The Bad Luck Wedding Dress by Geralyn Dawson Page B

“Uh- huh.”
    Jenny knew a triumphant grin would ruin it, so she firmly squelched the urge. Instead, she sent Monique a silent message of thanks for having imparted the intricacies of such a useful skill as flirting.
    In a barely audible voice, Trace repeated, “Oh, yes.”
    He closed his eyes, shook himself, and slid down from the rock. He stepped a few feet down the path before he stopped and turned.
    His gaze was direct and emotionless, his voice brisk and businesslike. “I want your help with my daughters. I’m willing to forego your rent and pay you ten dollars a week.”
    Jenny swallowed abruptly. “Excuse me?”
    Sunlight highlighted streaks of red in Trace’s dark hair as he shrugged and said, “I think it’s a fair wage considering you won’t be doing any household chores. I might be willing to negotiate a bit, but you need to keep in mind that I’m not made of money.”
    Silence hung between them, broken only by the trill of a mockingbird perched in a nearby oak. Something wasn’t right here. Not even an unconventional man like Trace McBride would use the word “wage” in a marriage proposal. She searched his expression for a clue to his thoughts, but he might as well have been playing poker for all she could tell.
    Suddenly, she had enough of his posturing. The rate he was going, they’d be here until dark. “Are you, or are you not, trying to ask me something, Mr. McBride?”
    He nodded, reached for her hand once more, and pulled her down the path toward the creek. “I realize this idea might strike you as strange at first. Folks usually take other avenues to reach an agreement like this. But if you’ll just give it a chance, I’m sure you’ll see the arrangement has its merits. Don’t forget that a little earlier you confessed you’d have trouble making the rent.”
    He gave her a sidelong look, waiting. When she nodded, he continued. “Well, throwing in with us would solve that particular problem. And considering the state your business is in, you should be grateful to have the work.”
    The idea of charging his wife rent was bad enough, but the reference to Fortune’s Design poured salt into a wound. “Job?” She lifted her chin. “Well, I don’t doubt that marriage to you would be a job, but let me tell you right up front, Trace McBride, no one is going to make me close my business.”
    “Marriage!” The word exploded from his mouth and his boots kicked up a small cloud of dust as he backed away from the threat. “Who the hell said anything about marriage?”
    “You did,” she snapped.
    “I did not,” he scoffed. “I never will. I’ll never marry again. The very idea makes me want to lose my dinner.” He marched the last few feet to the creek. Swiping two of the white cotton shifts from the branches of a bush, he reached for the third, then stopped dead cold. “Good God, Miss Fortune. Surely you didn’t think I was asking you to marry me!”
    Lose his dinner at the thought of marrying her? Jenny almost swooned from the injury.
    Thankfully, pride came to her rescue. “Of course not,” she jeered, sweeping Katrina’s little shift from beneath his outstretched hand. “I’d have to be a fool to think such nonsense. I’m simply trying to get you to make your point so that we can return to town. It’s been a tiring day, Mr. McBride. I’m ready to go home.”
    “Oh? I thought I’d spelled it out, but maybe not.” He appeared both puzzled and relieved.
    Foolish man.
    “I’m offering you a position in my household, Miss Fortune. I want to hire you to be a substitute mother for my daughters. I want you to take them in hand and do all the mother things they are missing out on. Things like teaching them to sew. I want Emma, Maribeth, and Katrina to grow up to be ladies. Truth be told, I’m not having much luck teaching them myself.”
    Heat stung her cheeks as embarrassment washed through her. How stupid of her to think of marriage; how mean of him to phrase his words