Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes

by Beverly Barton

  “No man alive could stop himself from taking what you’re offering.”

  “So take it,” she teased. “Did I ever tell you that one of my big big faults is that I’m impatient?”

  Matt’s arms closed possessively around her. Then his mouth came down, branding her with a searing kiss that went on and on. She parted her lips, so his tongue could ease inside. One taste, and they melted into each other as if they were one.

  His hands wound red curls through his fingers. “You feel so good.”

  “Do I?” she whispered.

  “Why does it have to be this good with you?”

  “It just is. Like you said, I’m a natural.”

  “I wish we were alone on my ranch. I’d strip you. I’d have you, just one last time.”

  She moaned. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  I love you.

  The immensity of those words washed over him.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  The flush on her cheeks was rising. “What if I do?”

  “You’d come to despise me in time, same as your aunt and uncle do.”

  “Shut up and just kiss me,” she sobbed.

  He bent obediently. She was so delicious, so smooth, and soft, and warm—so perfect, so dear. It was a long while before he could end the kiss.

  Only when he felt as hot as a kettle ready to boil over did he tear himself away.

  “Damn it to hell—you boy-crazy, man-chasing debutante! Stay away from me!”

  Every muscle in Matt’s body ached as he lifted the pitchfork and tossed manure into the wheelbarrow. He should have Lee doing this, but Lee had wanted to go fishing with his new friends, so he’d let him. The sheriff said it was good the way the boy was making friends with the right crowd for a change and that Matt should encourage this. He’d said he’d located the boy’s aunt, who was considering taking Lee on a permanent basis.

  Matt had thrown himself into his work all day in an attempt to forget kissing Frankie in broad daylight on Main Street. Gossip was a reality of small town life. Now everybody knew there really was something between Wayne Lassiter’s ranch princess and BoBo Dixon’s loser son. Frankie’s reputation was bound to suffer.

  Maybe the town would forget about the kiss in time.

  But would he?

  His mouth still burned from her lips. He could still taste her on his tongue. He didn’t want to work. What he wanted was Frankie—in his bed, in his life—forever.

  He dropped the pitchfork in disgust and stomped outside the barn so he could stand in the breeze and cool off. Not that so much as a breath of air stirred the trees. The sun was sinking, reddening the sky to the exact shade of Frankie’s hair.

  Would he ever forget her? Would he forget how wonderful it had been to have her here, working beside him? Would he ever find another woman who thrilled him in bed as she did?

  He didn’t think so.

  What if it didn’t rain? What if Vince really went through with the foreclosure?

  What if he lost the ranch, too?

  So what? Hadn’t he always been alone?

  But Frankie had come; she’d changed him with her sparkling eyes and eagerness, with her belief in him. Almost, almost she’d made him believe a woman like her could love him, could be proud of him. Him—BoBo Dixon’s boy….

  Matt squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed.

  How does a fighter learn to be a quitter?

  It was time to move on. Time to run. Time to give up. Time to let go of his dreams. Most of all it was time to let go of Frankie.

  Matt dropped down into the dirt and propped his forehead against his knee. What he wanted was to hold her in his arms one more time, to make love to her violently even if theirs was a love that could never be.

  Tears stung his eyelids. But he didn’t cry.

  Not right then anyway.

  Chapter 7

  Even though it was a warm Saturday near the end of May, it felt more like Christmas Eve. People in Mission Creek were as excited as children waiting up for Santa Claus. After all, tonight was the night of the annual Lone Star County Debutante Ball.

  Everybody was thrilled—everybody except Frankie. She’d locked herself in her bathroom to get away from Aunt Susie, who was driving her crazy by dashing into her bedroom every five minutes.

  “The ball’s not supposed to start for three hours, Aunt Susie.”

  “I just can’t wait to see you in that dress.”

  “Okay. I’m going to bathe. And get ready. Just for you.”

  Frankie’s heart was pounding heavily as she sponged herself with a coarse wash rag. How she dreaded walking into the ball—alone.

  “Your Uncle Wayne and I will be with you, sweetie.”

  Damn it to hell—you boy-crazy, man-chasing debutante! Stay away from me!

  How would she stand it…without Matt?

  Frankie lingered in the warm sudsy water, her unhappy thoughts drifting to no purpose. She couldn’t make herself get out of the tub and get ready.

  Better to shrivel up like a prune.

  She felt lost and insecure, more so than when she had first come home from Vanderbilt, and everybody had asked her what she planned to do. Slowly she’d realized she was a rancher at heart. Then she’d fallen in love with the proud rancher next door.

  If she couldn’t have Matt, what would she do with the rest of her life?

  According to Aunt Susie her future didn’t matter. What mattered was the ball tonight and that the show had to go on. To Frankie, her designer ball gown that hung on her closet door was a big puffy monster about to eat her alive. The long white limousine that would arrive promptly at seven spelled doom.

  Vince had called an hour ago to say he had his tuxedo ready.

  “Just in case you change your mind and need an escort.”

  “No, Vince, that wouldn’t be fair to anybody,” she’d whispered brokenly.

  Somehow she would dress and survive this ordeal—alone.

  Mary had called from Mission Creek Creations. “Everybody, simply everybody, is talking about the kiss.”

  “Not Aunt Susie or Uncle Wayne.”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Not really.”

  But it was strange, how quiet Uncle Wayne had been when he’d finally driven in from Mission Creek so late this afternoon.

  Not so strange. He was probably still too furious to face her. Uncle Wayne was like that. Unlike her more volatile Aunt Susie, he preferred to cool down before he confronted Frankie when she displeased him.

  “So—everybody’s talking about the kiss.”

  “I wish I could have seen it,” Mary said.

  “Well, I can’t forget it, either.”

  Just remembering, Frankie touched her lips with her wash rag, sucking on the rough terry cloth that oozed bath water. His mouth had felt so good. It had been ten times better than any kiss she’d ever had before. All that suppressed fire…and longing and need and fury. His lips had gobbled her.

  He still felt something for her. She knew he did.

  What if I went over to Matt’s one more time?

  Frankie sprang out of the tub. Without bothering to towel herself off, she pulled on the same jeans and blouse she’d worn all afternoon. To protect her stupid hairdo, she covered the piles of curls with the red and gold scarf her aunt had left for her to use, insisting she wear it just in case she went outside before the ball.

  Knotting the silk beneath her chin, Frankie tiptoed out the back way and ran lightly through the trees to the barn to saddle Jez. Then she galloped off toward the Dixon place in feverish anticipation. Only when she got to Matt’s house and jumped off Jez, his truck was gone.

  Despair closed over her. His empty house seemed about as inviting as a tomb. As she forced herself to walk his fence line, all was ominously silent. Not a single bird, not even a cicada sang from the dense underbrush. It was hot too, and sweat began to trickle down her neck under the scarf. She wanted to yank it off, but she remembered
her promise to her aunt.

  She called to Matt, but he didn’t answer. Finally, she moved like a dreamer through that still white heat toward his barn. Inside, it was dark and dank, and there was no sign of anybody.

  She retraced her steps to his house, dragging herself up the stairs to his porch. After knocking and waiting, she cautiously pushed the screen door wider before tiptoeing inside. The kitchen was neat; the dishes stacked by the sink.

  A brown manila bank envelope had been ripped open with a knife, spilling its contents all over the kitchen table. Her heart slammed as she unwadded several long, crisp sheets and realized what they were.

  Foreclosure papers.

  The house seemed too quiet. Growing more frightened by the second, Frankie stumbled down the hall into Matt’s bedroom where she found suitcases piled on his bed. Dropping the foreclosure papers, she screamed. Then she began to sob.

  “Don’t leave! You can’t give up! No! Matt! No!”

  She dashed outside the house again, some part of her refusing to believe he was gone despite all the evidence. She yelled his name over and over again until she became too hoarse to do so. But it was no use. He didn’t answer.

  He was gone.

  Outside, she sank down on the bottom step of the porch and wearily folded her head upon her knees. The lawn had been sheared too close to the ground and was brown, the St. Augustine dying as everything else would if Lone Star County didn’t get rain pretty soon. Even the squat oaks near his house and the straggly mesquite with their draperies of vines looked bedraggled.

  Not a breath of air was stirring. It was so hot, she forgot her promise and took her aunt’s scarf off and ran her fingers through her stiff hairdo.

  Without Matt, the house, his ranch, indeed the whole world seemed desolate and soulless.

  He was gone, and he hadn’t thought enough of her to even call and say goodbye.

  Damn it to hell—you boy-crazy, man-chasing debutante! Stay away from me!

  Did he hate her? Oh, why had she thrown herself at him in the square? Had that last humiliation been too much?

  After a long time, she forced herself to stand up. She had to get ready for the ball. After all the show, and that’s all this elaborate farce of a ball was now, had to go on.

  “Oh, Wayne! Just look at her!” Aunt Susie gushed running toward the stairs to worship at the feet of the beautiful goddess hovering above them.

  Frankie colored. The vision in shimmering white satin that had stared back at her from her bedroom mirror had been way too glamorous for her tomboy comfort zone. Surely that bewitching creature with the glitter in her hair had nothing to do with the real girl, whose heart felt heavier than stone.

  With one hand Frankie was lifting her long ball gown, so she wouldn’t step on the hem and trip. With the other, she clung to the railing because her left ankle was so wobbly on high heels.

  “I feel like I’m on stilts.”

  “You’ll get used to them.”

  “I’m going to kick them off just as soon as I get to the country club.”

  “Don’t you dare!”

  Uncle Wayne’s black eyes lit up. “Wow!” For a long moment he just stared up at her, too stunned to say another word. “Wait till—” He seemed to catch himself. “Let me get my camera!”

  Always an enthusiastic photographer, he snapped at least a dozen shots. Afterwards when she was a little blinded by all the flashes, Frankie’s fingers played nervously with the voluminous satin folds of her gown. She gasped when her hand slipped inside a secret pocket and her fingertips closed over a little envelope hidden there.

  Drawing the white rectangle out, she wobbled over to the window. Turning her slim back to her aunt and uncle, she opened it.

  Two velvety rose petals fell out on her palm—one red, the other yellow.

  Puzzled, she flipped them over, stroking their velvet softness.

  The note inside read, “Yellow is for friendship, red is for love.”

  “There’s your limo!” Uncle Wayne shouted.

  A ridiculously long white limousine with black-tinted windows rolled up to the front of the sprawling ranch house.

  Frankie scarcely heard her uncle. Nor did she glance out at the dreaded limo. Instead, her hand was closing around the soft petals as she pressed them to her heart.

  “Matt. All I ever wanted was your friendship and your love.”

  Did Witch McKenzie have special powers?

  Quickly, softly, Frankie said a little prayer. Then she kissed each petal and carefully put them back into the envelope, which she slipped back inside the secret pocket.

  Her aunt pressed her elbow. “It’s time to go, Frankie!”

  Frankie swallowed, merely nodding, letting herself be led like a doll through the door into a glimmering twilight where cicadas and night birds sang in raucous chorus.

  “Your glass coach awaits, Cinderella,” Aunt Susie called gaily.

  If only this were a fairy tale and her very own Prince Charming awaited her.

  But tonight was merely an ordeal she had to face alone.

  The first of many.

  Just the sight of the stretch limo caused Frankie’s temple to throb searingly.

  Then the limousine door opened.

  “Go on, dear. Get in. We don’t want to be late.”

  Frankie, feeling a hopeless, overwhelming bottomless despair let herself be pushed listlessly forward. She felt weak. Her eyes blinked rapidly. Her stomach knotted. For courage she slipped her hand inside her pocket and clutched the little envelope that held the little rose petals.

  She couldn’t believe what happened next.

  Matt got out of the limousine.

  He looked too elegant for words in his black tuxedo. Broad-shouldered, tall, he held a corsage made of yellow and red roses in his hand.

  Not that there was anything elegant or pure about his whiskey-gold eyes that burned her. Gradually, the hard planes of his face softened into an expression that held infinite tenderness.

  Her fingertips crushed the little envelope that contained the yellow and red rose petals that were the same colors as Matt’s corsage.

  Friendship and love.

  Maybe Witch McKenzie did have powers. Maybe…maybe Frankie Moore was going to have her fairy tale and her very own Prince Charming after all.

  “Matt… You’re here. You’re…really here.”

  Just as she was about to run to him, fingernails dug into her elbow as Aunt Susie tightened her grip.

  “There’s some mistake,” came Aunt Susie’s querulous tone.

  “No mistake,” Uncle Wayne said. “The Dixon boy and I had a long talk this afternoon. He’s a talented rancher, a good man. He’s just what we need around here.”

  “Around here?”

  Frankie barely heard them.

  “What are you saying, Wayne?”

  “Someone to carry on…after we’re gone, Susie Lou.”

  Their tense voices came and went like static on a radio Frankie wasn’t really listening to.

  “The ranch? Is that all you ever think of?”

  “I love you too, Susie Lou,” Uncle Wayne placated. “Same as Dixon loves Frankie. But the ranch doesn’t belong to us. It belongs to the generations—to them.”

  “Them?”

  “Are you blind? She’s found her cowboy—same as you did at your coming out ball.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  He nodded. “Kiss me, baby.”

  “Later, you big lug. You’ll mess up my lipstick.”

  “To hell with your lipstick. Anyway, just think, now you get to plan a wedding.”

  Aunt Susie kissed him.

  Frankie was tearing loose from them, running, running straight into Matt’s strong, waiting arms.

  “Darlin’,” he said, taking her hand in his, pulling her close. Then they just stood there for a long time, her breasts heaving against the wall of his chest, each marveling at the other, neither of them able to speak, so great was the depth
of their emotion.

  Slowly he lifted the corsage out of its plastic container and slid it onto her wrist.

  Tears, swift and hot, came before words. Frankie bowed her head a moment, then raised it when she felt his hand on her cheeks brushing the dampness away.

  “Don’t cry,” he said gently. “I’m not worth it.”

  “You…you’re worth everything.”

  “That’s what your uncle said.”

  “Uncle Wayne?” The red and yellow roses blurred.

  “He came by my place this afternoon, tore up the bank foreclosure papers.”

  “He did?”

  “Said he was having a hard time too, that ranching was like that, even for the big players like him. Said I had to see myself as a winner, to be one. That…that’s how you saw me.” He paused. “That if I was a loser, you wouldn’t love me so much.”

  “He said all that?”

  “And a helluva lot more. After he made me realize I’m no quitter, he drove me into town and got me fitted for this damn tux.”

  “You’re not here…you didn’t buy the roses…because he made you feel…feel obligated?”

  “Is that what you think, darlin’?” Gently he lifted her chin and feathered warm, sweet kisses against each damp eyelid.

  “I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured. “It’s like a fairy tale.”

  “There’s more.” Matt slid his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. “Open it,” he whispered, handing it to her.

  She popped the lid and gasped when she saw the small, but exquisitely perfect diamond winking up at her. Clumsily, he lifted the ring out of the box. Taking her hand, he pushed it up her finger.

  “You told me to ask you again,” he said.

  She stared at his ring twinkling on her finger. Hardly daring to breathe, she said, “I’d rather hear three little words first.”

  “Oh, Frankie, I love you.”

  “I love you, too. I have for years and years. Maybe ever since the first grade.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Only I was scared.”

  “Me, too,’ he repeated. “Every bit as scared as you. Scared I wasn’t good enough, scared I couldn’t ever measure up to someone as classy as you.”