The Bride Wore Spurs

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“That should give me time to visit Leah.”

“We won’t leave town until you’re ready,” he said, then loped up the street to set the wedding plans in motion.

An urge to call him back, to renege on the proposal lurched through her. Foolishness. If she’d had another choice, she’d have taken it.

She threw back her shoulders and stepped inside the shop, in actuality, Miss Carmichael’s parlor. Overhead a tiny bell jingled. Cases and tables held gloves, hats, bolts of fabric, and baskets of feathers, silk flowers and papier-mâché fruit, the tools of her trade.

Belinda Carmichael bustled through a curtain separating the shop from her private quarters. Behind wire-rim glasses, the spinster’s hazel eyes missed nothing. Nor, for that matter, did her ears. Tall, thin, as prim and proper as a starched collar, Belinda gloried in her role as town gossip. No doubt she would gossip about the suddenness of her and Matt’s marriage. Still, Hannah wouldn’t trust Mama’s dress to anyone else.

“Good morning, Miss Parrish. I heard you were back from Charleston.” She glanced at the package in Hannah’s hands. “What can I do for you?”

Hannah untied the string and wrapping, revealing her mother’s wedding dress, an off-white silk confection with a row of pleats edged with lace at the hem, at the flared sleeves and on the draped overskirt.

“I’d like you to alter this dress to fit me.”

Miss Carmichael’s fingers skimmed over the bodice that tapered to a point below the waist. “The stitching is impeccable. Let’s see what needs to be done.”

She guided Hannah behind a screen and helped her change, then turned Hannah around, studying the fit. “I’ll need to add length. If I trim the sleeves and hem with the matching lace on this overskirt, no one would suspect the additions aren’t part of the original dress.”

Hannah agreed the solution would be perfect. She skimmed her palms over the overskirt, proud to wear this lovely dress. If only she were marrying a man she loved. She tamped down the thought. Love didn’t matter. The Lazy P did.

The bell over the door danced a cheery tune. A second customer entered the shop. “Be right with you,” Miss Carmichael called.

“No hurry.” The newcomer removed her hatpins, then her hat, obviously eager to try on one of Miss Carmichael’s creations.

Miss Carmichael leaned in. “I’m curious, Miss Parrish. Why are you having this dress altered? Surely your relations in Charleston didn’t give you their hand-me-downs.” Miss Carmichael’s tone oozed sympathy. “You might want to consider having something new made. I have several beautiful fabrics that would compliment your coloring.”

“Thank you, but I came back with a trunk full of dresses, more than I’ll ever wear.”

The seamstress’s expression soured. “Then why alter this one?” Her eyes widened. “Unless you intend to wear it for sentimental reasons, like at your wedding.” She smirked. “How silly of me. You have no beau.” She raised a brow. “Unless you met someone in Charleston.”

No point in avoiding the truth. Papa said to spread the word about the wedding, no better way than to tell the seamstress. Hannah steeled herself for Miss Carmichael’s reaction. “This is my mother’s wedding dress,” she said. “I want to wear it at my wedding Thursday. You won’t have any difficulty getting the alterations finished by then, will you?”

Hazel eyes gleaming, Miss Carmichael clapped her hands. “For a wedding, it’ll be my priority! Who are you marrying?”

“Matt Walker.”

“Matt Walker! From what I hear, he’s a most elusive catch.” Her shrewd beady eyes resembled a predator moving in for the kill. “You’ve only been home a few days,” she said. “Isn’t this wedding rather sudden?”

Sudden hardly described it.

“To marry that quickly, why, you must’ve fallen in love at first sight.” She tittered. “Not really first sight, of course, but first sight since your return.” Her hands fluttered like tiny birds in flight. “How romantic!”

Heat flooded Hannah’s cheeks. Love at first sight had not been the reason for the marriage. More like, at first sight of her ailing father. At first sight of her foreman’s refusal to follow orders. At first sight of Papa’s worry about her future.

Harsh realities had led her to propose, not romance, not affection for the man. Still, she’d play the role of blissful bride. She owed Matt that much. “Isn’t it exciting? Matt’s a very persuasive man.”

Miss Carmichael’s gaze sharpened. Perhaps the waver of Hannah’s smile or the wobble in her voice had raised the seamstress’s suspicions. Thankfully, the older woman didn’t pursue the topic, no doubt unwilling to risk a paying customer’s ire. After all, the seamstress had to make her own way.

A wave of sympathy for the woman swept through Hannah. Belinda Carmichael carried a load of responsibility and had no one to help share the burden. At least with Matt she’d have a partner.

All business, Miss Carmichael grabbed a tape measure and whipped it from the edge of Hannah’s hem to the toe of her shoe, then wrote her findings in a tiny notebook. She did the same for her sleeves. “I have all I need. Let me help you change.”

Behind the screen, the seamstress eased the garment over Hannah’s head. “I’ll have the dress finished by tomorrow afternoon and drive out to the ranch and deliver it personally.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

“Not at all, if you’ll show me the fashions you brought back from Charleston,” Miss Carmichael said with a smile, then rushed toward the waiting customer.

On the way out of the shop, Hannah passed Miss Carmichael and the shopper, their heads together, their smiles couldn’t cover the speculative look in their eyes.

As she escaped into the sunshine, Hannah heaved a sigh. She’d survived Miss Carmichael’s reaction, so surely she could survive anyone’s.

Up ahead, Bertram Bailey swept the entrance of Bailey’s Dry Goods. Thin as the broom in his hand, and not much taller, Mr. Bailey propped the handle against the building. “Good to have you home, Miss Parrish,” he said, then followed her inside.