Lisa Plumley | excerpt from Wanton in the West by Lisa Plumley

July 1884
Morrow Creek, northern Arizona Territory

On hot summer days, most women longed for a cool breeze, a refreshing fan, or a bracing lemonade. Adeline Wilson was different. On the hottest day in the memory of any Morrow Creek resident, Adeline longed for lace—yards and yards of Brussels lace, fashioned into a very specific garment: a bridal veil.

The moment Adeline stepped inside Mr. Hofer’s overstuffed mercantile, she spied that pile of ivory lace. It beckoned to her amid the wares and hubbub and smells of tobacco and pickles. There seemed no choice but to beeline toward it, all the better to examine its fine stitches, savor its undoubted softness, and imagine herself the bride she so yearned to be...someday.

The lace felt exactly as wondrous as she expected. Delicate and whisper thin, it deserved much better than to be abandoned on the counter by a previous customer, the way it apparently had been. Irresistibly tempted, Adeline drew the lacy bridal veil to her cheek. Envisioning herself wearing it, she sighed.

“Ah! So then it has happened!” Mrs. Hofer bustled over, beaming as she spoke in her accented voice. “Young Mr. Davis has finally proposed! We all knew he would. This is a happy day!”

As though she’d been stung, Adeline lowered the veil. Beside her, her closest friend, Violet Benson, gasped in shock.

“He’s proposed? Clayton’s proposed to you? Adeline! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! We’ve come all this way to town—”

“No. He hasn’t proposed.” This time, Adeline dropped the veil altogether. For good measure, she jabbed it with her elbow, just to make sure it stayed far away from her—and her foolish, much-too-public dreams. “At least, not yet, he hasn’t,” she added with a lift of her chin. “But I’m sure, very soon, he’ll—”

She broke off, unable to actually voice her dearest hope.

He’ll ask me to be his bride, and we’ll be married at last.

Violet stared at her in distress. So did Mrs. Hofer. Adeline felt unaccountably responsible for disappointing them.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hofer,” she said. “And Violet too. Please don’t feel bad for mentioning it. It was a reasonable mistake—”

“Yes, it was. Especially given how long Clayton Davis has kept you waiting on him,” Violet interrupted, her usual good cheer temporarily overridden by loyal indignation. “Almost two years now!” she grumbled, “with his smiles and his charm and his refusal to give you a wedding ring. The nerve of him!”

“Clayton isn’t lacking in nerve,” Adeline disagreed. “And as for the wedding ring... Well, he says he’s saving up.”

Mrs. Hofer gave her a dubious look. So did Violet. So did, Adeline fancied, all the other customers in the mercantile. In Morrow Creek, folks tended to know one another’s lives fairly intimately. Everyone here knew she’d been sweet on Clayton for years—and he, on her. It was a fact. Like wrinkles in freshly laundered shirts. Or tight, uncomfortable corsetry in July.

Shifting awkwardly in her copious layers of dress and petticoats and undergarments, Adeline decided she’d better just get on with what she’d come here for. Otherwise, she’d find herself in a debate she couldn’t win about her beloved Clayton.

“Anyway,” she said brightly, “could I please have a few things, Mrs. Hofer?” She consulted her list. “Four yards of that calico, there,”—she pointed—“and ten pounds of cornmeal, and a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s vegetable compound. The large one, please. Mrs. Fullham’s rheumatism is acting up again,” Adeline explained, “so I promised I’d do some shopping for her today.”

As the mercantile owner’s wife bustled off to collect the necessary items, Adeline felt her smile wobble slightly. But she refused to buckle completely. She might feel a bit...conspicuous about her long-standing courtship with Clayton Davis, but that didn’t mean she was giving up on him. Not by a mile.

She straightened her spine. There. That was better. With her neighborly mission well underway, she felt strong and proud.

Violet nudged her. “You can fool Mrs. Hofer, but you can’t fool me, Adeline! I’ve known you since...well, forever! I saw the way you looked at that bridal veil.” Her friend’s concerned gaze met hers. “Are you sure you’re holding up all right?”

“I’m fine,” Adeline promised. “So is Clayton. We are fine.”

Violet frowned, plainly unconvinced.

“Don’t worry, Violet. I’m not one of your charity cases, you know. I can manage for myself.” Spotting the famously helpful gleam in her friend’s eyes, Adeline hastened to assure Violet. Her friend—the minister’s daughter—was renowned for her good works in Morrow Creek. “Clayton and I... We’ll be fine. And we’ll be married soon, too. I know we will. Don’t you worry.”

“I can’t help worrying! You so deserve to be happy.” Violet gave her an empathetic look. “And I want to help. I’ve been thinking about this, and it all boils down to this: You’re too available to Clayton. You’re too here, in Morrow Creek—”

“Well, strictly speaking, Papa’s farm is outside of town—”

“—where Clayton can see you whenever he wants to!” Violet put her hands on her hips, casting a friendly—if unnervingly conspiratorial glance—at Mrs. Hofer as she gathered Adeline’s purchases for Mrs. Fullham in a cast-off box. “What you need,” Violet concluded, “is a chance for Clayton Davis to miss you.”

Adeline scoffed. But Violet appeared downright enthralled by her theory. Clearly gathering steam, she went on talking.

“You need to shake up Clayton a bit! He’s taking you for granted, plain as day, and you’re letting him. Why, with just the smallest nudge, or maybe just a teensy bit of subterfuge, we could properly sway Clayton in the direction of a proposal.”

“Subterfuge? Whatever are you talking about?”

Violet shrugged. “A...harmless scheme. For his own good.”

Adeline shook her head. “I don’t want to trick Clayton into marrying me!” Aghast at the notion, she paid Mrs. Hofer. She hefted her box, then left the bustling mercantile behind. On the dusty boardwalk outside, Adeline raised her voice to be heard above the passing wagons and the riders with horses ajangle with tack. “I want Clayton to want to marry me. And he does.”

“You still don’t have a ring. Or a bridal veil to wear.”

“I have Clayton’s love. For now, that’s enough for me.”

On the heels of Adeline’s pronouncement, Mrs. Hofer emerged from the mercantile. She flagged down Adeline and Violet. Red-faced and breathless, she added the vegetable compound—which she’d apparently forgotten—to Adeline’s box of goods. Then Mrs. Hofer leaned forward, her kindly face awash in sympathy.

“Don’t you worry, Miss Wilson,” the older lady said. “I made sure to tell all my other customers you are not engaged yet. Now, no one else will congratulate you and embarrass you!”

“Oh.” Flustered, Adeline nodded. “Thank you so much.”

“You are welcome.” Mrs. Hofer squeezed her shoulder. “You are a good girl. Like my own daughter. Who is married. With many babies. But...” A shrug. “Such a life is not for everyone, no?”

“No.” Adeline’s smile wobbled again. “I guess not.”

But just then, she longed fiercely for that life. For Clayton, babies, and a veil of Brussels lace to start it all.

Violet poked her. She waggled her eyebrows comically.

“Now will you let me help you with this Clayton problem?”

This Clayton problem. Adeline sighed. Was her handsome, sweet, and beyond respectful beau a problem? If only he would treat her as the bride she so hankered to be...but he wouldn’t.

“No.” Adeline nodded good-bye to Mrs. Hofer, then swiveled. Companionably, she walked onward with Violet. “It’s not that I don’t treasure your loyalty—and your dedication to the cause of seeing me contentedly married—because I do. I truly do! But I wouldn’t be happy knowing I’d bamboozled Clayton into marriage.”

“Well, then. Maybe someone will have to do it for you!”

“No.” Adeline was firm. “Whatever you’re thinking...no!”

“It’s not as though we’d be forcing Clayton to do something he doesn’t already want to do. He’s willing, just tardy! I could easily squeeze in the project between reading to orphans and delivering dinners to veterans with the ladies’ auxiliary club.”

“Violet, no! If I wanted to ‘nudge’ Clayton, I would.”

“All right.” Violet seemed resigned. Then she pointed. “Look! Isn’t that another veil? Of Duchesse lace, this time?”

Before she could think, Adeline veered for the display in a nearby shop window—betrayed, quite obviously, by her own fondest desires. Halfway there, she stopped. Dismayed, she turned.

“See?” she told Violet. “I’m absolutely no good at hiding my feelings—not for an instant. I could never trick Clayton!”

For the first time that day, her friend seemed to agree. Sagely, Violet nodded. “I see that. All right. I’ll leave off all this subterfuge talk. You just go on waiting for Clayton.”

“That’s exactly what I intend to do.” Adeline cast a mischievous glance at Violet. “But first, I want to see that Duchesse lace up close.” She grabbed her. “Come on!”

There at the shop window, Adeline allowed herself to dream all over again. She dreamed of lacy veils and fancy dresses, of wishes and kisses, and of meeting Clayton at the altar.

Wherever Clayton was just then, Adeline hoped with all her heart that he was dreaming exactly the same dreams she was. She’d pinned a lot of hopes on her dependable—if tardy—beau. She knew, deep down in her soul, he was worth it.

From the book WANTON IN THE WEST by Lisa Plumley
Imprint and Series: Harlequin Historical Undone! - Publication Date 01/11
ISBN 978-1-426-88014-8 - Copyright © 2011 by Lisa Plumley
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A
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