Read Online The Bad Luck Wedding Dress by Geralyn Dawson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Geralyn Dawson
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Sagas, Western, Genre Fiction, Romantic Comedy, Family Saga, Teen & Young Adult, Westerns
Ads: Link
stitch in the dress hem, then reached for her scissors and snipped the thread. She shouldn’t indulge in uncharitable thoughts. It was selfish of her to wish she had a father who was more … demonstrative. Someone like Mr. McBride.
An image shimmered in her mind, she and Trace McBride, his actions demonstrative and not at all fatherly.
“Jenny Fortune!” she exclaimed, slamming her scissors against the worktable. She began yanking pins from the bombazine’s hem and stabbing them into the pin cushion. These fantasies involving her and that man popped into her mind with disturbing frequency. What had gotten into her lately? Her thoughts had become downright, well, lusty.
It must be the wedding dress. All her other problems could be laid at its skirt—the wedding dress’s skirt and her mother’s mouth, that is. She couldn’t quite forget the idea of wearing that gown at her own nuptials or the embarrassing talk about the delights of lost virginity.
But even if she seriously entertained her mother’s idea, Trace McBride wouldn’t do for a groom. She’d tried to flirt and failed. The man simply didn’t like her.
She might be her mother’s daughter, but she feared she took after her father when it came to matters of the heart. Clumsy was the word that came to mind.
Swiping at a pin in frustration, Jenny managed to drive the point into her palm. “Ow!” She lifted her hand to her mouth, silently cursing her carelessness. Clumsy. It should be her middle name.
Just then, the bell sounded and she looked up. Trace McBride’s emerald eyes gleamed. His mouth quirked in a roguish smile as he looked at her and said, “You want me to do that for you? I’m awfully good at kissin’ away ouches.”
Oh, goodness . The temperature in the room went up a good ten degrees.
Jenny gawked speechlessly as Trace’s daughters filed in behind him. She was struggling to find a reply when the odor hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. “What in the world?” she said, trying not to breathe.
Emma’s look was sheepish; Katrina’s unconcerned. Maribeth offered a feminine replica of her father’s mischievous grin. “We’ve been working in the sisters’ stable. Papa said we were expert at mucking things up, we ought to try mucking something out.”
Katrina added, “But we’re all done now, Miss Fortune. It’s Emma’s birthday, and we gets to go swimmin’. We want you to come with us.”
“Papa allowed me to choose.” Emma’s eyes shone. “He’s taking the whole afternoon and night off from work, and I got to pick to do whatever I wanted. It’s swimming and a picnic, Miss Fortune, and you have to come or else it won’t be perfect.”
Maribeth nodded. “It has to be perfect. Today’s her birthday.”
Jenny’s eyes were beginning to water at the smell. “Swimming?” she asked doubtfully.
“And a picnic.” The girls all said at once.
Trace’s voice was an intriguing combination of challenge and amusement. “We’ve found us a nice, safe swimming hole just a short ride from town. We’d like you to join us, Miss Fortune. I figure that if you have trouble accepting my apology for my less-than-gentlemanly behavior last time we spoke, you can always push me into the creek.”
THE SUN bore down mercilessly upon the occupants of the buggy heading northwest out of town. The heat during August was miserable as a rule and this summer was no exception. Not a breath of air stirred the leaves of die oak trees that stretched across the lazy waters of Quail Creek.
The girls led the way along the familiar path to where a curve in the creek created a pool perfect for swimming. Trace toted a picnic basket and a tapestry satchel containing changes of clothing.
Jenny Fortune carried a pair of blankets.
Despite his best intentions, Trace’s gaze dropped to the gentle sway of her skirts as she followed his chattering daughters toward the swimming hole. She hadn’t wanted to come along. Some of her excuses had been
An image shimmered in her mind, she and Trace McBride, his actions demonstrative and not at all fatherly.
“Jenny Fortune!” she exclaimed, slamming her scissors against the worktable. She began yanking pins from the bombazine’s hem and stabbing them into the pin cushion. These fantasies involving her and that man popped into her mind with disturbing frequency. What had gotten into her lately? Her thoughts had become downright, well, lusty.
It must be the wedding dress. All her other problems could be laid at its skirt—the wedding dress’s skirt and her mother’s mouth, that is. She couldn’t quite forget the idea of wearing that gown at her own nuptials or the embarrassing talk about the delights of lost virginity.
But even if she seriously entertained her mother’s idea, Trace McBride wouldn’t do for a groom. She’d tried to flirt and failed. The man simply didn’t like her.
She might be her mother’s daughter, but she feared she took after her father when it came to matters of the heart. Clumsy was the word that came to mind.
Swiping at a pin in frustration, Jenny managed to drive the point into her palm. “Ow!” She lifted her hand to her mouth, silently cursing her carelessness. Clumsy. It should be her middle name.
Just then, the bell sounded and she looked up. Trace McBride’s emerald eyes gleamed. His mouth quirked in a roguish smile as he looked at her and said, “You want me to do that for you? I’m awfully good at kissin’ away ouches.”
Oh, goodness . The temperature in the room went up a good ten degrees.
Jenny gawked speechlessly as Trace’s daughters filed in behind him. She was struggling to find a reply when the odor hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. “What in the world?” she said, trying not to breathe.
Emma’s look was sheepish; Katrina’s unconcerned. Maribeth offered a feminine replica of her father’s mischievous grin. “We’ve been working in the sisters’ stable. Papa said we were expert at mucking things up, we ought to try mucking something out.”
Katrina added, “But we’re all done now, Miss Fortune. It’s Emma’s birthday, and we gets to go swimmin’. We want you to come with us.”
“Papa allowed me to choose.” Emma’s eyes shone. “He’s taking the whole afternoon and night off from work, and I got to pick to do whatever I wanted. It’s swimming and a picnic, Miss Fortune, and you have to come or else it won’t be perfect.”
Maribeth nodded. “It has to be perfect. Today’s her birthday.”
Jenny’s eyes were beginning to water at the smell. “Swimming?” she asked doubtfully.
“And a picnic.” The girls all said at once.
Trace’s voice was an intriguing combination of challenge and amusement. “We’ve found us a nice, safe swimming hole just a short ride from town. We’d like you to join us, Miss Fortune. I figure that if you have trouble accepting my apology for my less-than-gentlemanly behavior last time we spoke, you can always push me into the creek.”
THE SUN bore down mercilessly upon the occupants of the buggy heading northwest out of town. The heat during August was miserable as a rule and this summer was no exception. Not a breath of air stirred the leaves of die oak trees that stretched across the lazy waters of Quail Creek.
The girls led the way along the familiar path to where a curve in the creek created a pool perfect for swimming. Trace toted a picnic basket and a tapestry satchel containing changes of clothing.
Jenny Fortune carried a pair of blankets.
Despite his best intentions, Trace’s gaze dropped to the gentle sway of her skirts as she followed his chattering daughters toward the swimming hole. She hadn’t wanted to come along. Some of her excuses had been
Similar Books
