Page 37 of Seven Brides for Beau McBride (The McBrides of Montana #3)

“I’m not sure we’ll find much in here,” Mabel said dubiously once Junebug had strong-armed them inside.

“Well, there ain’t time to be ordering no decorations from a catalog,” Junebug told them firmly.

“So we’ll have to make do.” She considered the contents of Langer’s shop.

There were bags of flour and beans, and rows of pickaxes and shovels.

“What do people usually decorate dances with?” she asked.

“In books there’s chandeliers and flowers, but that ain’t really a potentiality here.

Especially in late fall, when there’s a dearth of flowers. ”

Junebug had big plans for her Christmas dance.

She’d never been to a dance in her life, but she knew the kind of atmosphere it ought to have.

There should be music, and golden light, and it’d be pretty and musical and romantical as all hell.

She remembered Beau dancing himself around that clearing up past Buck’s Creek.

Her brother wanted dancing, so dancing is what he’d get.

But she needed snow. You couldn’t have a Christmas dance without snow.

And it would help if Beau was snowed in and couldn’t get out.

She’d prefer him trapped in with her girls and all the mistletoe.

Junebug planned to rig the whole hotel with it.

She wasn’t leaving this romance business up to her idiot brother—she was taking matters into her own hands.

“Why don’t you just get an excess of candles?” Nancy suggested. “If you can’t have chandeliers, you can at least have a sea of candles.”

“Oh, I know where the candles are.” Now Purdy had come over infernally helpful. He led Jonah and Nancy and Mabel away to the candles.

Goddamn it. This was Beau’s fault. He was neglecting these girls, and this was the result. They were falling for the charms of a hick like Purdy and a pup like Jonah.

“I saw Beau riding out,” Ellie said with studied casualness. She was pretending to be absorbed in a row of cookpots.

It was clear Ellie Neale was dying to ask where he was off to.

“Maybe he’s off looking for that bear you won’t tell me about,” Junebug said sourly.

Ellie flushed. “There’s nothing to tell. It was just being a bear.”

Junebug had been in the bride business long enough to recognize certain signs. Avoiding eye contact, blushing, evasiveness.

Actually, now that she thought about it, Beau had been downright evasive too. When she asked him about the bear he’d just said, “It was a goddamn bear, Junebug, what’s to describe?” Even though he knew how she pined to see a bear.

Junebug examined Ellie. She’d been a total mess that night, and so had Beau.

They’d both been wet and muddy and cold.

Beau had said they’d taken shelter at Abner’s and Ellie’s dress had been ruined—which is why she was in Abner’s flannels.

Junebug thought it seemed odd that she’d somehow lost her underwear too, though.

“Well, I’d think if a bear ripped my dress to shreds, I’d have a story to tell,” Junebug baited Ellie now. Beau had said her dress had been wrecked by mud…

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Ellie said quickly. She was sunset red. “It was traumatic.”

“Right.” Junebug’s mind raced. Her brother had been relaxed around Ellie before that night. And now he… wasn’t. She examined Ellie, trying to imagine her in something other than ugly brown. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was okay.

Maybe beautiful was intimidating, Junebug thought. Maybe Beau was daunted by the others? “What are you wearing to my Christmas dance?” Junebug asked abruptly.

Ellie looked startled. “What?”

“My dance. What are you wearing?” Junebug guessed the answer in advance and didn’t like it.

“Um. This, I suppose.” Ellie looked down at herself.

“No.” Junebug exuberantly propelled Ellie to the back corner of the store.

“It’s perfectly serviceable,” Ellie insisted.

“It’s perfectly hideous.”

“It doesn’t matter what I look like.”

Junebug turned on her. “Of course it matters what you look like!” She’d never heard such nonsense in her life.

Junebug shook her head. She’d thought Maddy and Pip had needed pep talks.

This girl needed a pep parade. A circus even.

“Hell, Ellie. Even if you ain’t here to win someone, you can enjoy dressing up, cain’t you? ”

Ellie Neale blinked at her.

“Of course you can,” Junebug answered for her.

She yanked her into the corner where the rolls of fabric were stacked.

“I reckon that bear did you a favor. You can replace that ugly brown thing with something nicer.” Although all Junebug could see in the stacks at Langer’s were denims and corduroys, twills and wools.

All in dark shades. That’s what happened when you lived in a town full of men, Junebug thought in disgust.

“I can’t afford new fabric,” Ellie told her firmly.

“Fritz!” Junebug ignored her and went looking for the shopkeeper. “Fritz! Where in hell are your dress fabrics?”

“Dress fabrics?” Fritz Langer emerged from the little office in back, his walrus moustache covered in cookie crumbs. “I don’t stock dress fabrics.” He pulled a catalog from a shelf. “But you can order some.”

“I ain’t got time for that.” Junebug took Ellie in a firm grip and marched her out.

“How many candles, Junebug?” Nancy asked as they steamed past her.

“All of them.” Junebug dragged Ellie out of the store.

“I’m not going in there!”

Junebug had expected this. “Neither of us are going in there,” she soothed Ellie, as she approached the back door of the cathouse. “But we’ve exhausted all other possibilities.”

Junebug had been to Martha, Ellen and Mrs. Champion and none of them had any fabric. There weren’t many other options in Bitterroot. Except this one—because surely a house full of women would have a spare length of fabric or two?

“I’ll borrow a dress off Diana.”

“I don’t reckon your friend likes lending her dresses, or you’d have been wearing one by now.” Junebug noted Ellie’s startlement.

“Of course she would,” Ellie protested. “If I asked…”

Junebug grunted. As far as she could see, Diana was used to being the one taken care of. And Ellie was used to doing the caring. It was about time she started looking after herself instead of Diana. Especially if she had feelings for Beau.

“This is a bridge too far, Junebug!” Ellie snapped as they reached the cathouse. But Junebug noted that her gaze was riveted on the house. She was curious. Good. Because so was Junebug.

“Nah. It’s just a bridge, like any other bridge.” Junebug rapped sharply on the back door.

Junebug was endlessly fascinated by the whores in the cathouse.

Morgan and Kit refused to let her speak to them, which she thought was dumb.

What harm could talking do? She’d tried to get cathouse girls to sit with everyone else at the mushrooming picnic, but they sat at a discreet distance, off on their own.

“Good morning,” she said brightly when the door opened, revealing a sleepy looking woman in a plain muslin dress. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Junebug McB—”

“I know who you are,” the woman interrupted, slouching against the door. “And there’ll be hell to pay if your brothers catch you here.”

“Which is precisely why I came to the back door.” Junebug tried to radiate amiability. She knew her brothers could intimidate people. “This is Ellie.” She gestured to Ellie to come forward, but the stubborn woman refused.

“I know,” the woman sighed. “Honestly, Junebug, there are barely more than two dozen people in this town. Everybody knows everybody.”

“I don’t know your name,” Junebug pointed out.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Nor should you.”

“Is it Mary?” Junebug guessed. “Jane? Sarah? Hortense?”

That got a vague smile out of her.

“I’m so sorry,” Ellie abruptly interjected. “We really shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“We’re not bothering her. We’re just talking.” Junebug pressed ahead. “Look, Whats-Your-Name, see Ellie here? Take a good look at her. How would you describe that dress she’s wearing?”

The woman considered Ellie carefully. “Ghastly?”

“Ghastly! Exactly. And what color would you call it?”

“Brown?”

“It’s yellow, ” Ellie protested. “Ish.”

“This ghastly brown- ish thing is Ellie’s best dress. Now, don’t you think that’s sad?”

The woman was attentively listening now.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m throwing a Christmas dance, and Ellie here is supposed to come. But look at her. ” Junebug increased the pathos.

The woman sighed. “Junebug. I don’t really care.”

“Fine. I’ve got money.” Junebug dug out her cash. “I’m just looking for some dress fabric.”

“What kind of dress fabric?” The woman eyed the cash.

“Nothing brown.”

“Wait here.” The door closed.

“I am not wearing a whore’s dress.” Ellie crossed her arms.

“Oh, get over yourself. They’re just women like us.”

“You’re not a woman, you’re a child.”

“They have nice clothes—when they wear them. Anyway, we’re not buying you a dress, we’re just buying fabric. There ain’t anything indecent in that.” Junebug considered Ellie. “I wonder what kind of dress we should make you.”

“We?”

“Well, you . I don’t sew.”

“Neither do I—at least not well.”

“You think I should buy one of their dresses, then? So we don’t have to do any sewing?”

“No!”

The door swung open and the whore was back, holding three bolts of material. “Which color do you like?”

There was a deep rose pink, a sherbet yellow and a screaming crimson. Junebug liked all of them. She reached out and stroked the fabric. “What are you charging?” she asked.

The woman named her price.

Junebug approved of her ambition but wasn’t about to be exploited. “If I get two of them, can you give me a discount?”

“Don’t waste your money. I don’t want them,” Ellie said stubbornly.

“Of course you don’t. They’re not brown enough.” Junebug wasn’t about to listen to her. “You should be thanking me, not being such a pain in the ass.”

“It’s good quality fabric,” the woman assured Ellie.

“It’s not the quality I’m worried about.”