Chapter Five
“You want me to what?” Tara asked as she formed rolls from the bread dough she’d just punched down. The yeasty fragrance filled her nose and made her realize she’d yet to eat any lunch.
“Dress up like Scarlett O’Hara, just for an hour.” Ashley leaned against the counter opposite of Tara. “Would you do it, Tara? I know you love all things related to Gone With the Wind. Would you be willing to do it for our guests? I can have a costume here and get it fitted later today if you agree.”
Ashley gave her such a pleading look, Tara couldn’t say no. Especially not when the idea of getting to wear a Civil War era gown and pretending to be an iconic fictional character sounded like such fun.
“What about my work here?” Tara raised a dough-coated hand and glanced around the pastry area of the kitchen.
“Your assistants can handle things for a few hours. If you agree, I’ll let Stuart know. I’m sure he’d check on them in your absence.” Ashley sounded desperate and willing to do anything to make Tara agree.
“Can you give me a better idea of what you and the guests expect?” Tara worked quickly, filling pans with the artfully formed rolls.
“Last night when you came out to check on dessert after dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson commented how much you resembled their vision of Scarlett. At breakfast this morning, when you carried in the hot pastries, the Elsing family said something along the same lines. One thing led to another, and several of them asked if you’d be willing to portray Scarlett so they could visit with her for a little while.” Ashley picked a piece of imaginary lint from her muslin skirt. “All you’d have to do is wear the outfit and I’d have someone style your hair. If the weather cooperates, we’d sit out on the veranda tomorrow afternoon around three with refreshments. You could just answer whatever questions they asked. I know you are well versed in the book, the movie, and local history. I promise it would just be for an hour. Please?”
Tara considered the opportunity to actually step into the shoes of a woman she’d long admired and always wanted to emulate even if common sense and kindness prevented her from doing so. “Okay, I’ll do it, as long as it won’t leave Stuart short-handed.”
Ashley squealed with such zeal and high-pitched volume, it put Tara in mind of her mother. The woman gave her a brief hug, oblivious to the dough and flour Tara got all over her blouse in the process, and then stepped back with a broad smile. “I promise this will be fun for you, Tara.”
She smiled, trying to temper her own enthusiasm. “I’m sure it will be, Ashley. Thank you for thinking of me.”
That evening, since the weather was nice and the humidity had dropped off considerably, Tara took a book outside and went in search of a quiet spot to read. She stayed out of sight of the main house, wandering along a footpath to the building Ashley used as her design studio. The woman loved all sorts of creative endeavors and kept her supplies there. It also gave her a peaceful place to escape the busyness of the house when they had guests.
Tara wandered past it and stopped to study a vine she’d learned was called kudzu. It grew with abandon over the fence and around a nearby structure that served as a place to keep garden tools.
A rather unpleasant smell, one that carried an odor that put her in mind of rank cilantro, filled the air as she trailed her fingers over the vine. Concerned something may have crawled beneath the vine and died, she wrinkled her nose and noticed an army of bugs on the plant. Drab green with brown spots, the bugs looked like mutated ladybugs had rolled in something putrid and flattened out their backs a little in the process.
Another malodorous whiff defiled the breeze and she felt something tickle her foot. She glanced down and watched a steady stream of bugs crawl across her ballet flats. A shriek escaped her followed by a gasp. She engaged in a series of moves that might have earned her a place in a break dancing contest or, alternately, been mistaken for a poorly executed martial arts performance.
Male laughter drew her gaze to where Brett stood nearby with a stoop-shouldered older man.
“It appears you’ve discovered our kudzu bug problem,” the old man said, moving in a slow, rolling gait toward her. He carried a sprayer with him, but stopped long enough to hold out a hand to her in greeting. “I’m Sam. Been taking care of this garden for a long, long time.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sam.” Tara quickly shook his hand then looked down to make sure none of the bugs lingered on her feet.
Brett leaned down and flicked something off the leg of her jeans. “Perhaps you’d prefer to do a little evening reading somewhere that doesn’t smell quite so bad?”
“Definitely,” Tara said, smiling at Sam as she moved away with Brett. The old man was already busy spraying insecticide on the bugs. “It was nice to meet you, Sam.”
“Likewise, miss,” he called, not looking up from his work.
“Oh, gracious!” Tara buried her nose against her shoulder as the full stench of the bugs permeated the air.
“Come over here,” Brett said, taking her hand in his and leading her past a small pond full of fish to a bench beneath an old magnolia tree. The blossoms had recently opened and filled the air with their unique floral scent. “Better?” he asked as Tara took a seat on the bench.
“Much. Thank you.” She smiled as he sat beside her and leaned back. “It seems you are destined to continually come to my rescue.”
A contented sigh rolled up from his chest as he tipped back the black Stetson on his head and stretched out his long legs in front of him. “It’s a pleasure to rescue a damsel as pretty as you. I should warn you, though, to stay away from the kudzu. The bugs have been out of control this spring. Sam is doing his best to eradicate them, but some days it seems like a losing battle.”
“They look like an annoying life form from another planet,” she said, shuddering as she thought about them crawling all over her feet. She looked at her shoes to make sure no stray bugs had come along for a ride. As she leaned forward, she caught a trace of their horrible odor and wrinkled her nose again. “That smell is hideous!”
Brett stood and moved to the other side of the tree then returned with something on his palm. “Rub that on your shoes. It will help mask the smell until it wears off. At least you have on black shoes. Those bugs can stain stuff faster than you can blink.”
Tara took the mint leaves and rubbed them on her shoes and over the exposed skin of her bare feet. She held the crushed leaves up to her nose and breathed deeply, inhaling the scent. Despite the assault on her olfactory senses by the bugs, she couldn’t help but get a whiff of Brett, too. He smelled of horses and sunshine, and something deliciously rugged that had to be all him.
Seated just inches away from him made it easy to observe his profile undetected. A square jaw, strong chin, and straight nose with a slight tilt upward on the end fit her ideal of the perfect man. Not only was Brett Cutler incredibly handsome, he was kind and funny, caring and smart. He was also one hot hunk.
Tara had heard more than a few of the guests and staff commenting about the cutie who handled the horses. She couldn’t argue with them. Brett was someone who drew one or two — oh, who was she kidding — dozens of glances from women. It wasn’t just his handsome face or his broad shoulders and muscled chest. There was a zest for life in his step, an appealing confidence in the way he moved, and gentleness in his steel-blue eyes that didn’t just capture a woman’s attention, but held it.
However, in light of the fact she’d be heading back to Portland in a few weeks, she needed to curtail her own fascination with the good-looking cowboy and focus on the reason she was here in the first place.
Brett tapped the book she still held in her hand with his index finger. “What are you reading this evening?”
Tara held up the book so he could read the title.
His eyebrows lifted and he stared at her for a moment. “The Guide to Proper Southern Manners does not sound like an evening of fun or light reading. I’m pretty sure you have better manners than most people I’ve met or know, so why’d you choose that?”
“Thank you for your kind words, sir.” Tara tossed him a coy smile. “Ashley has requested my presence at a historical reenactment tomorrow afternoon, so I thought I better learn all I can before I inadvertently make a mockery of genteel society.”
Brett shook his head. “What, exactly, did she ask you to do?”
“Dress like Scarlett O’Hara and let the guests pelt me with questions for an hour. Evidently, a few of them think my dark hair and green eyes make me a perfect candidate to play the part.”
“Don’t forget the mischievous spark in those gorgeous eyes, or the vitality that oozes from you. More than anything, that’s what puts them in mind of the legendary Scarlett.” Brett leaned to the side, studying her. “If you don’t want to do it, you could tell Ashley no. She’d be okay with it.”
“I know I could have told her no, but I didn’t want to.” Tara released a nervous breath. “From the time I was old enough to take even a tenuous grasp on the concept of romance, I wanted to be Scarlett O’Hara. I wanted to wear the beautiful gowns and coquettishly charm all the boys, and say whatever was on my mind. Unfortunately, there’s not much call for hoop skirts at culinary school, most boys prefer a pretty girl to a goober, and speaking my mind isn’t something at which I excel. My mother instilled in me far too many rules about being polite.”
Brett chuckled and draped his arm across the back of the bench behind Tara. She relaxed against him, curious if the heat generated from his proximity might singe her blouse.
“Which one?” Brett asked, tipping back his head and closing his eyes.
“One what?” she questioned, confused.
“Which Scarlett dress are you going to wear? I’m trying to picture it. The infamous drapery dress, maybe? Hmm.” He opened one eye and rolled his head her way. “I think I’d vote for the barbecue dress. The one with all the ruffles…” his hand brushed across his collar bone then dipped further down to illustrate the design he had in mind “…that showed off her, um, assets.”
“There will be no assets on display, I assure you.” Tara glowered at him then couldn’t help but grin. “I will admit, though, that is my favorite dress. I’ve always wanted to wear that as a Halloween costume, but back to that hoop skirt thing. Not great for getting around in a car or through narrow doorways.”
His hand settled around her shoulder as he chuckled. He pulled her against his side, then pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. “Tara, you are such an adorable goofball.”
“Thanks, I think.” She tapped the book she held on her lap. “Can you help me for a few minutes? My friend Ellen and I used to act out entire scenes from the movie when we were silly girls.”
He gently poked an index finger into her side and she giggled. “Okay, the last time we did it was a month or two ago, but that’s beside the point. I want to make sure I sound like Scarlett. Will you tell me if my accent doesn’t cut it?”
“Sure.” Brett leaned back and waited for her performance.
Tara recited a scene that Scarlett ended with “fiddle-dee-dee,” then batted her eyes at him.
He blinked twice and slowly sat up. “I think that will make the guests quite happy. And if any of the men approach you afterward, I have a Taser at home I can bring for you to stuff into your petticoat.”
She laughed. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, but thank you, Brett. Are your sure my accent sounds okay?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a southern girl born and raised. You’ll do great. What time is this play-acting supposed to happen?” He rose to his feet and held out a hand to her.
Tara took it and stood. “Tomorrow at three, on the veranda. I’ve already learned that means the front porch.”
He grinned and squeezed her hand. “Can you find your way back to the house?”
“Of course. I’m sorry to take up your time again, Brett. You must think I’m the most helpless, clueless girl on the planet.”
“Not at all.” He took a step backward and tipped his hat to her with a flourish. “Rest well, my pastry chef in distress. Don’t let the kudzu bugs bite.”
“Thanks for that creepy visual.” She shivered and turned down the path. “Good night, Brett.”
The next morning, Tara arose an hour earlier than her normal pre-dawn time to get started on the baking. By noon, she was well ahead of schedule. At one, Ashley appeared in the kitchen and motioned for Tara to join her.
“Tara, if you want to run up to your room and take a quick shower, I’ll send someone up in about half an hour to get you ready.” Ashley gave her a long look then clapped her hands in excitement. “I can hardly wait for the guests to see you. They’ve been talking about Scarlett paying a visit all morning.”
“I hope I’ll live up to their expectations,” she said, then rushed up the back stairs to her room. Hurriedly taking a shower to wash away the kitchen smells, she blow dried her hair and had just yanked on a robe when a tap sounded on her door.
She opened it to find a petite woman with a severe gray knot pinned atop her head glaring at her.
“Miss Tarleton?” the woman asked as she marched inside with a leather satchel in one hand and large straw hat in the other. A younger, less stern version of the woman followed, carrying a box nearly as big as she was.
“I’m Tara Tarleton,” Tara smiled at the woman.
“I’m Betsy Whiting and this is my granddaughter, Camilla. We’ll be assisting you today.” The older woman motioned to the younger to set the box on the bed.
“It’s nice to meet you Mrs. Whiting. Thank you for coming.” Tara held out a hand to the woman. The tiny terror ignored it as she plopped her satchel down on the bed and opened it.
“It is Miz Whiting, and you may refer to my granddaughter as Cami.” The woman gave Tara a pinched look over the top of her bifocal glasses then pulled out the chair in front of the dressing table.
An hour and a half later, Tara almost didn’t recognize herself when Miz Whiting allowed her to look in the mirror.
The two women had fashioned her hair in a series of waves and curls held back with two green bows on either side, just off the crown of her head.
After her hair was styled, they’d forced her to dress in every single layer of clothing a proper woman from the Civil War era would have worn, right down to a petticoat with a hoop and a tightly laced corset.
In fact, Cami had pulled the strings so tight, Tara wondered if she might suffer a cracked rib or two. It certainly impeded her ability to breathe properly. But the moment Miz Whiting and Cami settled the dress over Tara’s head and fastened it, she began to feel like a princess… or a real Southern belle.
The gown, a green-sprigged muslin with little puffed sleeves and a V neckline, brought out the green of her eyes while the solid emerald-hued band about the middle made her waist appear impossibly small.
“Twenty inches. Not bad,” Miz Whiting commented as she adjusted the ruffle on Tara’s right shoulder then took a step back, critically eyeing her. “Not bad at all.”
“She looks perfect, Grandmama,” Cami said, beaming at Tara. “Just like Scarlett.”
“Well, that is what we were hired to do,” Miz Whiting sniffed. The woman raised her nose in the air, even though Tara caught a hint of her satisfaction in the result of their efforts.
Tara turned and gazed into the mirror, left speechless by the reflection staring back at her. If it wasn’t for the fact she was significantly taller than the original Scarlett, Tara might have been able to pass as Vivian Leigh from a distance.
When Miz Whiting settled the hat on her head and tied a jaunty bow beneath her chin, Tara held her gloved hands at her sides to keep from gleefully clapping them together. She felt elegant and sassy, beautiful and determined, witty and carefree all rolled into one woman. The powerful moment was one she’d never forget.
“We best get you downstairs, Miss Tarleton,” Miz Whiting said, motioning Tara toward the door.
She moved over to it and glanced down at her hooped skirt. “How should I… is there a way that’s…?”
Miz Whiting sighed. “Surely you’ve watched the movie. How did Scarlett leave her bedroom the day of the barbecue?”
Tara grinned and grabbed the front of her skirt, shoving the yards of fabric out the door. Rather than go down the narrow back stairs, they walked down the hallway and back to the main wing. A few guests lingered below in the entry and she could see people outside through the open double doors.
Ashley and Wade stood at the bottom of the stairs, both dressed in period costumes, as were all the guests. At the rustle of her skirts, Ashley glanced up then grabbed her husband’s arm and yanked on it.
“She’s here,” Ashley said, her words floating up the stairs to Tara.
With a coquettish smile and a tilt of her head slightly to the right as she imagined Scarlett might have done, Tara descended the stairs with as much grace and decorum as she could manage in the unfamiliar clothing and voluminous skirts.
Her foot had barely cleared the last step when Ashley pulled her into a giddy hug. The woman looked as excited as a child who’d just been turned loose in a candy store with an unlimited budget.
“Oh, you look just like her, Tara. Thank you for doing this,” Ashley whispered in her ear then stepped back, tugging on her husband’s arm again. “Isn’t she amazing, Wade?”
“Yes, she is, dear. Tara certainly does make a wonderful Scarlett,” Wade said, smiling at Tara and nodding his head approvingly. “Let’s get you situated outside with the guests. Since it’s such a bright, clear day, we thought it would be fun to have everyone gather out beneath the big willow tree near the rose garden.”
“That does sound lovely,” Tara said, following Wade and Ashley as they led the way outside. She glanced over her shoulder at Miz Whiting and Cami, mouthing “thank you” before the throng of guests awaiting her appearance encircled her.
Men doffed their hats and women tittered with excitement as they made their way over to the seats near the rose garden. A cheeky young man who Tara thought was a senior in high school offered a bow then held his arm out to escort her.
Tara took it and winked at him as they walked to the willow tree. Once she settled onto the seat of a wide wicker chair, the guests seated themselves on the benches that had been placed around her.
For the next hour, the guests asked her questions and Tara did her best to answer them as she thought Scarlett might have. They asked her about her father’s plantation, if she really loved Ashley Wilkes, and if she thought there was a chance for a future with Rhett.
“Where even a tiny grain of love exists, there’s always hope,” she said, smiling at the teen girl who’d asked the question. She’d noticed the girl kept casting glances at the boy who’d escorted Tara out to the willow tree. Mindful of the way he returned the girl’s interest, Tara could only assume young love was in the air.
The thought made her smile as someone asked her another question.
Elated yet exhausted after another fifteen minutes passed, Tara hoped her performance was about at an end. She glanced up and noticed a man walking toward them wearing black knee-high riding boots polished to a high shine. Dove gray breeches, tucked into the boots, accentuated his long, muscled legs. A gray and cream brocade vest peeked from beneath a dark frock coat, highlighting broad shoulders. The dark blue silk ascot contrasted sharply with the white stand-up collar of his shirt. A black top hat, tipped forward at a rakish angle, finished the costume. Not only did it give the man a regal appearance, but the hat also hid his face in its shadows as he strode across the grassy expanse of the yard.
When he neared the group, the handsome historical hottie doffed his hat and grinned at Tara. His deep voice held an unhurried southern drawl that put her in mind of dark, rich molasses. “It appears as though y’all enjoyed quite a splendid afternoon. However, if y’all will excuse us, I do require this beautiful woman’s assistance with a most important matter.”
Tara bit back a giggle as Brett Cutler bowed to her and extended his arm. She never would have suspected the man who generally wore cowboy boots and a Stetson to appear in such attire, but she was thrilled to see him all the same. Politely, she nodded to him and placed her hand in his as he helped her to her feet.
He then wrapped her hand around his forearm and smiled at the gathered crowd. “You just never know what sort of trouble she might be brewing up, so I thank y’all for keeping an eye on her.”
“Well, fiddle-dee-dee, Brett. A little trouble never hurt anyone.” She laughed merrily, hoping she sounded convincing.
With a rascally wink, Brett returned his hat to his golden head and escorted Tara down a path toward the vegetable garden. As they departed, the buzz of conversation questioned if he was supposed to be a light-haired version of Rhett Butler or Ashley Wilkes. More than a few women fluttered their fans, muttering about him being quite swoon-worthy regardless of the character he portrayed.
Once they were out of sight of the group, Tara giggled and bumped Brett in the side with her elbow. “You clean up really well, Mr. Cutler.”
“You look pretty good yourself, Miss Tarleton.”
Tara caught his admiring glance as his gaze roamed from the straw brim of her hat to the hem of her skirt and back up to her head.
“You make one of the best Scarlett O’Hara’s I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot over the years,” he said with a look of admiration. “You’ve got the accent down just right.”
She released a relieved breath. “I’m so glad you think so. I worried about not sounding the part.” Her hand brushed down the front of her skirt. “I’m glad the kitchen staff isn’t required to dress in costume while we work because I’d most likely set my dress aflame, but it was fun to pretend for an afternoon.”
“You truly are beautiful, Tara. The green in the dress sure brings out the sparkle in your eyes.” He stopped and turned to her, using his gloved forefinger to lift her chin. “Do you think Scarlett might allow the man accompanying her to steal a kiss?”
Tara’s eyes widened as she stared at Brett, watching as something flickered in his gaze, something that held warmth, interest, and yearning. Could he possibly be as attracted to her as she was to him? There was only one way to find out.
“I definitely think Scarlett would be pleased at that.” Tara moved a little closer to Brett, inhaling his heady scent. “In fact, she might be the one to do the stealing.”
“Why, you little minx, you,” Brett teased. He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them inside his coat pocket then bracketed her face with his hands. “What was it Rhett told her? Something about being kissed often by someone who knows how? Perhaps we should see if there is any merit in such a declaration.”
The skin of his hands was rough, callused, yet felt so good against hers as he caressed her cheeks. In no rush, Brett bent to give her a kiss but the brim of her hat bumped into his, blocking him.
He swept off his hat then ducked beneath the broad brim of Tara’s. His smile didn’t waver as his lips brushed over hers in a feather-light touch once, twice.
Tara’s knees weakened when he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. The next kiss held a hint more urgency, a bit more pressure. Before she gathered her wits enough to respond, he pulled back and kissed the tip of her nose. “I better get you back to the house. If I get so much as a single wrinkle in your costume, I’m fairly certain Ashley will flay the hide right off me.”
“With what? An overcooked noodle?” Tara asked as Brett took her arm with his and continued on their walk. “Ashley and Wade both have nothing but good things to say about you and your work with the horses. I think it would take more than a wrinkle in my dress for her to get upset with you.”
“You never know…” Brett chuckled as they meandered along the path that would take them to the back porch off the kitchen. “Are you still planning to spend the day with me this Sunday?” he asked as he walked her up the steps.
“I am. I’m looking forward to meeting This and That.”
Brett grinned and squeezed her hand in his. “Great. I’ll pick you up here at ten. I believe Ashley and Wade have arranged a church service in the chapel for the guests who are interested. We could go to that if you like before heading out.”
She nodded. “I’d really like that. Thank you for coming to my rescue yet again. As much as I enjoyed pretending to be Scarlett, I’d nearly exhausted my reserves of both energy and answers.”
Brett laughed. “Ashley thought it would be fun if I came to call on you and escorted you back here. She assumed it would be hard for you to get away from the guests once they started pumping you for details.” He shrugged. “It certainly gave the women in the group something to talk about. For all the whispering and gossip going on around here, you’d think we really were living back in the mid-eighteen hundreds with no better way for them to pass the time.”
Tara removed the hat and fanned her face with it, stirring up a breeze. “That’s because they aren’t allowed to carry their cell phone or any technology with them during the day. They have to get their daily allotment of info and news somehow.”
“I suppose so.” He backed down the steps. “I’ll see you later, Tara.”
“Yes, you will.” She turned to go in the house, but glanced back at him and grinned. “If I was voting, I’d totally go for Rhett over Ashley any day. Especially a Rhett who looks like you.”
She flounced inside to the sound of Brett chuckling. After her afternoon role as Scarlett, she could cross dressing in a hoop skirt, trying her hand at acting, and being escorted by a southern gentleman off her bucket list.