Prairie Heat (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #1)

by Tessa Layne

  Oh mercy, the temperature on the porch must be a hundred and rising.

  “Millie, Gloria,” Dottie called. “Help me bring out the bacon and biscuits.” The women disappeared inside, and Maddie moved to refill her glass.

  “Martha?” She raised the bottle.

  Martha nodded and held out her glass. “I hope this is okay, Maddie Jane. You’re the first one of our daughters to get married. We wanted to do something.”

  She pulled her aunt into a hug. “I’m completely mortified, but honored you consider me one of your daughters.” Tears pricked her eyes as soon as the words left her mouth. Her mother had died when she was so young, that the grief only surfaced occasionally. It was more of a constant dull ache in the recesses of her soul.

  Martha hugged her tight. “You are, sweetheart. You always will be. And my advice? Do whatever you can to keep the sex as hot as you can for as long as you can. My secret for a long and happy marriage.”

  “I did not want to know that.”

  She chuckled. “I know honey. But you need to know it.”

  The screen door burst open and the women brought a country feast to the table, complete with biscuits, bacon, hash browns and eggs.

  “Sit, sit.” Dottie ordered. “You’re queen for a day, Maddie Jane.”

  “Don’t you mean Bridezilla?”

  The women laughed. “You’re the furthest thing there is from a Bridezilla, sweetie pie.” Martha assured her.

  Maddie took a biscuit and passed the bowl.

  “So when’s Blake getting you a ring?” Dottie eyed her left hand.

  “He’s got it under control.” The lie slipped easily off her tongue. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Blake always had things under control. Living with him for a week had taught her that he was steady under pressure and kind to his brothers. Solid. Just like Martha said.

  Gloria chimed in. “Wasn’t he supposed to do that first?”

  She shrugged. “Blake doesn’t stand on ceremony, and frankly, neither do I.”

  “A match made in heaven, then.” Gloria beamed her approval.

  “Now how did you two meet again?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  They’d never confirmed a story.

  Not even once.

  “I work at Fermilab in Chicago. They keep a bison herd, and Blake consults with the wranglers.”

  That was the truth. Just so long as they didn’t ask for juicy details, she was okay.

  “Ooh, see? It was meant to be,” cooed Dottie.

  “Fate brought you together,” added Millie.

  Dottie stood to clear the dishes. “Ready for cake? I made three kinds for you to taste, I’ll make whatever you like.”

  “Umm, shouldn’t Blake be here?”

  Martha rolled her eyes. “Oh sweetie. Learn this now. I guarantee you, that man is more interested in you than cake. He won’t care.”

  She didn’t really care either. This whole morning had been an exercise in futility on their part, and once it came out they weren’t marrying, she wouldn’t be able to show her face in town for a long time, if ever. Visions of herself as an old lady living in a cold apartment surrounded by cats, floated in her eyes.

  Dottie cut three narrow slices and placed them in front of her. “Left to right, my great grandmother’s vanilla-rose cake, chocolate with chocolate, and lemon pound cake.”

  She speared a fork into the first one. The cake was light and fluffy with a hint of vanilla and the scent of rose. Jamey would like this one. The others were equally delicious. Shaking her head, she put down her fork.

  “Dottie, why not do all three? Nothing fancy. A layer of each. Or whatever you prefer. People will love any of these.”

  “Of course, dear. Whatever you think.”

  Too late, she realized she hadn’t delivered proper praise. “They’re delicious, Dottie. I love them all and can’t decide.”

  Plastering on the smile again, she took another bite of the rose. No doubt about it, Dottie was a master baker. Too bad she’d be the only one to appreciate her efforts in wedding cake. A pang snaked through her, settling in her chest. She’d never fantasized about being married. When other little girls were playing bride, she rode horses and watched the stars until dawn. She’d never fantasized about a boyfriend, or what it would be like to kiss, or even fuck. Of course now she fantasized about Blake every 7.3 minutes, but she’d already established that he turned her into an irrational, nonfunctioning blob of feelings.

  She was so screwed.

  Dottie opened the last bottle of champagne and passed it around. In spite of the irony, Maddie had enjoyed herself this morning. She’d seen a side of these women who’d been a constant in her life that she never believed possible. The champagne wasn’t awful, and the morning had taken her mind off her dad. A win all around.

  “Thank you so much for this. I’m very touched. You’ve made being home… nice. Really nice.”

  Dottie’s eyes filled with warmth, and leaned over enveloping her in a huge hug. “Oh sweetie pie. I know you had a hard time as a kid, but you know we love you to pieces, right? We’re all so proud of you.”

  A little broken piece shifted back into place inside her. Dottie echoed what her father had been telling her for a long time. Maybe now she could believe it?

  “We’re not quite finished, Maddie Jane.” Martha patted her arm with a twinkle in her eye. “We’re waiting for one more person.”

  As if on cue, a beat up old pick-up turned into the Grace drive. She didn’t recognize the truck, but she’d been gone so long, that didn’t mean much.

  Another young woman hopped out of the cab, with a basket thrown over her arm.

  “Emmaline’s here.” Gloria clapped her hands.

  “Emmaline?”

  “Yes. Her family moved here after you went to college. She’s the best seamstress west of Kansas City. Makes me a new Easter dress every year.”

  Warning bells started ringing again.

  Oh no.

  A seamstress could only mean one thing.

  Two hands covered her eyes. Millie’s? Or Gloria’s?

  “Ladies? What’s going on?” She wasn’t sure she could handle any more surprises today.

  “Come with us Maddie Jane, we have a surprise.” “Oooh we can’t wait.” “You’re going to love it.” “You’re gonna be so beautiful.” They all talked at once as they helped her out of her chair, and slowly moved her into the house.

  They walked her through the living room, up the stairs in the center of the house. Whose room were they taking her to? Cassidy’s was second on the left, Lydia and Lexi’s, second on the right. Caro’s was third on the left. They kept moving down the hall. To the end. Of course. The master bedroom. They were taking her to Dottie’s room. Why?

  They marched her to the center of the room. Unless Dottie’d moved it, she was standing in front of a full length mirror.

  “Ready sweetheart?” Martha’s voice caught.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  The hands were removed and in front of the mirror hung a satiny white dress with a long vee neck, long sleeves that puffed just slightly at the shoulder, a tiny waist and a skirt cut on the bias.

  She gasped. She’d never seen it in person, but recalled it from pictures.

  Martha clasped her. “What do you think?”

  “It’s stunning.”

  She’d never fantasized about a wedding dress, but if she had, this would be it. She took off her glasses, wiping the finger prints off, and replaced them, so she could inspect it more closely.

  “Do you recognize it honey?”

  “Yeah….. This was great-grannie Minerva’s wedding dress.”

  The lines were simple. Efficient. Graceful. In short, it was perfect.

  “I told you the story?”

  “Yes. When I told you I wanted to apply to MIT. You said she’d been at Bletchley Park when she was nineteen. And that she’d been sworn to secrecy.”

  Martha repeated the story. “And that she�
��d met grandpa Ollie during the war. They fell in love in London, but it wasn’t until after the war she came to Prairie when your grandfather was a baby.”

  Tears pricked her eyes a second time. But not for joy or gratitude. This time, hot, sticky regret burned her eyes so she could barely see. She stopped a sob from leaking out. These women had showed her a possibility for her life she’d never imagined. And offered her the wedding dress of a smart, strong ancestor.

  She hadn’t thought about Minerva in years. Not since… not since she decided to quit romance. How had Minerva and Ollie made things work? In an age when women had few options? They’d died before she was born, but Auntie M always lit up with love the few times she mentioned Minerva and Ollie.

  Was Blake the type of man who could stand next to her? Not shy away from her career goals? Longing pierced her heart, making her catch her breath. The loneliness of the last twelve years pressed down on her. She’d toughened up after Marcus. She’d had to because it was her only option for survival. For moving forward. Returning to Prairie simply hadn’t been an option.

  A hard knot formed in her throat. If she’d organized her life differently, maybe she could have the fairy tale and the happily ever after, but that was not her story. Her story and her future lay in the study of stars and little else. The bitter reality of it all tore her up.

  Emmaline knocked on the door. “Mind if I step in?”

  The ladies cleared a path for her.

  The young woman held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Emmaline. This is a lovely dress. Are you ready to try it on?” She surveyed the older women. “I’ve made dresses for some of you, but rest assured, on a restoration piece like this, I take the utmost care, and I make as few cuts as possible.” She turned her gaze to Martha. “Are there any other women who might want to wear this?”

  Martha nodded.

  “Tell me about them.”

  “Well, Hope is a few years younger than Maddie Jane, but a little bit taller, and a little bit more… willowy.”

  “Okay… so how much taller?”

  Maddie knew, because the last time she’d seen Hope they’d teased about this. “She’s five feet nine inches, but she’s leaner than I am.”

  “Great.” Emmaline searched in her basket for a piece of marking chalk. “I promise anything I do to the dress will ensure you’ll be able to use it again if you choose.”

  The women nodded expectantly.

  “Ms. Hansen–”

  “Please. Call me Maddie.” She liked this young woman. And the respect for history she brought to her work.

  “Fine. Let’s put it on, and I’ll see how it fits.

  Martha removed the dress from the hanger, and ushered her toward the old fashioned changing screen in the corner.

  Inside, she quickly doffed her clothing and slid the silky satin over her head. When she couldn’t reach any more buttons, she stepped out. The collective gasp from the women told her everything she needed to know. She stepped in front of the mirror and stopped breathing.

  On top, the dress fit perfectly. It accentuated all her curves, and was simple enough to suit her. The only issue was the length. She was significantly shorter than her great-grandmother, and the bottom would have to be hemmed.

  Martha gathered her hair, and Dottie placed the ridiculous Bridezilla tiara back on her head, but even with the humor, the sentiment was obvious. She would be a lovely bride.

  If she only had a real groom.

  Anguish speared through her. Learning that her beloved research had been stolen had been heartbreaking, but it didn’t hold a candle to this. How could she lie to such earnest, loving, hopeful women? And stand here in a dress that belonged to the woman who, if she’d been living, might have been the sole person who understood her? God, she was such a hypocrite. At least Hope stood a chance of actually wearing the wedding dress someday.

  Emmaline crouched at her feet, working at the hem.

  “Don’t… don’t cut the material. I want Hope to wear this too.”

  Emmaline nodded and continued her pinning. In a few moments, she had finished her adjustments. But instead of turning up the bottom, she’d added ruching at the sides to maintain the integrity of the hemline.

  The end result was spectacular. A vintage dress that perfectly enhanced her curves. For a suspended moment, Maddie felt the presence of the woman who’d worn the dress. The brilliant mind that through some twist of dimensions was a kindred spirit to her own. Goosebumps skittered down her body and words raced through her head. I won’t let you down. I won’t let you down. I won’t let you down.

  CHAPTER 18

  Maddie’s stomach flip-flopped as Blake pulled his truck into the Trading Post parking lot. She had a bad feeling about this. As the town’s only hang-out with a dance floor, the Trading Post was always crowded with locals. And while she knew things were different, childhood insecurities pounded at her.

  Blake’s hand on the small of her back propelled her forward into the din, setting off a chain reaction in her body that left her frustrated and on edge. She suspected the same for Blake. Each morning, he’d been grumpier than the last.

  “You’ll be fine, Maddie. You can’t hide on the ranch forever.”

  “One person in my brain is enough, thank you.”

  He snorted and led her to a table in the corner.

  It was loud inside, so she slid in close. Blake turned, his lips grazing her temple. Her pulse rocketed. Of course he had to go and wear the delicious spicy aftershave he’d worn in Chicago. The scent alone melted her panties.

  “Irish Whiskey?” He quirked a smile and signaled for a server without taking his eyes off her. His eyes held a challenge. Would she take it? Was she game?

  “Two Irish whiskeys,” Blake asked when the server arrived.

  “No scotch?” This was a surprise.

  “Not tonight.”

  He leaned in, his lips brushing hers in the barest of kisses. Her lips tingled where they’d touched his and a bolt of lightning zipped straight through her. At this rate, her panties would be drenched in… about thirty-five seconds. That’s what she got for sleeping next to him for more than a week, but not touching him. The lightest kiss and she was ready to jump him in public.

  “Well, well, isn’t that sweet?”

  Disdain dripped out of Kylee Ross’s mouth. Why hadn’t Blake mentioned she worked here? She turned and speared him with a look. “Could you have at least warned me?”

  His eyes widened.

  “Do you not know anything about women?”

  “Oh he knows plenty about women. I’ll be happy to tell you how much,” Kylee interjected, her meaning quite clear.

  A stab of jealousy rocketed through Maddie. Hot jealousy so intense, that for a moment she wanted to rip Kylee’s face off.

  Huh. The strength of her reaction surprised her. There wasn’t time to analyze her feelings now. It was time to shake off Kylee Ross once and for all.

  She straightened her glasses and sat a little taller in the booth. She was engaged to Blake for a little while longer. And no one, especially Kylee, was going to slam Blake that way.

  Maddie put on her frostiest smile. “I already know everything.” She lied boldly, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. She might not know yet, but she would. Most definitely.

  Blake shifted, suddenly interested in the neon sign across the room.

  Good. He damned well better be uncomfortable. “And, for the record, Blake and I have no secrets. So if you can’t handle bringing us our drinks, I suggest you send over another server.”

  Suck it, bitch.

  Kylee’s jaw opened and snapped shut.

  Before she lost her nerve, Maddie pulled Blake’s face toward hers and kissed him. Hard. She opened her mouth and flicked his lips with her tongue, practically groaning when he immediately opened, and his hand tightened on her shoulder. Their tongues slid together, but he let her control the kiss. Something that turned her insides into an inferno. Somewhere i
n the back of her brain, she registered a catcall, and reluctantly she pulled away. Kylee was gone.

  Blake’s low chuckle washed over her.

  “Impressive, Maddie.”

  She pushed her glasses back into place and glared at him, hot as hell and fire still in her belly. “So. You want to tell me all about Kylee Ross now or later?”

  He shifted again and looked at his hands. He was hiding something and she was going to make him squirm.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Really? The evidence says otherwise.”

  He shrugged, suddenly interested in a dent on the table. “You know small towns. Old history. No big deal.”

  “Well, it seems like it is to her.”

  “That’s not my problem.” He shifted again in his seat, looking around the bar.

  She would not be jealous. Blake Sinclaire was not worth the emotional energy jealousy took. Was he? God. The realization hit her. They’d probably dated. She had no right to be irritated that Blake had an ex in town. It wasn’t like he was celibate his whole life. He probably had more than one. The thought twisted in her belly. It was her own fault she wasn’t more experienced. She usually scared men off as soon as the small talk ended and they realized she was smarter than they were.

  A different server returned with their drinks. Younger and cuter than Kylee, and her eyes raked over Blake as she placed the drinks on the table.

  “Here you are,” she said cheerfully, bending over just a little bit too long.

  Blake tried valiantly not to look at the cleavage on display. She’d give him that. But she entwined his hand in her own as she gave the girl her fiercest look. The girl blushed and scooted away.

  She grabbed the whiskey and took a big gulp, allowing the burn to diffuse the anger that still roared inside her. Blake reached for her left hand.

  “I should get you a ring.”

  Her heart pounded in her chest, and she pushed at her glasses. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does.”

  She would not cave. She would not cave. “Don’t change the subject, cowboy. You’re still avoiding answering me.”