"Oh no, Mr. Worthington, don't go." Maura intercepted him. "I was just brewing a nice pot of tea. Stay and have a cuppa."

"No thank you. I really must be going."

"Please stay, me lord. I'm sure you're thirsty after all your dancing."

Reg glanced back at Abbie. She was staring at her feet, smoothing her skirt over and over with her hands. If he left now, Maura would no doubt dominate the conversation. Abbie wouldn't have a chance to say the things she wanted to say to Alan.

Not that the rancher deserved a prize like Abbie, anyway. If he hadn't recognized her worth by now, what would a few minutes conversation do? Reg shook off the thought and turned back to Maura. "Actually, I was wondering if I could induce you to come riding with me for the afternoon."

It was Maura's turn to blush. Reg wondered if he'd made a mistake, pretending an interest in the maid; but it was the only thing he could think of to provide Abbie and Alan a moment alone. "Oh, sir, how nice of you to offer, but I really must "

"Maura, did I hear you say something about tea? I'm so thirsty I could drain the well dry." Alan crossed the room and stood beside the maid. He frowned at Reg.

Reg turned to give Abbie a look of apology, and found her scowling at him as well. So much for his attempt at helping her. "I'll be going, then," he said, and turned to retrieve his hat. Maura intercepted him once more. She glanced at Abbie, then back to him. "Please stay," she said. "Me feelings will be sorely hurt if you won't stay and taste me scones and cream. Remind you of home, they will."

"Let him go, Maura," Abbie said. "I'm sure Reg has enjoyed all of my company he can stand today."

"Yes, I'm sure Reg is busy," Alan said.

Reg glanced from one to the other. Alan watched Maura, Maura looked at Abbie, while Abbie studied the floor. The afternoon was already shaping up to be a romantic failure, whether he stayed or departed. He replaced his hat on the peg. "On second thought, tea and scones sounds wonderful."

Maura put a kettle on to boil, then set about clearing the table. Abbie led the men over to the sofa. Reg sat in the only chair, leaving Alan to take the place beside Abbie. "So tell me about this horse," Alan said.

"The horse. Oh, yes." Abbie smoothed her skirt across her knees. "Well, I was thinking of buying another cutting horse."

"You're not thinking of selling Toby, are you?"

"Of course not. I thought it would be nice to have another animal in my string."

Alan nodded. "I hear Abner Folsum has a cutting horse for sale. You might try him."

"I didn't know that. Um, maybe you'd like to ride over there with me sometime." Abbie cast a hopeful glance toward Alan, but the rancher had turned his head to watch Maura move about the kitchen.

Reg wished he was seated close enough to give Alan a not-too-gentle nudge with his boot. "Abbie says you have a good eye for horseflesh," he said.

"Yeah, well, Abbie doesn't need me or anyone else to help her pick out a horse." Alan smiled back at her. "I don't know why she wanted my advice."

"I just thought. . . I'd enjoy your company." This bold admission shook Reg. It was the closest Abbie had ever come to confessing her longing for Alan's attention to anyone but Reg himself. He clenched his fists at his sides. So help him, if Alan hurt her "Tea is served." Maura came to usher them to the table. Reg blinked at the feast laid before them. As promised, Maura had produced scones and cream, jam and a.s.sorted finger sandwiches, as well as a steaming pot of fragrant tea.

"Now isn't this something?" Alan asked as they gathered around the table. "Maura, you're a miracle worker," he said.

He took a bite of scone. "Mmmmm. Delicious."

"Abbie and I were discussing the dance you're hosting Friday," Reg said, searching for a new topic of conversation.

"Yeah." Alan grinned. "Maura already told me she's going to whip up new dresses for her and Abbie." He looked at Abbie. "Won't that be something? She says she plans to turn you into a regular lady."

Reg winced, as a pink blush swept up Abbie's cheeks. Why did Alan find the notion of Abbie as a lady so impossible? "I've no doubt Abbie and Maura will be the belles of the ball," he said.

Alan smiled at Maura. "The cowboys will be waitin' in line for dances. That's one reason I've already put in my request."

"Reg has been teaching me to dance." Abbie added sugar to her tea and stirred vigorously.

"Well, how about that?" Alan said.

Ask her to dance! Reg stared daggers at the rancher across the table, but Alan's attention was focused on Maura.

"Did you bake these cookies yourself?" he asked, helping himself to another. "They're delicious." He continued to rain compliments on the pretty Irish maid throughout the meal. Reg's attempts to turn the conversation back to Abbie met with little successes. Abbie grew quieter and quieter, and Reg noticed she hardly touched any of the admittedly delicious food.

"Now about this horse." Alan drained his cup and turned to Abbie.

She sat up straighter. "Yes, I'd like you to ride over to Abner Folsum's with me to look at it," she said.

Reg smiled. That's the spirit, he thought. Don't give up yet.

"I was fixing to say, I don't think you want one of Abner's horses," Alan said. He wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin on his plate. "He's got a reputation for shady dealings with livestock I'd steer clear of him if I were you. But I'll keep my ears open if I hear of anything else."

"Oh." Abbie slumped in her chair. "Well, thank you."

"I'd best be headed home now." Alan turned to Maura. "Thank you for the fine meal," he said. "I'll look forward to seeing you again at the dance."

She blushed and batted her eyes prettily. Reg could almost feel his friend melting from the feminine attention. Alan was clearly smitten; what chance did Abbie have now?

"Maybe you should check out the auction in Amarillo next month," Alan said as he and Abbie and Reg walked to the door.

"I was thinking of attending the auction," Abbie said.

"Might be a good idea." Alan settled his hat on his head and pulled open the door. "It's always good to check out of town for a change. Could be you'll find what you're looking for at auction."

Reg felt a shiver run down his spine as he shut the door and caught Abbie's glance. He thought again of the moment when he'd held her, and almost kissed her. Would he find what he was looking for at auction? Or what he most wanted to avoid?

Chapter Fourteen.

"If you think I'm letting you truss me up in that thing, you've got another think coming." Abbie glared at the corset Maura held in her hand and shook her head. "A woman can hardly breathe in one of those things, much less move around or be comfortable."

"But, Miss, you'll look ever so lovely in it." Maura held the undergarment in front of her. "It'll pinch your waist in real small and lift your bosoms up nice and high."

"I don't want to be pinched or lifted, thank you." Abbie folded her arms across her chest and looked at the dress laid out on her bed. The royal blue satin shimmered in the lamplight, the fabric gathered in strategic places with satin bows, the skirt trailing ruffles. "I'm not even sure I want to wear all this fluff and folderol. Maybe I could wear a shirtwaist and riding skirt "

"Oh no, Miss." Maura looked horrified. She dropped the corset on the bed and rushed to Abbie's side. "You can't be showing up at the ball wearing everyday clothes. What will people think?"

"That I'm a woman with sense enough not to deck myself out like some china doll?" She sank down onto the bed. "Oh, Maura, I don't think I'm cut out for this business of being a 'lady.' I'm more comfortable riding a horse and wearing trousers."

"Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but n.o.body ever said being a lady had anything to do with being comfortable. Now stand up and let me help you into your dress. You'll feel better once you see yourself in all your finery."

Reluctantly, Abbie stood and allowed Maura to settle the new gown over her head. "Oh, this color is perfect for you, Miss," Maura said as she fastened the row of b.u.t.tons up the back of the dress. "And that draping makes your waist look small even without the corset." She moved around Abbie, smoothing folds and straightening ruffles. "Oh, Miss, you'll be a smashing success, 'tis sure," she said, stepping back at last.

"It's not a ball," Abbie said. "It's just a little get together."

"If there's to be dancing, then I don't see as it can be improper to be calling it a ball." Maura took Abbie's arm and led her to a chair. "Now come sit down and let me do your hair."

Abbie carefully lowered herself into the chair, afraid of crushing her skirts. The voluminous satin and layers of starched petticoats added an unfamiliar weight. No wonder most women walked so slow, with all these pounds of fabric dragging them down. "Ouch!" She flinched as Maura dragged a comb through her hair.

"Sorry, Miss, but you must try to sit still."

So Abbie clenched her jaw and held firm against Maura's onslaught on her head. The maid attacked Abbie's tresses like a surgeon, with curling iron and crimper, brushes and barrettes. When she was finished, Abbie had a headache and her neck and shoulders felt awkwardly bare of any covering of fabric or trailing curls.

"There now. We'll add a touch of powder." Maura applied the powder puff. "And we'll pinch your cheeks for color."

"Yeooww!" Abbie jumped back from the maid's fierce hold of her cheeks.

Maura grinned. "Come, Miss, and see how lovely you look." She shooed Abbie toward the mirror.

Abbie stared at the woman who looked back at her from the beveled gla.s.s. The cowgirl she knew had been replaced by this elegant looking woman. Her skin glowed white as cream against the deep blue of the dress, and the low cut neckline displayed an embarra.s.sing hint of cleavage, even without the 'lift' of a corset. Her neck and shoulders were smooth and bare, her hair piled in ringlets atop her head and crowned with a circlet of blue ribbon. "I can hardly believe it's me," she whispered.

"Believe it, Miss." Maura replaced the lid on the dusting powder and gathered the hair from the brush and stuffed it in the celluloid hair receiver. "The woman what taught me at me last post said dressing a lady is like putting together a flower arrangement. The blossoms look lovely in the garden, but once you cut them and fuss with them and place them just so, then they're fit to grace a royal banquet."

Abbie glanced at the vision in the mirror once more. Who would have guessed she could ever be so fine and 'fit to grace a royal banquet?'

Reg saw it, she thought. He never doubted he could turn me into a lady. What will he think of me tonight?

She turned and saw Maura struggling to pull her own gown over her head. "Here, let me help you." She rushed forward and tugged the dress down over the maid's shoulders, then began to do up the b.u.t.tons in back.

"Thank you, Miss. I practiced fastening it meself, but it was a bit of a stretch." Maura smoothed out the full skirts of the dress and straightened the fitted bodice. The confection of sea green foam was not as ornamented as Abbie's dress, but the simple design set off the maid's generous figure and red-gold hair to perfection.

"You're the one who will be the belle of the ball," Abbie said, feeling a twinge of envy. No matter how pretty her new finery made her look, she could not deny that Maura was beautiful enough to take a man's breath away. Her gold-flecked eyes shone like topaz, and her cheeks wore a natural blush needless of painful pinching. Abbie picked up the brush and began to stroke Maura's hair.

"Oh, Miss, I can get it meself." Maura took the brush and began sweeping it through her curls with swift strokes. "It's ever so nice of ye to offer, though." She sat down on the edge of the bed and began pinning curls atop her head. "Do you think there'll be lots of dancing then, Miss?"

Abbie sat back down in the chair and nodded. "You might as well rest now. Once the cowboys see you, they won't let you sit out a single song."

Maura smiled. "I'll love to dance with them all, but there's one in particular I hope will be asking me to dance. He's not a cowboy though."

"Oh, who is he?"

Maura's cheeks grew pinker. "Can't you guess? I was fearful I'd been mooning over him something awful."

Abbie shook her head. "I can't guess. Tell me."

"It's Alan Mitch.e.l.l."

Abbie caught her breath. She'd been aware of Alan going out of his way to be helpful to Maura, but she'd a.s.sumed he was acting out of his usual concern for a neighbor. Now she wondered if his interest in Maura was something more. She supposed she ought to be jealous of her maid. After all, Alan was the man Abbie intended to marry.

"Miss?" Maura leaned toward Abbie. "You don't think me too forward, do you, for hoping for his affections?"

Abbie looked into Maura's wide eyes and felt only concern for the other woman's feelings. "Of course you're not being too forward," she said, putting a hand on the maid's arm. "You've never behaved improperly that I've seen."

Maura worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Then you don't think I'm touched to hope a man of property like Mr. Mitch.e.l.l might look with favor upon a serving girl like me?"

Silently, Abbie thought the whole thing sounded like a plot for a romantic novel. "This is America," she said gently. "Things like that don't matter here." She hesitated, then added. "Has Alan indicated that he's, um, interested in you?"

"It's hard to say, Miss." Maura went back to arranging her hair. "He comes around often enough, but maybe it's you he's coming to see instead of me."

That news should have thrilled her, but try as she might, all Abbie felt was nothing. Alan was Alan. He was her friend and neighbor, someone she'd known forever. She still admired him and liked him, but she wasn't so sure anymore that what she felt for him was love. Her heart never beat faster when Alan was near; she never felt a rush of warmth through her body, or the longing to press her lips to his. She didn't desire Alan, and shouldn't a woman desire the man who was going to be her husband?

She hadn't thought the physical side of marriage was very important before. Oh, of course it was necessary in order to have children, but she'd a.s.sumed she and Alan would work things out once they'd said their vows.

But that was before she'd realized how wonderful a kiss could make her feel, and what a thrilling thing desire could be. Unfortunately, the only man she'd desired so far was Reg. Surely that was because she'd spent more time with him than other men lately.

Maybe her desire for Alan could grow and be nurtured. Probably she hadn't really thought about him in the right way as a handsome, desirable man, instead of a familiar friend and neighbor.

No, she couldn't give up on Alan yet. Time was running out and she had to marry if she was ever going to have the family she wanted. If she didn't marry Alan, who else could she find to be her husband?

Reg? She blinked, startled by the thought. Marry that arrogant English n.o.bleman? They had nothing in common. Besides, he was headed back to England at the first opportunity.

Marry Reg? Ridiculous!

She'd have to marry Alan, that's all there was to it. Maura would understand. A beautiful woman like her would find someone else soon enough. Abbie didn't have another choice.

Abbie could hear the fiddles tuning as she steered the buggy into line among the others waiting beside the Mitch.e.l.ls' well-lit house. Lamplight glowed in every window, spilling in yellow pools onto the ground. Men stood in groups along the broad front porch, or gathered around a keg of beer set under the lone tree beside the front gate.

"Oh do hurry, Miss. I'm not wanting to be late for me first Texas ball." Maura gathered her shawl about her and stood, ready to leap from the wagon box before the wheels had even stopped rolling.

"Ma'am allow me to help you down." A cowboy in a red and white striped shirt rushed up to offer Maura his hand, while a second man a.s.sisted Abbie.

"Sure is nice to see two such pretty ladies," Abbie's escort said. "I'd be pleased if you'd reserve a dance for me."

Abbie studied the mustached man with the slick-backed hair. He reeked of pomade. "Tim O'Rourke, is that you?" she asked.

He blinked in confusion, then squinted at her. "Abbie Waters, is that you?" He laughed, braying like a donkey. "Didn't recognize you all dolled up." He stepped back and looked her up and down. "You clean up real nice."

"I could say the same for you," she said, feeling the heat of a blush sweep across her cheeks.

"Don't forget you owe me a dance," he called after her as she and Maura made their way toward the house.

Alan and Brice Mitch.e.l.l stood at the door, welcoming their guests. "Abbie. Maura. You both look lovely," Alan said. Was it Abbie's imagination, or did his gaze linger on Maura? "So glad you could come."

Abbie moved past her hosts, into a room warm with lamplight. The air was heavy with the scents of lamp oil, leather and the pomade cowboys used to slick back their hair. A dozen or more men, and a few women, were already gathered in the large room that spanned the front of the house. The furniture, except for a line of straight-back chairs, had been removed to make room for dancing. A band, consisting of a fiddle and two guitars, was tuning up in front of the fireplace.

At the sight of the instruments, her stomach fluttered. Would she remember the steps Reg had taught her? Or would she once again make a fool of herself in front of Alan and her neighbors?