you,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “I have the material for your gown. It came in yesterday.”

  Gorgeous redheaded Maddie Delarue was not only one of the richest women in Texas, she was the crème de la crème of local society. Everyone assumed she had taken the job as events coordinator at the Lone Star Country Club more as a hobby than anything else. After all, she certainly didn’t need the money. Jenna wondered what it would be like to be Maddie Delarue. A woman in her early thirties who answered to no one. Free and totally independent.

  “Maddie, darling.” Nelda rushed across the shop to greet Ms. Delarue, who was little more than an acquaintance. “How lovely to see you.”

  Maddie offered Nelda a brilliant smile, one Jenna figured the woman had cultivated at a very young age. No telling how many people fawned over her the way Nelda was doing right now, and being a gracious lady, Ms. Delarue responded cordially.

  “Hello, Nelda.”

  “You simply must tell me how things are shaping up at the country club.” Nelda reached out and laid her hand on Maddie’s arm. “Are they making any progress with rebuilding the Men’s Grill and renovating the damaged part of the club?”

  “We’re quite fortunate to have Joe Turner as the architect on the project. He’s doing a marvelous job, but he can’t work miracles. It’s going to take time to get everything done.” Maddie patted Nelda’s arm. “However, Joe has promised Frances and me that the laborers will work overtime to make sure the cranes and the other heavy machinery are removed from the construction site in time for the ball.”

  “How is Frances? I simply must call her to see when we can get together for lunch. Hopefully, one day soon. It’s so gracious of her to come in all the way from Houston to act as the chairwoman for this year’s ball.”

  Jenna thought she was going to throw up listening to her mother go on and on, as if Mrs. Donald Adair, of the Houston Adairs, was a personal friend of hers instead of a mere acquaintance, as Ms. Delarue was. Why couldn’t her mother ever stop trying to impress people, trying to move up the social ladder?

  “Mary, would you help me off with this dress?” Jenna asked, wanting to finish up and leave as soon as possible.

  “Certainly, Miss Wilson.” Mary followed Jenna into the dressing room.

  “Please, call me Jenna.”

  “I’m not sure that would be proper. Your mother—”

  “Is an elitist, a snob and a royal pain in the backside.”

  Mary smiled. Jenna laughed.

  Hurriedly, Mary helped Jenna disrobe, then took the elegant white gown and placed it on the padded hanger. Just as Mary started to exit the dressing room, Jenna grabbed her arm.

  “I’m sorry that my mother said what she did. I know she must have hurt your feelings.”

  “It’s all right. Really. I’m used to being treated that way.”

  “Maybe you are, but it’s not right.”

  Mary didn’t reply as she took the dress with her when she left the dressing room. Jenna donned her white slacks and pale yellow silk blouse, then removed a comb from her straw bag. Using the small, narrow mirror in the dressing room to check her appearance, she combed her hair, which she’d left hanging loose today. She reapplied some rosy pink lip gloss and a touch of pink blush. There, she thought. I’m ready to make a trip to the Carson Ranch and begin my search for Brent. Even if the Carsons didn’t known anything about him, she could at least get away from her mother for a few hours and visit with the Carson twins, Fiona and Cara.

  The 15,500 acre Carson Ranch was known throughout Texas for its cattle, and the vastness of the property never ceased to amaze Jenna, who’d grown up in town. After all, her father had been a banker, not a rancher. But she considered herself part cowgirl because she not only knew how to shoot a rifle, but how to ride, too. She kept Mariah, the mare her father had bought for her high school graduation present, at the Mission Creek Stables. As she rode Mariah up the road, the huge, twelve-bedroom Carson home came into view.

  As the only child of wealthy parents, Jenna had grown up never wanting for anything money could buy. Her mother and father had traveled in the same social circle as the Carsons, so she’d known the family all her life. Fiona had seemed delighted when Jenna called her earlier and invited herself out for the afternoon. She hadn’t bothered explaining to her old friend that she was on a mission to find a cowboy named Brent. All she had to do was ask Flynt Carson if he’d hired a new hand recently. Even if Brent didn’t work on the Carson Ranch, it was possible that Flynt might know if one of the other ranches had taken on a new cowpoke sometime in the past few weeks.

  Jenna had tried—unsuccessfully—to convince herself that the guy from the Saddlebag Bar wasn’t the only man in the world who could be her tour guide into the world of unrestricted fun and unbridled passion. The more she thought about Brent, the more certain she was that he—and only he—was the man she wanted, the man she needed.

  But even if she found him, she couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure that he would cooperate. After all, last night when he’d found out that she was just a college kid, he’d run like hell. Everything had been perfect until Dana and Katie came to her rescue. Damn it, she hadn’t wanted to be rescued. She’d come so close to running off with Brent, to getting in his truck and letting him take her someplace very private. The thought of making love with her mysterious cowboy created a heat wave inside her. She hadn’t gone to the Saddlebag Bar actually looking for romance, only a little fun; but meeting Brent had made her realize just what she’d been missing.

  Riding off to the side of the half-moon driveway toward the stables, Jenna saw Fiona and Cara as they came running around the house. Cara wore a simple black one-piece bathing suit, but Jenna wasn’t sure what you’d call the two small strips of material Fiona wore. A microbikini? Of course she had a great figure, but—

  My gosh, Jenna you sound like an old prude.

  “Where’s your suit?” Fiona asked. “When you phoned to say you were coming out here, I told you we were spending the afternoon by the pool.”

  “I thought I might borrow one of yours later.”

  “Fine. Put your horse in the stables and meet us at the pool house.” Fiona’s dark, shoulder length hair bounced with vibrant movement as she nodded her head in the direction of the pool.

  “Uh…why don’t you go on and I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,” Jenna said. “I really need to speak to Flynt. Is he around?�
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  “Why do you need to talk to Flynt? If you’re thinking about asking him to join us, don’t,” Fiona said. “He’s absolutely no fun.”

  “Fiona!” Cara scolded. “You shouldn’t be that way about Flynt, considering what he’s been through. If you’d lost someone you love in such a tragic way, the way he did Monica, you’d be moody, too.”

  “Oh, all right. I’m sorry. Really I am.” Fiona sighed dramatically. “I know life has been rough for Flynt. I’m just tired of seeing him so unhappy. I wish something wonderful would happen to bring him back to life.”

  “Go on to the pool, Fiona,” Cara said. “I’ll see if anybody knows where Flynt is.” The minute Fiona flounced off, Cara turned to Jenna. “Want to tell me why you need to talk to Flynt?” Cara asked.

  Jenna hesitated. Although Fiona and Cara were six years older than she, they had been friends for ages. She adored both twins. She admired Fiona’s outgoing, risk-taking nature, but she related more to Cara, who was a bit shy, and like her, a good girl. At least I was a good girl until last night, Jenna thought.

  “I need to ask Flynt about the Carson ranch hands. Actually one particular ranch hand.”

  Cara’s sparkling green eyes widened with surprise. “I think you need to explain why you want information about one of our ranch hands.”

  “Look, just go see if you can find Flynt for me, will you? I’m not even sure the man I’m looking for works here. After I talk to Flynt, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  “Oh, all right. Put Mariah in the stables and then come on out to the pool house. There’s at least a dozen bathing suits in there that should fit you. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can round up Flynt.”

  Brent finished giving Mr. Lucky a rubdown. Living in Chicago for so many years, he had forgotten how much he’d once loved riding. Part of the pleasure of living on a ranch was the wonderful sense of freedom a man felt when he was on horseback, out on the range, where the earth met the sky. Since his father’s death, he hadn’t been back to Kansas City, although he still owned the small ranch there and paid a couple of hands to keep the place up. Maybe one of these days, he’d start taking his vacations on the ranch. That was if he ever started taking vacations. He had become a workaholic, spending ninety percent of his time concentrating on his job, leaving him no time for vacations or for anything more than short-lived, superficial relationships.