Diana Palmer - Courageous

Later, though, he cornered Peg before she went into her room to start dressing for the ball.

“What’s going on between you and Grange?” he asked quietly.

She sighed. “Nothing, I’m afraid. His father was a minister and he doesn’t sleep around.”

Ed, shocked, let out a sudden burst of laughter. “You’re kidding.”

She held up both hands. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke and he doesn’t … well, indulge. He thinks people should get married first. But he doesn’t want to marry anybody.”

Ed’s expression lightened. “Well!” Grange went up very high on his respected list.

“So he’s taking me to a ball but not to a motel afterward, in case you were worried, I mean,” she added with twinkling eyes.

He shrugged. “I’m out of step,” he confessed. “I don’t know how to live in this world anymore.”

“I guess you and I live in the best place for dinosaurs,” Peg pointed out. “We have plenty of company.”

He grinned. “Yes, and we all live in the past. Look at the town square, all decked out for Christmas, with lights and holly and Santa Claus and his reindeer.”

“With decorated trees in every public and private office, too,” she added, laughing. “I love Christmas.”

“So does Gracie Pendleton,” Ed reminded her. “She’s got their place in San Antonio decked out like a light show, and the ranch here is sparkling with seasonal color as well.”

“I’m going to be sparkling tonight, in my new borrowed designer evening gown,” she said. “I had the beauticians teach me how to do my hair, and I’ve got Mama’s pearls. I thought I’d wear them.” Her face was sad. Her mother had died five years past. They both still missed her.

“She loved parties,” Ed recalled with a sad smile. “But only occasionally. She was like me, a misfit who never belonged anywhere. Except with me.”

She hugged him. “You’ve still got me.”

“Yes, and you’ve still got me.” He hugged her back, and then let her go. “I hope it’s the best night of your life.”

She smiled with breathless anticipation. “I think it might be.”

The gown was silver, with black accents. It draped across her pert, firm breasts from one shoulder, leaving the other arm bare. It was ankle length, with a tight waist and flaring skirt, in a clingy fabric that outlined every soft curve. The bodice was bow-shaped across with the drape from her upper arm diagonally to her other breast. The effect was exquisite, displaying her creamy skin to its best advantage.

The pearls were a single strand, off-white, with matching stud pearl earrings on her small ears. She put up her pale blond hair in a bun with little tendrils escaping, and a set of pearl combs, artificial but pretty, to keep it up. She used a minimum of makeup, just powder and lipstick, no eyeliner or messy mascara. Fortunately the nice boutique owner had even loaned her a pair of pumps to wear with the gown. Peg’s shoes were mostly sneakers and an old pair of scuffed loafers. Her budget didn’t run to fancy clothing.

Finished, she looked in the mirror and beamed at her reflection. She was never going to be beautiful, but she had good teeth and pretty lips and eyes. Maybe that would be enough. She hoped she could compete with all the really pretty women who would be at the ball. But most of them were married, thank goodness, so there shouldn’t be too much competition there.

She had a nice coat that her father had bought her last winter, but when she looked at it in the hall closet she grimaced. It was a shocking pink, hardly the thing to wear with a couture gown. It was very cold outside today, with a high wind. She’d need something to keep her warm.

In desperation, she went through her own closet, looking for something that might do. It was useless. Except for a sweat jacket and a short and very old leather jacket, there wasn’t anything here that matched her uptown outfit.

While she was agonizing over her lack of accessories, there was a knock at the front door. She went to answer it when she remembered that her father had gone out to the barn to check on the new calf and its mother, Bossie.

When she opened the door, she got a shock. It was one of Jason Pendleton’s cowboys with a garment bag over his shoulder.

He grinned. “Got something for you, Miss Peg,” he said, offering it. “Mrs. Pendleton said you’d need a coat to go with that dress, so she’s loaning you one of hers. She said it might be just a little long, but she thinks it will do nicely.”

Peg was almost in tears. “Oh, it’s so kind of her!”

The cowboy, an elderly sort, smiled. “You sure do look pretty.”

She flushed. “Thank you!” She took the bag and opened it. The coat was black, long, with a mink collar. Real mink. She stroked it with breathless delight. “Please tell Mrs. Pendleton that I’ll take great care of it. And thank her very much for me!”

“She said you’re welcome. You have a good time tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said, beaming at him.

He grinned and went back to the ranch pickup he’d driven over in.

Peg went back inside and tried on the coat, with its fine silky lining. She looked at herself in the mirror and couldn’t believe that the pretty woman there was actually plain Peg. She just shook her head.

“I feel like Cinderella,” she whispered. “Just like her!”

Only she was hoping against hope that her carriage wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin and that her gorgeous clothing wouldn’t melt into rags at the stroke of midnight.

Grange came home to dress about a half hour before it was time to leave. Peg stayed in her bedroom. She didn’t want him to see her until they were ready to go. She heard the shower running upstairs and sat down to watch the news on her small television while she waited for him. The news was too depressing, so she turned over to a documentary on the history channel instead. It was about the development of weapons, and how the spear of Paleo-hunters turned into the bow because of the speed of whitetail deer—which was the anthropologists’ take on the innovation.

She was so engrossed in it that she forgot the time. A tap on her door startled her. She glanced at the clock and grimaced as she turned off the television and ran to answer the door.

She opened it, flushed and pretty with breathlessness. Grange, in a dark suit with a bow tie, stared at her with flattering speechlessness.

“Will I do?” she asked hopefully.

“Honey, you’ll more than do,” he said in a soft, deep tone which, combined with the unexpected endearment, almost burst her heart with joy. He smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yes!” She grabbed her coat and started to slip it on.

Grange got behind her and helped, letting her slide her arms into the silky fabric underlay of the rich wool coat with its mink collar.

“Mrs. Pendleton sent it down,” she said. “I guess she knew that I wouldn’t have a coat fancy enough to go with this dress.”

He didn’t let go. His big hands contracted on her shoulders.” That was nice of her.”

“Yes. She’s a sweet person.”

“So are you.” As he spoke, his thumbs eased the coat back. His head bent and he kissed her, tenderly, right on her neck where it joined her shoulder. He felt her shiver, heard her shocked intake of breath. “You taste like candy,” he whispered, and his lips opened on the soft, warm flesh.

She leaned her head back, her breathing unsteady, her eyes closed. His hands moved to her waist. He turned her, ever so gently, and his mouth traveled to her throat, past the pearls, down, slowly, down to the very edge of the fabric over her breasts, and moved there in a sensual caress that shocked a defenseless little moan from her throat.