Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes

by Beverly Barton

  When he pulled the truck into the parking slot in front of her apartment, Jenna thought surely he would explain himself, but he didn’t.

  “Brent, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, honey. It’s just that you promised me you wouldn’t think what happened between us was anything more than sex and I expect you to keep that promise. I want to believe that when you told me you loved me, it was just because I’d given you pleasure and you felt that it was what you should say.”

  “Oh, I see.” A thousand pound weight pressed in on her, breaking her heart and threatening to cut off her life’s blood. Pain unlike any she’d ever known saturated every inch of her body and flooded her mind. “Of course. It was only sex.”

  Brent reached across her, without touching her, and opened the passenger door. “I…uh …I hope you’ve sown enough wild oats with me to satisfy you. You should get back to being Miss Jenna Wilson, social butterfly and Mission Creek debutante.”

  She nodded and forced a weak smile to her lips. Inside she was dying. Slowly. Painfully.

  “Look, honey, I know I sort of said I’d take you to that deb ball, but I—er—I’m not going to be around then.”

  She stared at him, wondering who this man was sitting next to her. It couldn’t be Brent. The man she loved. The tender, caring lover who had taken her to heaven twice in the past eight hours.

  “I’m heading out of Mission Creek tomorrow,” he said. “I got a better offer and I’m moving on.”

  “Goodbye, Brent. It’s been…” She jumped down out of the truck and ran as fast as she could. She had to get away from him before she made a complete fool of herself. Oh, God, you idiot, you’ve already made a fool of yourself!

  “What happened?” Flynt Carson demanded. “Why are you in such an all-fired hurry to go back to Chicago?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve done all the damage here that I can do.”

  Flynt laid his hand on Brent’s shoulder. “I thought you were going to stick around long enough to take Jenna to the deb ball.”

  “Plans change.” Brent shrugged off Flynt’s hand.

  “When a man gets in as big a hurry as you’re in, he’s usually running scared. So, what’s going on? Are you growing a little too fond of Jenna and you’re leaving before you’re unable to resist her?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Are you leaving her heart intact or are we going to have to pick up the pieces?”

  “Look, just find her an escort for the ball, will you?”

  “Sure. No problem. There are dozens of guys who’d love to date Jenna.”

  Yeah, he didn’t doubt that for a minute and the thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit. She’d been his, heart and soul as well as body. He didn’t like the idea that any other man would ever have with her what he’d had.

  Brent finished packing, zipped up his bag and held out his hand to Flynt. “Thanks for everything, man. Look after her, will you? Make sure she doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

  “Sure thing. And if you want to call me to check on her…”

  Brent forced a grin, then shook his head. “A clean break is better for both of us.”

  “Of course you’ll attend the ball,” Nelda said. “Flynt Carson has assured me that he’ll have a suitable young man come by tomorrow evening to pick you up. He told me that he had the perfect person in mind.”

  She had tried to convince her mother that the last thing on earth she wanted to do was attend the ball. She was hurting in every way a woman who has been rejected by the man she loves can hurt.

  “Mother, you don’t understand what it’s like to be in love with a man who doesn’t want you.”

  “What makes you think that I don’t understand?” Nelda took Jenna by the arm, led her over to the sofa and sat beside her. “When I was eighteen, I fell head over heels for one of the hands on my daddy’s ranch.”

  “Mother! I had no idea.”

  “It didn’t work out, of course. He wound up breaking my heart. But I met your father, married him and we had a very good life together. So, you see, in the long run, it was for the best.”

  Jenna hugged Nelda, feeling for the first time that she’d gotten a glimpse at another side of her mother. A side she never knew existed. “I’m sorry that you got your heart broken.”

  Nelda patted Jenna’s cheek tenderly. “And I’m sorry that you got your heart broken. I could say that I told you so, but I won’t. Attending the ball would be the best medicine for your heartache. You can’t let that good-for-nothing cowboy ruin your special night.”

  “All right, Mother, I’ll attend the ball.” There was no way she could tell her mother that Brent Jameson had ruined more for her than the debutante ball. He had broken her heart, crushed her dreams of love and taught her that she’d been a fool for expecting a happily ever after ending to their romance. “Call Flynt and tell him to arrange for that suitable young man to meet us at the country club. I do not want a date, just an escort.”

  “All right, dear, whatever you want.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding.”

  Nelda cupped Jenna’s chin. “I’m sorry that I’ve been so demanding, especially since your father died. I promise that I’ll try my best not to run your life, but you must promise me that you’ll be patient with me. I can’t change overnight.”

  “I promise.” Jenna hugged her mother again. “We’ll both do our best to keep those promises.”

  The ballroom was on the third floor of the country club, with a double row of windows across the front that looked out over the driveway and gardens. A balcony off the ballroom, filled with potted plants and settees, provided perfect secluded spots for couples who wanted a little privacy.

  Jenna fidgeted as she waited on stage with the other debutantes, all of them lined up in their expensive white dresses. Little innocents being presented to society, Jenna surmised cynically. A lively rendition of the national anthem and Texas, Our Texas kicked off the ceremonies. A salute to the flag followed, then Mrs. Donald Adair gave the welcoming address.

  Where was her escort? Jenna wondered. Flynt had promised that he’d arrive on time. Flynt hadn’t even given her mother a name; he’d just told that it was someone Jenna knew and liked and would recognize immediately. Why all the secrecy? Oh, God, she hoped it wasn’t Ernest Townsend. If it was, she’d be miserable, but her mother would be ecstatic. The Townsends were old oil money and Ernest was also an only child. Surely Flynt wouldn’t do that to her. But what if it was Ernest?

  Okay, so she was going to be the only deb without an escort, without a young man to join her at the dinner table. She could live with the embarrassment if her mother could. At least Uncle Lyndon had flown in from San Antonio to lead her out. She knew Nelda had twisted her older brother’s arm to persuade him to fly in for the occasion. Tonight Jenna missed her father terribly, but at least she wouldn’t be the only deb with an uncle, brother or stepfather standing in for a nonexistent dad.

  Since the debs were presented in alphabetical order, Jenna waited nervously, with Uncle Lyndon at her side, as she counted the minutes until this part of the night’s events ended. Finally the list of names made it down to the W’s.

  “Judge Lyndon Walker Kerr presenting Jenna Kerr Wilson,” the announcer said into the microphone.

  Her uncle took her arm in his. As he led her out, she looked into the audience and her gaze met her mother’s. For that one sweet moment she was glad to be there, because the happiness radiating from Nelda made all the misery worthwhile. Another generation of her family had been properly presented to society.

  After everyone made it through the reception line, a fancy steak dinner was served by black-jacketed waiters. Nelda glanced at the empty seat beside Jenna.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” Nelda said. “Flynt promised me your date would be here on time. I’ll have to find Flynt later and give him a stern reprimand.”

  After dinner came a video presentatio
n of the debs’ individual good works during the past year and the cake-cutting ceremony. Jenna dreaded her turn, but when it came, she stepped up to the microphone and expressed her heartfelt gratitude to her mother and then to all those who had helped make her debutante year a marvelous, unforgettable time. Such a bald-faced lie. She just kept smiling.

  At long last, the band played the first waltz and Uncle Lyndon led her onto the dance floor for the customary father-daughter dance. Jenna kept telling herself to just hang in there. A couple more hours and she could go home, but for now she had to keep up the happy facade for her mother’s sake. As the first song ended, Uncle Lyndon gazed over Jenna’s shoulder. She felt someone’s presence directly behind her. Was it her long-lost date showing up finally? At this point, she didn’t even care if it turned out to be Ernest Townsend.

  “Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice said. “My plane was delayed.”

  Jenna whirled around to face the tall, handsome cowboy who had left her brokenhearted only a few days ago. But tonight he bore little resemblance to a ranch hand. This impeccably groomed man looked right at home in an Armani tuxedo. “Brent?”

  “Hi, honey. I guess I missed most of your big night.”

  “What—what are you—?”

  “I’m your date. Flynt Carson arranged for me to be your escort tonight.” Brent looked at her uncle. “Sir, may I have this dance with your niece?”

  Lyndon nodded, apparently relieved not to have to dance again. “Certainly, young man.”

  Brent led her into the next dance, holding her close. He nuzzled her ear. “Do you think you can forgive me for being such a stubborn idiot? Honey, I ran like a scared rabbit, afraid of being caught and caged. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. It took me only a few days back home in Chicago to realize that I couldn’t live without you.”

  “Oh, Brent. Are you saying that you…that you love me?”

  He waltzed her about the room. “I’m crazy in love with you, Jenna Wilson, and if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman in the world.”

  “I suppose you know that sounded like a proposal.”

  “Consider it just that.”

  He grasped her wrist, then led her off the dance floor and out of the ballroom. Finding a secluded settee on the balcony unoccupied, he eased her down onto the velvet sofa, then knelt on one knee before removing a small velvet box from his tuxedo pocket. When he flipped open the box, a two-carat, emerald cut, yellow diamond winked at her.

  Jenna gasped.

  “I love you, Jenna. Will you marry me?”

  She flung her arms around him. “Yes, yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”

  He rose from his kneeling position, sat beside her and slipped the brilliant diamond on the third finger of her left hand. “Do you like it?”

  “Like it? I love it. But, Brent, how on earth can you afford something this expensive? And what did you mean about going home to Chicago? I thought you were a Texan.”

  “I am a native Texan,” he told her. “But I live in Chicago. I’m a commodities analyst who specializes in the cattle industry. I took some time off to work, incognito, on a couple of ranches to get in touch with my roots and do a little hands-on research.”

  “You aren’t a cowboy? You’re a commodities analyst?”

  “I’m a rich commodities analyst. That’s how I could afford the ring.” He nodded to her hand. “Do you think you’d mind leaving Texas to live in Chicago? I’ve got friends who could probably get you a job at one of the museums downtown.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Remember telling me that you wanted to paint? As your husband, I’d support you in every way to help you achieve your career goals.”

  She kissed him, not caring who saw them or what anyone might think or say. When they were both breathless, they came up for air.

  “I can’t believe this. After I thought I’d lost you forever, you’ve come back and are making all my dreams come true.”

  “This is just the beginning. The best is ahead of us. Our wedding. Our honeymoon. The rest of our lives together.”

  She clasped his hand. “Brent, I’d like to wait until after we tell my mother that we’re getting married before you explain to her who you really are. I know it’s mean of me to want to hear her fuss and fume for a few minutes. But it serves her right. Besides, once she knows that you’re rich and successful, she’s going to be overjoyed.”

  “What about you? Are you disappointed because I’m not really a cowboy?”

  “Ah, but you are a cowboy at heart. You’re my cowboy.” Jenna stood, tugged on Brent’s hand and said, “I should dance a few more dances before I leave. But after that, we can go to my apartment. Dana and Katie went home for the weekend, so we’ll have the place all to ourselves.”

  Brent followed her into the ballroom. “Do you have something particular in mind for later?”

  “I’m interested in taking another wild ride on my favorite cowboy,” she whispered. “Before I become an old married lady and settle down with my husband in Chicago.”

  He swept her onto the dance floor, holding her securely within his embrace. “Jenna, honey, your wild ride is just beginning.”

  REINVENTING MARY

  Christine Rimmer

  For Vilma…

  Chapter 1

  “How about a nice, tall glass of cold tea while you wait, Mr. Campbell?” asked Margaret McKenzie.

  Mary Clark, cowering behind a 50%-off rack in the ready-to-wear half of Mission Creek Creations, hunched down a little lower and whispered prayerfully, “No, no. Please, say no…”

  “Cold tea sounds wonderful,” James Campbell replied.

  Mary winced and scrunched down even farther behind the rack. “Say, I’ll get it myself,” she chanted low, willing the big, handsome man in the pink brocade chair to repeat after her. “I’ll get it myself, I’ll get it myself….”

  But the object of Mary’s impossible months-long crush said no such thing. And Margaret—Mary’s boss and dearest friend in the world—advised brightly, “Mary will get it for you—Mary?”

  To Mary, the silence that followed was truly deafening. And acutely painful. No escape, she was thinking, not this time.

  That one other time he came in the shop, back in January, she’d been quicker. She’d darted into the stockroom and stayed there until he was gone. She’d been lucky; no one seemed to notice her absence.

  But today, clearly, her luck had run out.

  “Mary?” Margaret called again, a faint note of concern creeping in.

  Ridiculous, Mary thought. I am ridiculous.

  Adjusting her glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose and then nervously smoothing her hands down the front of her gray skirt, Mary straightened from her crouch, thinking, As if he’ll even notice me. As if he even knows that I exist.

  A customer near the shoe display a few feet away gave Mary a distinctly puzzled look as she emerged from behind the sale rack. Mary slanted the woman a sheepish smile and then hurried to answer Margaret’s call.

  “She must have gone in back,” Margaret was saying as Mary popped around the end of the half-wall that marked off ready-to-wear from the Mission Creek Creations originals side of the shop.

  “Uh. No. I’m right here.” Her voice was tight and absurdly squeaky—but at least she’d managed to get the words out.

  “Ah.” Margaret smiled benignly. She seemed completely unaware that her assistant had been huddled behind last season’s leftovers, hoping against hope to avoid the possibility of coming face-to-face with the man who haunted her dreams. “There you are. Will you get Mr. Campbell a glass of cold tea?”

  “Oh. Yes. Right away.” Whew. A little breathless-sounding, and far too eager, maybe. But not bad. She’d got the words out good and clear, at least. No convulsive swallowing or odd squeaky noises.

  Maybe he wouldn’t think her a total idiot, after all.

  Well, of course he wouldn’t. How could he? He didn’t e
ven seem to know she was there. He was smiling that wonderful, warm smile of his—at Margaret. Mary was a function to him. Invisible. Someone to ring up purchases, to serve him his tea.

  And that was fine with Mary. It was. Truly…

  “Sugar?” Margaret offered.

  “No, thanks,” he said in that deep, sexy voice of his. “Just the tea is fine.”

  Right then, the louvered doors of one of the dressing cubicles swung wide and Julie Campbell, James’s younger sister, floated out wearing a strapless white ball gown with a bodice of lustrous silk and a skirt like a cloud.

  Margaret sighed. “Ah. Just lovely…”

  “You look gorgeous, Jules,” said James with satisfied a nod.

  It was a dress made specifically for dancing the night away. Julie would wear it to the Lone Star County Debutante Ball, a gala event held in May every year at the posh Lone Star Country Club.

  The pretty eighteen-year-old blushed and twirled in a circle, and layers of sewn-in crinolines fanned out beneath a froth of organza, like the petals of a blooming rose. “Oh, Mrs. McKenzie! I love it! I do!”

  Though she was just three years older than Julie, right then, Mary Clark felt like a crone. A terminally shy old maid—too thin, too plain, too utterly, completely bland, someone who would never in a million years dance the night away at the debutante ball.

  Margaret was frowning in the direction of Julie’s feet. “Where are your shoes, hon? Did you bring them?” Julie Campbell had bought her shoes at the shop, too, the last time she came in to be fitted. They were by a certain very exclusive designer, and Mission Creek Creations was the only place in town a girl could buy them.

  Julie giggled. “They’re in the dressing room. I got so excited, I came running out without putting them on—just give me half a second.” She whirled back into the dressing room and emerged a moment later. “Okay.” She lifted her skirt enough to show off a pair of beautiful white satin T-strap sandals. “James. Aren’t they gorgeous? They’re Gabrielle Amalfi, did you know?”