by Merry Farmer
She let out a shaky laugh as the fire within her slowly rose to an inferno. One glance at the clock on the room’s mantelpiece told her there wasn’t any time for fooling around, but she ground her backside against his erection anyhow.
Travis responded with a sharp intake of breath. “I love how proud and how bold you are,” he went on rolling her nipple under his thumb until it was pert and aching. “And I love how, no matter what happens, today or tomorrow or next week, I know that you’ll fight for what you want.”
The noise she made in answer was far more wanton than she’d intended, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached back until her hand spread across his thigh and hip. He jerked against her at the touch, tense as a tiger.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Everything else is extra.”
He inched forward, steering her toward one of the wingback chairs on either side of the fireplace. “No, it shouldn’t be extra,” he murmured against her ear, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “You deserve it all—your shop, a house, a family—and I won’t rest until it’s all yours.”
He maneuvered her right to the chair, tipping her forward just enough for her to get an idea of what he planned to do. She drew in a breath, her heart raced, and the part of her that ached for him throbbed with need. And yet, her mind was wrenched in two different directions.
“Bonneville,” she managed. “His contract.”
“Ssh.” It was both a comfort and a command. “He can’t touch us.”
As he finished, he gripped her hips and lifted. Sensing what he wanted, she raised her knees to the chair’s arms and gripped the back. The position spread her hips, keeping her at just the right height for Travis to—
“Oh!” She gasped and shuddered as he thrust up and sheathed himself inside of her, more creative than she could have imagined. He kept his grip firm on her hips and guided her down to take him more deeply. So deep, in fact, that in an instant, her already heated body was near the edge.
“I love you because I love you,” he whispered as he set a furious rhythm.
It didn’t matter that his words were next to nonsense. She responded, body and soul, fingers digging into the plush of the chair as his thrusts increased. Somehow he managed to cheat a hand along the front of her hip, his fingers slid between her curls, brushing the tight heat of her clitoris.
Wendy let out a mewl of urgent pleasure. She let go of the chair with one hand, grasping his hand and pressing it into her. It was brazen. She felt wicked in the best possible way doing it. Her heavy breasts jumped with his thrusts, and she caught herself crying out and grinding harder against his hand as his thrusts claimed her. Then all at once, she came apart, gasping with pleasure as her body sang for joy. Travis followed, crying out at his own release a moment later.
A moment later, the two of them slumped together into the chair, limp and spent, sweating, but more alive than Wendy ever thought she’d be. The trickling sensation down her thigh as he withdrew only underscored how much they had shared in their sudden moment of passion. She arched back against him as they stood. Still panting, Travis circled his arms around her, one hand claiming a breast, the other inching down to cover her mound. Mad as she was, she still wanted more.
At least until her half-closed eyes settled on the clock.
“Good heavens,” she panted for an entirely different reason. “It’s ten ’til eight.”
“What?” Travis’s question was low and hazy.
“We’re supposed to be downstairs in ten minutes to fit and finish the dresses.”
Somehow, she managed to pull herself out of her husband’s arms and race to the washbowl and pitcher on the table in the corner. Her legs felt like rubber as she splashed water into the bowl and set about frantically washing up.
“Ten minutes?” Travis joined her at the wash table, his mind only just catching up.
All of Wendy’s panic turned to laughter as she glanced sideways and saw his beet-red face. “We’re in a fine state,” she managed, running the damp rag across her overheated body.
“You can say that again.” Travis met her eyes with a good amount of horror, then burst into laughter himself.
By some miracle, they managed to clean themselves up enough to be presentable, and to dress in Sunday clothes. By eight-fifteen, they were rushing down the hotel’s main staircase, hand in hand. The ballroom doors were already open, and a small crowd waited around Wendy’s table.
“There you are.” Estelle Tremaine, breathed out a sigh of relief as Wendy and Travis hurried over to the rack of dresses. “Whatever kept the two of you upstairs for so long?”
Wendy exchanged a guilty glance with Travis. His face was still bright red, and she was certain hers wasn’t any better.
“Overslept.” Travis gave their excuse, then crossed behind Wendy, disappearing on the other side of the rack of dresses where he could hide.
“Mmm hmm.” Estelle crossed her arms and grinned at Wendy. Katie Murphy, Olivia Garrett, and Lucy Faraday—also waiting for their dresses—gave her the same sort of look.
“We were newlyweds once too,” Lucy said.
“But never mind that,” Katie cut her off. “I want to try on my dress.”
The next hour was a flurry of activity—far too much for Wendy to keep the scandalous things she and Travis had done not more than half an hour before in her mind.
“It’s too tight,” Mrs. Kline lamented at the other side of the room.
“It is not.” Melinda argued with her. “You’ve just been eating too many of those bonbons your husband sells.”
“Why, I never,” Mrs. Kline balked.
“Oh, really?” Melinda sassed her.
“This hem is a bit uneven,” Mrs. Plover said.
Wendy spared enough of a glance to see that, yes, the left side of the dress Melinda had made for Mrs. Plover was a good six inches higher than the right side.
“That’s Honoria’s fault,” Melinda snapped. “My design was flawless.”
“I didn’t sew Mrs. Plover’s hem,” Honoria said, almost too quiet for Wendy to hear as she repined a bit of lace on Estelle’s gown.
“Shut up, Honoria!” Melinda shouted.
Wendy’s heart went out to Honoria, but there wasn’t time for much more than that. “A few stitches right here and this lace will lay perfectly,” she smiled at Estelle.
“It’s beautiful,” Estelle sighed. “And it fits me like a glove.”
“Well done, Wendy,” Lucy said.
“Well done, Travis,” Wendy corrected her. “He sewed almost all of the seams on Estelle’s dress.”
The ladies hummed their surprise and approval.
“Good job,” Lucy congratulated Travis, who was still trying to hide behind the table while Wendy finished with details.
“Anything I could do to help my wife,” Travis replied.
“So I suppose you’ll be looking for a job in her dress shop now,” Lucy went on. “Considering Rex Bonneville’s gone and hired Billy Reeder for that job we all thought you were going to take.”
Wendy poked herself with the needle as she sewed Estelle’s lace. “What?” She jerked her head up from her work.
Across the table, Travis’s eyes had gone round and his jaw had hardened.
Lucy blushed and slapped a hand to her mouth. A moment later, she pulled it away. “Didn’t you know?”
“Know what?” Travis asked.
“That Bonneville threw you over and gave your job to Billy on Friday,” Katie said. “Everyone in town knows.”
“I’ve been busy.” Travis ran a hand through his hair.
Wendy finished with Estelle’s lace, clipped the tail of the thread, then turned to Travis. “It’s all right. We’ll figure something out. We’ll—”
“Ladies.” Mr. Gunn strode into the ballroom clapping their hands to get everyone’s attention. “Mrs. Montrose, Miss Bonneville, please put your needles down. Time is up.”
Time was up. Travis had never been so sure of
anything in his life. His job with Bonneville was gone. His job with Howard too. There he was, jobless with a wife to support, living in a hotel. He could have punched himself in the face…or maybe a little lower. For the last few days, all he could think about was how beautiful and talented and passionate his wife was. All he wanted to do when they weren’t working side-by-side to achieve her dreams was slip around between the sheets with her. But his blind desire and his good intentions had ruined him.
“It will be all right,” Wendy insisted, taking his arm and marching him out of the ballroom along with the parade of ladies in their new dresses.
“I’ve let you down,” he muttered, furious with himself. “That will never be all right.”
Wendy tugged him to a stop. Everyone else swept ahead, chattering at they left the hotel.
“Travis, you are the only person I know who has never let me down.”
He shook his head, neck stiff. “I let a good job slip through my fingers. Two good jobs. How am I supposed to uphold my wedding vows to protect and provide for you now?”
“I don’t recall protecting and providing being explicitly your responsibility in those vows.” She swayed toward him, going on before he could argue. “You have done more to love, honor, and cherish me than anyone ever has. You supported my dream when most men would have demanded I give up sewing to keep house for them. You made that booth for me and you picked up a needle and sewed for me.”
The gnawing frustration in Travis’s gut subsided a little. “I did.” He breathed out a sigh. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we have no place to live.”
Much to Travis’s surprise, a grin of triumph spread across Wendy’s full lips. “At least we won’t have to worry about where to make our nest.”
“What?”
Her smile widened, and she clasped his hand. “Travis, I’ve been so worried about how we could blend our two lives together. I’ve been beside myself figuring how you could do your ranching work and I could do my seamstress work at the same time.”
“It’s still a problem. The only work I know how to do around here is ranching. I could look for a position with someone other than Howard or Bonneville, but it would probably involve moving.” The more he thought about it, the sicker his stomach felt. “And Bonneville has probably put the word out to his friends not to hire me.”
Wendy shook her head and squeezed his hand harder. “There is so much more that you can do, Travis Montrose. We may not know what will happen for us tomorrow,” she raced on before he could interrupt, “but neither can we rule out that this newfound freedom might be exactly what we need to find a solution that works for both of us.”
He wanted so desperately to believe her. His chest squeezed tight, and his heart ached for her to be right. In spite of the pain of uncertainty, Travis smiled.
“You’re so much stronger than me, you know that?”
Her grin flashed with mischief. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just had more twists of fate that have made my life better when I thought it would be worse. Like marrying you.”
He couldn’t argue with that. He let his shoulders relax, then leaned forward to kiss her, quickly but passionately. She was right. Nothing at all in the way they had come together or the way their relationship had progressed was expected. This was just one more twist in their road. He adjusted her hand in his and started for the hotel door.
“Let’s go win a competition, Mrs. Montrose, and then we’ll figure out what to do next.”
By the time they made it to the church, almost the entire town of Haskell was brimming with excitement. Knowing that not a soul would listen to his sermon without it, Rev. Pickering invited the ladies of Haskell to parade down the aisle, displaying their finery. Travis watched the show from his seat beside Wendy at the front of the church. The Bonnevilles usually took up the front pew on the right—which they saw as their due—and Howard and his family generally sat on the left, but that morning, Howard invited Wendy to sit in his place.
“Of course, I think that one is the best,” Melinda said in a stage whisper to Vivian as Mrs. Milligan made her way down the aisle, head held high, expression proud.
“No one would doubt it,” Vivian replied, her false whisper as good as a shout. “Ugh, what is that hideous thing?” she went on to say when Estelle reached the front of the church and turned to show off the dress Wendy had made.
“It’s…it’s…” Melinda worked her jaw and studied the dress, evidently failing to find an insult to hurl at it. “It’s such a stupid color,” she said at last.
“It’s lovely and sophisticated,” Honoria murmured.
“Shut up, Honoria,” Vivian and Melinda snapped in unison.
On the chancel, Rev. Pickering cleared his throat. “Ladies, if you please. That was a fine display of the beauty and talent that Our Father has granted to women. And now, if you will take your seats, today’s lesson will be about the devotion of women, as shown to us in the song of Miriam after the Children of Israel crossed the Red Sea.”
Travis squirmed in the pew as everyone returned to her seats. Several of Wendy’s clients stopped to squeeze her hand or wish her well, but once everyone was seated, all there was to do was wait. Wait and think. And however Travis tried to look at the situation, all he saw was uncertainty and failure. He had failed as a husband before he had much of a chance to be one.
“Stop fretting,” Wendy whispered to him as they stood to sing the final hymn. “You’re in church. You’d be better off praying.”
“I’m doing that too,” he murmured back to her.
She chuckled and shook her head, then launched into singing the hymn.
Through Travis’s worry, the thought struck him that, all in all, things could have turned out much worse. At least he had Wendy to stand beside him, even if the two of them had no idea where they were standing.
As soon as the hymn ended, the church burst into activity once again. Before the congregation could do more than stand, Theophilus Gunn marched down the aisle with the town’s wooden voting box and a thin stack of papers in hand. Howard met him at the front of the church, and together they turned to the expectant congregation.
“Ladies and…well, mostly ladies,” Howard began. “We have come to the moment of truth for Haskell’s first dressmaking competition.”
A spattering of applause turned into a full roar. People took their seats again and Howard went on.
“You all made such a lovely picture standing up here in your new finery, but now is the time to vote.”
“I have ballots—or rather, questionnaires—right here,” Mr. Gunn said, holding up the papers. “Each of these papers asks questions about the fit of your dresses, whether your seamstress accomplished the vision you had for it, and whether it is fully executed. Please score them on those items and sign your name to the bottom of the paper. Signatures will be verified,” he added, darting a glance to the Bonneville sisters, “to be sure that no false scoresheets are turned in.”
“I wasn’t planning to do that anyhow,” Melinda piped up, face red.
Howard cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Gunn will give you the scoresheets now. Fill them out, and bring them up here to the voting box.”
“Do they really need a box if each woman is required to sign their name to the scoresheet?” Wendy whispered.
Travis’s mouth twitched to a grin. “Howard likes to do things with as much drama as possible.”
Wendy snorted, then covered her face as she laughed. The sound warmed Travis, and he too smiled.
At least until he caught sight of Bonneville glaring at him across the aisle. There was no mistaking the disdain in the sour man’s expression. Even if Travis had wanted to talk to the man about changing his mind and hiring him, that one look said any effort to reconcile with him would be a complete loss. The look also convinced Travis he wouldn’t want to reconcile with the man anyhow. But that didn’t change the fact that he was now unemployed and soon to be broke.
“There we go
.” Howard clapped his hands together and rubbed them as Gunn finished handing out the scoresheets. “Now that that’s done, all we have to do now is wait.”
Chapter Eleven
The main auditorium of Haskell’s school echoed with excited chatter. As Travis and Wendy stepped into the room, they were not only greeted by the scent of fried chicken and fall vegetables from the potluck, they were met by the applause and admiration of friends.
“You’ve held your head up remarkably through this whole competition,” Estelle was first to say, hugging Wendy like a sister. “And I love my dress.”
“Me too,” Lucy rushed to add. “Whatever the results of the voting are—and I don’t believe for a moment that you’ll lose—I want you to make all of my clothes from now on. It’ll save me the time of making them myself.” She laughed at her joke.
“It’s no laughing matter,” Katie said, although she too laughed. “I don’t have time to fuss with sewing these days, not with all my little ones to chase after. And I may just need a few very special dresses before long too.” She pressed a hand to her abdomen.
The ladies all cooed and congratulated her. Travis kept his smile in place, but he didn’t know the first thing about the women’s world. Babies were—
He nearly choked as the realization hit him that, in all likelihood, he and Wendy would have babies to worry about in as little as a year’s time. How could he possible handle that with no idea what would happen next in his life? The happy conversation of the women began to blur into a jumble that left him gasping for breath.
“Son.” Travis jumped a mile when Howard Haskell came up behind him and slapped him on the back. “You look as though you’ve swallowed a horseshoe.”
“Uh…”
Travis was saved from explaining his panic as Wendy spun to face Howard.
“Mr. Haskell, come what may, I can’t thank you enough for hatching the idea of this contest,” she said. “It has truly been the fulfillment of a dream.”
Howard beamed, puffing his chest with pride. “A good competition can solve all sorts of ills, my dear.”