Chapter 13

Lacey stood in the middle of the dress shop, nervously twisting the fringe of her shawl around her finger. The women did not take their eyes off her for a second.

"I can tell by your accent that you're not from these parts. Been here long?" Gertie asked, her tone dripping icicles.

"Actually, I'm from England."

"I venture to say, you'll come to hate it here in Colorado," the other woman burst in with her unsolicited opinion. "It takes a rugged sort to survive all the way out here in the middle of nowhere. A delicate thing like yourself will be begging to leave in no time."

Lacey almost laughed out loud. The woman was an entire head shorter, and far frailer than she. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm sure I'll manage."

Lacey was becoming increasingly annoyed by their attitudes. When Sylvia brought out a pile of yellowed, second-hand gowns, Lacey had to fight the urge to walk out of the shop in disgust. But, she knew that Dora would be awfully disappointed if she returned empty handed. Her nose crinkled as she picked through the musty pile of dresses.

"I don't think any of these will do." She had to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of it all. "They aren't quite up to Grady Dalton's standards."

With her last statement, the shop became so silent, Lacey was sure she could hear the moths chewing on the old pile of dresses.

"Now sweetie," Gertie said, her voice suddenly as twittery and cheerful as a canary's, "don't tell me it's Grady Dalton you're marrying?"

"Why, yes, naturally," Lacey said trying to sound shocked that they would think otherwise.

All three women burst out giggling in relief. Lacey's suspicions were confirmed. The women weren't in fear of Slade Dalton. They were in fear that someone might land him.

Lacey imagined Slade Dalton was a very busy man at night appearing in countless sensual dreams. She was beginning to think that every woman in town yearned for Slade Dalton's affections.

"Well, why didn't you say so, honey? You're right these dresses are all wrong—no longer in fashion really."

"You don't say?" Lacey watched as the pile of aged gowns was swiftly carried to the back.

A second set of barely worn, or never worn dresses were brought to her. Two of them were beautifully sewn and looked to be about her size.

"Oh, won't this be excitin'." Gertie was now positively giddy. "I haven't fit a wedding dress on such a lovely bride-to-be in years. And won't Grady Dalton make a fine groom."

"You'll look downright stunning in all of them," Sylvia gushed.

Lacey picked up the dress with a skirt of brocaded satin and walked to the back to try it on. As she changed, she heard the excited murmurs of the three women come to an abrupt halt when the brass bell above the door announced another visitor to the shop. Bloody grand, Lacey thought, now I've got an audience.

She was just finishing fastening the tiny satin covered buttons of the snug fitting bodice as she stepped out of the back room. The women had formed a semi-circle around the visitor. Their skirts belled out blocking the person from Lacey's view. The fawning tone of the women carried to her, and she knew, without a doubt, it was Slade Dalton.

The women parted for a second and Lacey glimpsed the familiar dusty boots. She coughed lightly to let them know she'd finished dressing, but they couldn't hear her over their own cooing and giggling. The little spectacle grated on her, and she gave up trying to catch their attention.

The only mirror in the shop was an elliptical, tarnished one set on a stand in the corner. She tried to adjust its position so she might get a better view of the skirt, but the rusted hinges made a terrible squeak. Lacey winced. The resulting silence made Lacey turn slowly around.

"Oh, yes," Gertie said smoothing her hair back, "now let's see, dear."

Smothering silence once again. Slade, his big frame obscuring the delicate gilt chair he sat on, stared at her with such intensity that her cheeks flooded with warmth.

"Damn—" was all he finally muttered.

"It's not right for me. Is it?"

"You look beautiful, dear. It is a little snug, though." Gertie bustled over to her and began tugging at the bodice. "We would have to let the seams out a bit."

"It most certainly is not snug!" Lacey snapped at the woman. She looked at Slade for confirmation.

He looked lethally handsome perched atop that silly chair, his arms resting on his spread thighs, his hat dangling from his fingertips. "Looks fine to me," he said, his heated gaze making her heart flutter. "But I think Grady would prefer something different."

Confused, she repeated back to him what he seemed to be saying. "'Tis fine for you—but not your brother?"

"Now, you're catching on," he said with a smug smile.

"You know, honey, he's right. Let's find something a little less fitted."

"I believe that I am perfectly capable of choosing my own wedding dress. Mr. Dalton, if you would just keep your opinions to yourself, please."

"Sure thing, darlin'. I'm certain you know exactly what Grady would like—seeing how you two are so close and all." There was a cocky tilt to his lips, but the look in his eyes was deadly serious.

They glared at each other for an endless minute, until Gertie shoved another dress into Lacey's hands and sent her to the back room for another try on.

Though the dress was exceptionally chaste, covering every bare inch of skin from chin to toe, it was quite beautiful. With indifference, Lacey fingered the intricate whitework on the cuffs. The trace of enthusiasm she'd managed to muster in the pursuit of the perfect dress had disappeared the moment she'd seen Slade. And she hated to admit it, but his sarcastic comment had struck home. Truth was, she hardly even remembered what Grady looked like, let alone his likes and dislikes.

Grady Dalton had happened to pop up at a desperate moment in her life, and she'd been thrilled that her father had accepted his offer. It meant freedom from a nightmarish marriage to a vile man. He certainly deserved more loyalty from her than this.

It occurred to her with a start that Grady might also have doubts about their impending marriage. What if he had changed his mind? She would be left homeless, penniless, and alone in the middle of the Colorado territory.

Lacey stood in the cramped room, struggling to attach the bodice waist to the skirt, thinking she might cry and wishing she could leave the wedding dresses behind.

Opening the door, she found the women plying Slade with coffee and cookies. All her high-flung notions of loyalty to Grady melted away. Feeling desperately lonely, all she wanted was to curl up on Slade's lap. Yes, she thought, at this moment, she'd love to be the petted, indulged female he'd thought her to be. But only if Slade Dalton was the one doing the petting.

Deciding this would be the last fashion presentation of the day, Lacey stepped out just as the entry bell clanged again. A tall, attractive woman, who looked to be in her late-thirties, strode into the shop. The woman's strong, almost sickly-sweet perfume wafted on the air.

Gertie's face seemed to pale at the sight of her, and her eyes darted to Slade who still faced away from the door.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Slade Dalton. I heard you were in town," the woman said with a silken drawl.

Lacey looked at Slade, who still sat casually in the chair. He shut his eyes tightly as if in pain. His nostrils flared the slightest bit.

Without even turning to look at the woman, he answered her in a flat, uninterested tone. "How've you been, Mrs. Talbot?"

The sheriff's wife, Lacey guessed.

The woman's dress rustled seductively as she moved with a slow, exaggerated swing of the hips. Circling the counter, she came to stand directly in front of him. Slade took a long while to look up at the woman.

Lacey moved so that she could see both of them in profile. She was embarrassed by her curiosity, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

She glanced around the room and realized she was not the only one taking in the entire scene. The two shop girls seemed very intent on making sure the display of scissors was arranged perfectly. A display that just happened to be less than an arm's reach from Slade. Lacey imagined their ears perking up beneath their tidy little coifs. Gertie had moved behind the counter. She was vigorously polishing the same spot over and over again.

Lacey felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Slade for the first time seemed unaware of her presence. Her jealousy lasted only a split second. From the sullen tilt of his lips, she could tell he was not enjoying himself.

The woman was not above trying harder to get some positive attention from him. She ran her finger along the lace trim of her deeply-cut neckline. Slade's eyes flitted for a moment to her abundant assets, and then his mouth kicked up into a sneer.

"Figured you'd still be out chasin' bounties."

"Guess you'd figured wrong."

"A shame about the scar. Makes you look tougher. Not so pretty as you once were." To Lacey's ears it didn't sound as if the woman found him any less attractive. The woman reached out a finger to touch his face, and he put his hand up to block her.

"Carolina, don't."

Lacey thought it peculiar how protective he was of the scar. He'd even ducked Dora's curious touch. And then it hit her like a bolt. He'd called the woman by her first name.

Finally acknowledging the group of women standing in the shop, the woman gave Gertie and her shop helpers a curt nod of the head, and then she turned to look at Lacey.

After a rude once over, she turned back to Slade.

"Don't tell me you're marrying that slip of a thing? My have your tastes changed, Slade."

"Can't see how it's any of your damn business." He stood up slowly and walked past the woman toward the door.

"Lacey, I'm going to check on the horses. Meet me out by the wagon."

"Still runnin' away from things, huh, Slade?" the woman called to him as he opened the door.

He froze in the doorway for a second. Then he squared his broad-shoulders before shutting the door firmly behind him.

The woman immediately turned back to glare at Lacey.

Grand. Slade had left her behind with a fawning Gertie, two twittering sales girls, and one of his cast-off lovers. It was truly a wonderful day to buy a wedding dress.

"You know," Lacey called over her shoulder to Gertie as she hastily retreated to the back room, "I think, I will just buy some fabric and sew my own dress."

Gertie, still dumbfounded by the whole scene moments ago, did not try to dissuade her.

Lacey fingered the bolts of fabric and decided on an expensive cream-colored satin. Out of spite, she asked if they had a pattern to the dress that Slade had obviously appreciated but didn't think his brother would. She was delighted to find they did.

She fished in her reticule for the money Grady had sent her. Carolina Talbot was now pretending to be interested in some bonnets at the back of the shop, but she watched every move that Lacey made. It all made sense now. The extreme reaction of the people in town, they had been expecting fireworks. They'd seen both Slade and Carolina arrive and known their history.

The window Slade had crashed through had been hers. The scar, a souvenir of their illicit tryst. A painful reminder of his father's death. Sheriff Talbot had been the jealous husband bent on revenge. No wonder there was such obvious hatred between Slade and Sheriff Talbot.

Lacey dragged her fingers through the bin of tiny white beads. Gertie handed her a small cloth pouch. "Two cents for a scoopful. Very pretty sewn along the border of the veil or neckline."

Lacey envisioned a sparkling embroidery of flowers and hummingbirds, and before she knew it, the bag was weighted with beads.

"You know, Miss, it will take you months to attach that many tiny beads—let alone to hand sew the dress."

"Months, really?" Lacey stood for a moment considering. "Hmmm, in that case..." She dug the little tin shovel in deep again and brought it up brimming with opalescent beads. She listened with satisfaction as she sprinkled them into the bag.