“A girl’s gotta eat.” Deb avoided Annie’s curious gaze and inspected the dress. She’d get rid of the cupids and the extravagant beading.
“You’re not mopey because of my wedding, are you?”
“Believe me, it’s not that.” She would do away with the godawful bows.
“Because your turn will come one day.”
“I don’t want a turn.” The sequined butterflies were history.
“And you’ll be standing here in a big white dress of your own.”
“I hate white.” Adios beaded tulips.
“And you’ll walk down the aisle with the man of your dreams.”
“The man of my dreams avoids aisles.” The rhinestone ladybug buttons didn’t stand a chance.
“And you’ll both say ‘I do’ and it’ll be happily ever after and—”
“It’s not the wedding,” Deb cut in. “It’s…” She shook her head. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.” An understatement if she’d ever made one.
Think about it. It had been a full month since Jimmy Mission had murmured those words. During that time, she’d seen him only once, the evening following their day in court. She and Annie had been having drinks at BJ’s and he’d walked in. After a few heated glances and the usual bickering, she’d walked out. Actually, run was a more appropriate verb.
She’d been so sure he meant to get his answer then and there, and she hadn’t been up to giving him one. She’d been too angry and much too aroused after their second kiss to think clearly. But he’d kept his distance because Jimmy Mission had obviously meant what he’d said.
He wanted her to think.
To simmer.
“Is some man causing you trouble?” Annie’s voice drew Deb’s attention and she shook her head.
“Definitely not.” Jimmy Mission wasn’t causing trouble, he was trouble. He was too good-looking, too charming and she wanted him entirely too much.
She didn’t need to get involved with a man who had his sights set on marriage. Marriage led to family and family to sacrifice and sacrifice to misery. She knew because she’d spent the better part of her life sacrificing her own happiness for the sake of family, and being miserable because of it.
But, and this was the biggie, Jimmy didn’t have marriage on his mind; he wanted an affair. In a sense, he was offering to leave four thousand dollars on her nightstand, payment for services rendered.
The thought should have made her feel cheap. She should have exploded with righteous indignation at the suggestion, promptly refusing and made good on the judgment by offering him free advertising for his stud bull or a partnership in the paper. That’s what the proper, conservative daughter of newspaper mogul Arthur Strickland would have done.
But Deb had traded propriety for freedom a long time ago. She wanted her debt, however ridiculous, paid in full and quickly. Jimmy’s offer not only promised that, but much, much more.
“Deb?” Annie’s voice intruded on her thoughts and she shook away images of the more. Namely, Jimmy kissing her again and again and…
“Are you listening?”
“Hmmm?”
“There is something wrong.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“I just mentioned the word pastel and you didn’t react.”
“Pastel what?”
“Dresses.”
“Bridesmaid dresses, right?”
“There are no bridesmaids, just a maid of honor—you.” When Deb only nodded, Annie frowned. “Now I know something’s wrong.”
“Because I agreed to wear pastel for my best friend’s wedding?”
“Because you—Miss I’m-a-winter-complexion-and-I-only-wear-bold-colors—agreed to do it without any grumbling.”
“I’m grumbling.” Deb tapped her chest. “In here, where it counts.”
Annie eyed her. “You aren’t worried about the nominations, are you? Why, you’re a shoo-in.”
“I’m not a shoo-in, and it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Being nominated by the Texas Associated Press for Best Weekly newspaper is a huge honor, and after the year you’ve had and the headline articles you’ve done, you’re sure to garner a nomination. You’ll probably even win, so you’d better line up a formal and get ready for a major awards ceremony.”
“I don’t want a nomination.” Liar. “And I’m not going to any stuffy awards ceremony.” The last thing Deb wanted was to run into her father after she’d managed to avoid him for so long.
Another speculative glance and Annie asked, “Then you’re not still worried about that court judgment, are you?”
Damn but Annie had a sixth sense when it came to spotting trouble. “Hardly.”
“Because I know the In Touch isn’t making you rich.”
“I didn’t buy it to get rich.” No, she’d bought it to hold on to a piece of Lily. Sweet, caring Lily, who’d given her the best memories of an otherwise lonely childhood. Lily, who’d taught her to sew and encouraged her fashion design aspirations when her father had done little more than frown and bark “No” when she’d asked to go to design school. Lily, who’d always understood and never passed judgment.
Every time Deb walked into the tiny newspaper office, she could still smell the woman’s perfume. A mixture of vanilla and jasmine that sent a wave of peace through her. Lily had loved the In Touch, and Deb had loved Lily, and buying the paper, going there day after day, felt right.
“You know, I’m sure Tack would be willing to loan you the money.”
“I don’t borrow from friends.” From anyone. Deb Strickland paid her own way in life. That way her freedom was never compromised.
“Then talk to Jimmy. I’m sure you two can come to an agreement.”
“I will. Now stop worrying about me and let’s see about finding a maid of honor’s dress.”
They spent the next half hour cruising the racks in Laverne’s until Deb had accumulated an armload of possibilities. Annie went to the rear of the store to look at gloves, while Deb headed back to the dressing room.
She shed her jacket, shimmied out of her skirt and peeled off her silk blouse, then reached for a floor-length pink slip dress.
“Annie,” she called out through the open curtain as she fumbled to undo a row of tiny
