Issued to the Bride: One Soldier

by Cora Seton

  “I’m starting to get the idea that maybe Landon is more interested in the idea of being a movie producer than he’s actually interested in movies.” Alice hadn’t really put that together until she said it out loud, but how could a serious producer not know about The Passing Hour? “God, I hope I’m wrong.”

  “I hope so, too.” Wyoming patted her arm. “I’ll listen to everything he says, and when we’re done, I’ll give you my honest opinion of the situation, okay?”

  “Okay.” Alice appreciated it. Wyoming would tell her the unvarnished truth. “It’s just… I haven’t seen an opportunity like this before, and who knows if one will come around again.”

  “I know it’s important to you. My coming with you will send a signal to Landon that you’re all business. I bet it will work out just fine.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  An hour later Alice knocked on Landon’s door, Wyoming close behind her, carrying the dresses. She’d instructed Wyoming to make a production out of helping, so Landon wouldn’t complain.

  She had a feeling he wouldn’t be pleased, though, which made her that much more grateful Wyoming had volunteered to come along. She was far more nervous than she cared to admit, still feeling that generalized sense of doom she’d been feeling for weeks, and something else was tugging at her. She had the sneaking suspicion Jack was… listening… again.

  She looked down at her purse, but before she could check it for bugs, the door opened.

  “Alice,” Landon said, but his welcoming smile quickly faded into a frown. “Who is this?”

  “This is Wyoming Smith, my assistant. Wyoming, take the dresses straight inside. Landon and I will follow shortly.”

  Wyoming nodded and brushed right past Landon into the room. Alice relaxed a little. She and Wyoming had agreed that once Wye was inside, she wouldn’t leave again until Alice was ready to go, too. Alice, carrying the requisite underthings for an 1860s ball gown, brushed past Landon, as well. “What a lovely room!”

  It really wasn’t. The Evergreen Motel was homey, if anything, but clean and well run. It probably didn’t stack up to Landon’s usual digs.

  “I’m so excited for you to see my creations. I hope you’ll agree they were worth the wait.” Alice also hoped she wasn’t overdoing this. Her heavy sense of dread was back. What if she failed? What if Landon, thwarted at trying to lure her to bed, simply sent her home?

  “I hope so, too,” Landon said tightly.

  “Let’s start with the lilac gown,” Alice commanded Wyoming, deciding not to engage in any more banter.

  Wyoming hung the other gowns over the back of the closet door, slipped the lilac one out of its cotton wrapper and off its hangar, and held it up against her body on display.

  “This gown, like all three of them, is patterned with exacting correctness to authentic ball gowns that have survived since the 1860s. Notice the neckline,” Alice began.

  “I can’t view it properly like this,” Landon interrupted. “The gown needs to be modeled.”

  “I… uh…” Alice turned to Wyoming, but Wye wasn’t even close to the proper measurements. “I’m sorry. You didn’t say. I don’t have a model—”

  “You can model it yourself. You look about the same size as Marlene Avarro. You can change in my bathroom if you’re shy.” Somehow Landon’s tone implied that only a prude would be shy enough to need to close a door while changing.

  “I can’t demonstrate the techniques I used if I’m wearing it,” Alice sputtered.

  “You can do a better job demonstrating what makes it special by wearing it than by talking about it.”

  Wyoming opened her mouth, and Alice knew she was about to tell Landon off. Alice took the lilac gown out of her hands before she could do so. “Wye? I need your help.” She jerked her head toward the bathroom, and Wye followed her inside—and locked the door behind them.

  “Why are you doing this?” Wye whispered as Alice stripped and pulled on the 1860s-style corset.

  “Because I have to.” She presented her back, and Wye did her best to do up the ties. When she was done, she helped Alice step into the wide hoopskirt and laced that up, too.

  “Landon’s creepy.”

  She was right, but Alice had come this far. She couldn’t simply leave now.

  Wye lifted the heavy lilac gown over Alice’s head and helped her with the fastenings when she got it on. It took a bunch of fussing to get it right—and the gown was still far too long for Alice.

  “Ready?” Wye said when they were done.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Her stomach was fluttery when Wye opened the bathroom door and preceded her out. Landon was sitting on the bed. He watched Alice’s progress dispassionately as she pushed in the sides of her hoopskirt with her hands in order to make it through the bathroom door, then let the skirt plump out again.

  Alice squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to let Landon get to her. She was an expert at what she did, and she deserved respect.

  “This gown is modeled after a dress currently displayed in the Smithsonian museum,” Alice began, and she was off and running. Landon listened carefully and allowed her to go through the whole description she’d practiced ahead of time, his expression unchanging. Several times she thought his gaze rested on her décolletage, which the gown rendered ample and exposed.

  Alice kept going. If she was honest, she’d expected nothing but praise from him, despite the little tiffs they’d had so far. She considered this gown some of her best work. All hand-stitched, historically accurate—and beautiful, if she did say so herself—it deserved a standing ovation.

  Not this—silence.

  When she’d finished, she must have fidgeted, because Landon straightened. “It’s quite… lovely,” he said, as if it wasn’t really beautiful at all. Was his gaze resting on her cleavage again? “It needs alterations, of course.”

  “Of… course,” Alice managed. Alterations? Where? The way he kept focusing on her chest made it seem like he was implying the problem might be with her body rather than the gown.

  “Something’s off.” Landon pointed at the bodice—and her breasts. “I’m not entirely sure what.” He let the statement hang, all the while considering her. Alice stiffened, and despite herself, her cheeks grew hot. Wye stood equally rigid nearby, her face a study of anger and indecision.

  “Maybe it’s the lace,” Landon said slowly. “Something’s wrong in that area,” he added, drawing a circle in the air that indicated her bosom.

  Alice fought to keep her voice steady. “It was difficult to locate this lace—”

  “And the sleeves. I don’t know… there’s something unattractive and overdone about them.”

  Alice gazed down at the sleeves. She loved the little puffed sleeves, but… maybe he was right. Maybe they weren’t quite the thing—

  Or maybe it was her. Was she overdone? She’d put makeup on before coming to see him—a touch more than usual, but not that much—

  He caught her expression. “Hey, Alice, you’re doing great for an amateur. I don’t expect your first attempt to be on par with one of the pros. You just need to try a little harder. Get in my head. See what I see. I mean, I know you aren’t psychic or anything—”

  Wyoming snorted. She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry.”

  Landon sent her a curious look. His sudden grin made Alice relax, just a bit. Maybe she was being oversensitive. Maybe he had been looking at the dresses—not her body, or her face. Had she been reading him all wrong?

  “Alice, you don’t think you’re psychic, do you?” he teased. “That would be just a little too small-town gothic for me.”

  Irritation flared within her again. She was getting sick of him treating her like a dilettante when she was anything but—as a seamstress or a psychic.

  “I am psychic,” she said matter-of-factly before she could think better of it. “I get hunches. They’re often accurate. But that’s something I only share with family and close friends.”


  Landon studied her for a long moment, then chuckled. “You know, I actually heard a rumor in town about that, but I never guessed you’d make a claim to it. That’s a handy talent. You should tell me who’s going to win the football game tonight.”

  “The Raiders.” Hell. Alice stilled. She shouldn’t have said that. Why had Landon been talking about her in town? What had people said? This had all gone too far. “Wyoming? Help me change. We’ll show Landon the peach gown now.”

  Wyoming entered the bathroom with her again.

  “He’s an idiot,” she hissed. “Why’s he cutting you down like that? The gown is gorgeous, and so are you.”

  Alice wasn’t so sure of that, and the peach gown, which was exquisite if she did say so herself, wasn’t a color that suited her. Back outside in the room, her fears were confirmed. While Landon kept nodding as she explained the details, it was plain he didn’t like what he saw.

  “That isn’t quite right either. I need something showstopping. No man would look twice at you in that dress, Alice,” Landon said. Wyoming opened her mouth. Alice rushed to intercede.

  “Marlene has much darker coloring than I do. It will look spectacular on her,” she asserted.

  “Maybe. But it leaves a lot to be desired. It’s dowdy. There’s no spark—no sexual promise. You look like someone’s aunt. I want you to be a bombshell.”

  “I won’t be wearing the dress,” she reminded him.

  Landon frowned. “You’re wearing it now.”

  “Wyoming? Let’s do the blue one.”

  Alice’s hands were shaking by the time Wye closed the bathroom door behind them and she tried to get out of the gown. Wye took over.

  “Don’t you listen to a word he says. He’s read that book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one that teaches men how to control women by criticizing them. I saw a show about it once.”

  “Does that work?” Alice raised her arms and let Wye pull the gown up and over her head, then replace it with the light blue one.

  “Look at you—you’re playing dress up for him in his motel room, and you’re practically in tears. Alice Reed, you are the most beautiful woman anyone in Chance Creek has ever seen. The most talented, too. Everyone knows you’re going places—and he’s making you feel like shit.”

  “Chance Creek’s a small town. Landon’s used to city girls.”

  “City girls aren’t any prettier—and they’re definitely not better at designing costumes.” Wyoming finished doing her up and turned her around. Placing her hands on Alice’s shoulders, she gave her a little shake. “Snap out of it. You put this asshole in his place. No job is worth this. You go out there, show him what you can do and make it crystal clear who’s in charge. You hear me?”

  Alice straightened her shoulders. Thank God for Wye. “You’re right, and I hear you.”

  This time she was ready for Landon’s brutal comments, but they still hurt more than she wanted to admit. After nitpicking the cut, the drape and every other design choice she’d made for the gown, he finished by saying, “Come on, Alice. That dress is straight out of central casting for a ’40s musical. These simply aren’t good enough.”

  “Then I’ll take them home—” She turned away.

  “Let me finish. They’re close enough I want to give you another chance. You can sew, Alice, I’ll grant you that.”

  Alice gripped her hands together to hide that they were shaking. Of course she could sew.

  “When I come back, I want to see these gowns fixed.”

  “When you come back?” she repeated.

  “I’ve got to catch a plane tonight.”

  “You said you would stay a few days.” She was merely pointing out the way his story kept changing, but she realized after she’d said it how weak it sounded. Like she was begging him to change his mind.

  “Don’t worry—I won’t desert you. I’ll give you five days. If you’ve made the changes I’ve asked for, we’ll talk more. Can you do that?”

  “Of course.”

  Wye huffed out a sigh, but Alice knew she had to give this another chance. Landon was an ass, but he was an ass who was producing one of the biggest period dramas of the decade. Wyoming’s expression was thunderous as they withdrew into the bathroom and she helped Alice undress a third time, but Alice had gotten her mojo back. Now that she knew what Landon was looking for, she could do better.

  When they emerged again, Landon stepped in Alice’s way.

  “Hold on a moment. I planned for us to go to dinner tonight. I’ll drive. She can take the dresses home.” He nodded at Wye.

  “I’m sorry; I have a prior engagement,” Alice said loftily. “Have a safe trip.”

  “Break your prior engagement,” Landon demanded.

  “With my father? The man with a thirty-year career in the Army who was just injured in a missile attack? I don’t think so.”

  There was that pinched look again. “Of course. Next time.”

  “Glad to see you home,” Jack told Alice when she and Wyoming finally returned. As soon as he and Emerson had seen them safely get into Alice’s truck at the motel, he’d gunned the engine and driven home as fast as he could, so that now it would look like he’d been there all along. He was still fuming about the way Landon had spoken to Alice. He’d known guys like that—men who used psychological tricks to manipulate women. He’d been ready to storm the motel door, but Alice had rallied. He’d nearly cheered when she’d walked out on Landon.

  But she was still trying to get the contract. He was sure that was a mistake.

  “Glad to be here.” She looked over her shoulder at Wyoming. “Thank you so much for coming along. You were a lifesaver.”

  “Any time.” Wyoming had lectured her all the way home about never being alone with Landon. Alice assured her she had no intention of ever doing such a thing.

  “Why was she a lifesaver?” Jack asked. As if he didn’t know.

  “None of your business,” she said tartly. “Even though you seem to think it is.”

  “All I want is to keep you safe.”

  “From Landon? He couldn’t hurt a fly.” Alice waved off that idea.

  “Yes, he could.” Jack wasn’t going to let her get away with that. “He could hurt you if he wanted to.”

  “But that’s not what he wants.” Alice looked away. “He’s been hitting on me, okay? That’s why I brought Wyoming with me.”

  Wyoming raised an eyebrow at Jack, as if daring him to admit he’d asked her to go. Jack wasn’t going to do that, though.

  “Next time you should bring me.”

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “Next time? How did you know there’d be a next time? You haven’t even asked me if I landed the contract. Because you know I didn’t. You were listening again, weren’t you?” Alice pulled open her handbag, searched inside it and pulled out one of his bugs. She dropped it on the floor and squashed it. Jack winced. Those were expensive. “You’re as bad as the General, you know that?” she added, heading for the stairs. A moment later they heard her door slam.

  “If she’d spotted my wire, do you think she would have crushed me like a bug, too?” Wye asked Jack.

  “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you want. I heard how he was talking to Alice.”

  “You’re right,” Wye said, becoming serious. “I’m glad I was there. If I hadn’t been, he would have applied a lot more pressure to get her into bed with him.”

  “Thanks for everything you did.”

  “Any time. I’m going to go get changed.” Halfway to the door, she paused. “These Reed women. They’re so strong and so… hurt… at the same time. A person looking to do damage can really get to them.”

  “I don’t want to hurt Alice,” Jack said. That’s what she was asking, wasn’t it?

  “Just make sure you don’t do it accidentally.”

  She went upstairs, too, leaving Jack to think over her words. Hours later, when Jack went to bed, he lay awake and listened for a knock tha
t never came.

  When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he got up, pulled his sweatpants on and went to Alice’s door.

  It was locked.

  Alice was still out of sorts when Cass found her in the kitchen very early the next morning. It was still dark out, and she didn’t think anyone else was up, but she hadn’t slept well. Up on her perch on top of the refrigerator, Alice knew she should be getting on with her day. After all, she had three costumes to fix. She couldn’t seem to calm down, though.

  She couldn’t say what made her angrier, Landon’s attempts to cut her down, or Jack’s continued attempts to surveil her entire life. When Tabitha meowed, Alice pet her. Things were so much simpler for cats.

  “What’s wrong?” Cass asked.

  “Men are driving me crazy.”

  Cass chuckled as she began to pull breakfast fixings out of the refrigerator. “Maybe that’s only fair. I think you’ve driven a fair number of them crazy over the years.”

  Alice made a face. “You know what I mean. Jack’s as bad as the General, following me around, listening in on my conversations, telling me who I should be hanging out with.”

  Cass’s eyebrows shot up. “When did the General ever do any of that? Maybe if he’d been here waiting at the door for us the way Jack was waiting for you last night, things wouldn’t have been so hard.”

  “Jack isn’t my father.” But Alice knew what Cass meant, and she was right; there’d been times it would have been nice to have someone around who cared like that. That didn’t give Jack the right to pry, though. “He’s been bugging my purse.”

  Cass blinked. “Bugging your purse?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “That’s not okay.”

  “Exactly.”

  Her sister let out a breath. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t taking you seriously. It’s just… as much as the General has always driven me crazy, too, the men he’s sent have worked out pretty well. I just figured…”

  “Maybe five out of five is too much to ask from a man who knows nothing about us.” She didn’t want to spend a lifetime with a man who didn’t trust her to take care of herself—or believe what she told him. “Jack’s as bad as Howie.”