“That doesn’t suit your figure,” her Aunt Caroline insisted while circling her. “Your mama is right. Let’s try the next one.” She snapped her fingers. Two shop girls scurried around, bringing coffee and iced tea to the gathered throng of females, who were seated in a ring of comfy chairs facing the slightly raised floor in front of the mirror.
“Kathy, tell her I pick this one.” Lindsay recoiled from the shopgirl who’d approached to unhook the zillions of tiny buttons marching down her spine.
Her best friend shook her head and nibbled on her a tiny, crustless sandwich. No big surprise. Lindsay loved her to pieces, but Kathy was a mealy-mouthed little thing, so far under the thumbs of her elders she might as well not exist.
“This is my wedding.” She stomped her foot once. But her mother’s high-arched eyebrow put a stop to that. “Fine.” She flounced into the changing room.
Two solid hours and a dozen dresses later, they had a consensus—although the chosen gown was not Lindsay’s favorite. It wasn’t even her second favorite. But by then, she’d given up and allowed the tides of opinion, dominated by her bossy mother, to carry her along. She didn’t want to marry Will anyway. Why pretend she gave a rip about the dress she’d be doing it in?
She and Kathy suffered the ladies’ chitchat over lunch at the country club that included Will’s insufferably snobby mother and his dog-ugly twin sisters. Set loose to go “have fun” afterward by the crowd of twittering aunts, cousins, and future in-laws, all loopy on Bloody Marys, she and Kathy climbed into Lindsay’s convertible Mustang and gunned it out of the parking lot.
“So help me, if that woman said the words ‘my William’ one more time while she side-eyed me, I was gonna slap her into next week,” Lindsay said, reaching into the glove box for a pack of cigarettes. “Light this for me, will you?”
Kathy giggled and was lighting two when they pulled into a gravel parking lot. Lindsay grabbed a blanket and warmish six-pack of beer from the trunk, and they found a spot by the river hidden from the road and other picnickers by a line of mature trees.
“I hate beer,” Kathy said, holding her nose and taking a sip from the can.
“Then don’t drink it, silly cow.” Lindsay popped open her second one, not really sure why, since the first had gone straight to her head, making her dizzy and exhilarated. She flopped onto her back and held up her hands, ignoring the tasteful diamond as best she could.
Kathy finished the can and dropped down next to her, hooking her arm through Lindsay’s. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Why? I’m not dying. I’m not even moving away.”
“I know. But I’ll be up at college and …”
Lindsay sat up fast, which was a mistake, since it sent her reeling. Clamping down on the sudden urge to throw up, she hugged her dress down tight over her knees and stared at her red-painted toenails.
“Please don’t remind me,” she muttered into her linen dress. It may have been crisp and sharp a few hours ago, but it sure was wrinkly and disgusting now, complete with a strawberry jam-looking stain on the hem.
Her father had allowed her to attend classes at the University of Kentucky, but only as a commuter. Nice girls didn’t live in dorms, he’d claimed more than once.
Kathy sat beside her in silence. Lindsay held out her fingers. Her friend gave her a lit cigarette. She took a huge puff and exhaled, loving the taste of freedom it represented, if only for a short while.
Her mother and friends all smoked like chimneys. After a card party or luncheon, the house had to be aired out from the gray fog filling every room. Mama was a hypocrite about it, too, pitching the biggest old hissy fit when she found an empty pack in Lindsay’s undergarment drawer, and making random and seldom-fulfilled threats.
Lindsay kept her smokes in the car since then, or lifted them from her brothers’ stash when their parents weren’t looking.
“I guess what I want doesn’t matter,” Lindsay said, flicking a spent butt across the expanse of green.
Kathy blew out a breath, got up, fished the butt out of the grass then tossed it into a beat up garbage can. “Don’t litter.”
“Whatever,” Lindsay said, looking away from her friend. She was heartsick jealous over Kathy’s return to school, where she would be a real student, living in a dorm with a roommate and everything. A familiar restlessness stole over Lindsay, forcing her to her feet. She nearly toppled over, but a laughing Kathy righted her. “Let’s ride,” she said, grabbing the blanket and tossing it into the backseat.
Her friend smiled and climbed in on the passenger’s side. Lindsay let the hot summer wind dry her angry tears. The barns bustled with activity, as usual. The leased-out buildings were especially busy. People—strangers—were always coming and going, checking in, riding, or cleaning up their horses, eager to hang out in the once proud paddocks of the Halloran Horse Farm, turned horse storage. Lindsay parked and ran for the main barn, her heart pounding in anticipation of a mind-clearing ride—to where, she had no idea and cared even less.
“I’m not gonna,” Kathy declared from the open barn door. “I’m not dressed for it, and I should get home.”
Lindsay barely heard her; so intent was she on escape. Her skin crawled with a sort of urgency she didn’t want to examine too closely. “Okay, see ya ‘round,” she called over her shoulder, heading for Zelda’s stall, grinning at the sound of the animal’s neighing and stomping as soon as she sensed her mistress’s arrival.
“You’re going out dressed that way?”
Lindsay stopped at the sound of the deep, gravelly voice, irritation creeping up her spine. She turned and took in the compact form of the assistant barn manager, Tony. He had a stalk of hay in his teeth, and his Halloran-labeled blue work shirt was unbuttoned in an inappropriate—and wholly distracting—way. She blinked fast, taking in the scattering of dark hair on his firm-looking chest and the line of it below his belly button.
He frowned and spit the hay out while buttoning up, his olive skin reddening. She smiled, savoring the moment and his discomfort more than she probably should. He pushed his sweaty cowboy hat up and headed for Zelda’s stall. “I’ll get her out for you, miss.”
Lindsay watched him unhook the half door and heard him mutter under his breath to the overexcited horse. Zelda calmed immediately, which seemed odd, since Lindsay was usually the only human she obeyed or even listened to. Tony stroked her horse’s long, dark neck, making the animal’s muscles quiver in a way that forced Lindsay to take a step away and put a shaking hand to her throat. Plus, the man was as much a vision from the rear view as the front. She shook her head.
“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “There is nothing more annoying than a cliché. You’re the farmer’s daughter, and he’s the sexy, low-class stable hand. Do not go there.” But she bit her lip, noting the way he passed his large palm down the horse’s withers, and already feeling the heat of his touch on her skin instead.
“Just give her to me, damn it,” she said, her voice hoarse, surprising herself. Tony turned, his angular, handsome face an open book—one she was shocked to find herself reading, and enjoying.
“Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
He put Zelda’s reins in her outstretched palm. “As I asked before,” he said, his low, slow, growly, Kentucky drawl making Lindsay uncomfortable in places she didn’t think were polite to mention, even to herself. “You’re going out dressed in that?” He took her in a little too boldly, eyes moving from toes to stocking-clad legs to wrinkled summer dress, up to her flushed face.