Page 20 of The Gilded Lady (The Gilded West #3)

He’d been afraid that Glory had been serious about the new clothes. He didn’t mind protecting her. He wanted to protect her. But he didn’t like the idea of her dressing him up.

“There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you’d show.

” Glory couldn’t help the way the corners of her lips tugged upward the moment Zane stepped into J.

Sainsbury’s shop. He was so broad and tall that he seemed to take up the whole storefront.

His gaze slid over the store as if he was expecting something to attack from one of the shelves.

She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing.

One side of the narrow shop was lined with shelves full of ready-made shirts and pants, with a couple of wooden mannequins dressed in coats and waistcoats to display Mr. Sainsbury’s skill.

The other side displayed bolts of fabrics in various textures and colors.

Broadcloth in shades of blue, gray and black, soft colored linens and lawn, somber seersucker, along with silks in every color of the rainbow. Even some plaids for trousers.

“Don’t worry, we can avoid the plaid if you prefer,” she said.

His narrowed gaze finally landed on her as he took off his hat, and ran his palm over his head as if he were smoothing his hair down.

She smothered another laugh at how discontent he seemed.

She’d seen him backing up Hunter when they’d forced their way into Victoria House a couple of months ago looking for Emmy, their runaway hostage; she’d seen him roughing up that man who’d been stalking Castillo; she’d seen him when he’d carried his half-dead friend in when Cas had been shot.

He’d handled that all with confidence and calm.

She’d never once seen him look as uncomfortable as he looked now.

“Oh, we’ll avoid the plaid.” One of the mannequins had on a deep red silk waistcoat shot through with black thread.

It was a showpiece to draw attention from window-shoppers on the street.

Not that Sainsbury needed the business. It had taken begging on her part and a twenty percent premium to get him to agree to see them today because he was overbooked.

Every man in town who cared about his standing in Helena was on the waitlist to have a Sainsbury suit.

“We’ll avoid red silk too,” said Zane, eyeing the mannequin with a look she could only equate to suspicion.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “Consider it done.”

“Ah, Mr. Pierce.” Sainsbury’s assistant hurried in through the curtains that separated the fitting areas in the back of the store from the main room.

Pins of various sizes stuck out of a gingham cloth swung over his shoulder and a length of measuring tape hung down from his neck.

“We’ve been waiting for you.” The older man was slight in build, barely taller than Glory in her low-heeled shoes.

Zane towered over them both. “Come on to the back and we’ll take your measurements. ”

Zane followed, holding the curtain open for her so that she could precede him to the back. Zane had to duck to walk through the curtained archway.

“Remove your coat and boots.” The man led them past several curtained alcoves and pointed to a coatrack in the corner. “Stand on the dais and I’ll be with you shortly.” After giving the instruction he disappeared into another room where the clothing was stored.

Zane hung up his coat, and put his gun belt on the peg beside it, then he leaned down to unlace his boots before kicking them off.

As he took his place on the dais, Glory allowed herself a moment to look at his clothes.

The length of his pants was perfect, and they pulled in just tight enough at the waist. She couldn’t quite pull her eyes from the way the fabric clung to the muscles underneath, cupping his form perfectly.

The fabric didn’t sag there like it did for some men, and while she was certain it was due in large part to the fact that he was fitter than most men, she could also recognize the work of a skilled tailor when she saw it.

He wasn’t the usual gunman who traveled through town looking for work.

Apparently the outlaw business paid well.

As she settled herself in a chair, she studied him a little longer than was strictly necessary.

She didn’t want to imagine it, but she couldn’t stop thinking of what he might look like beneath his clothes.

The very notion of that was so foreign to her that she probably let it go too far before stopping herself.

He’d be wide and broad, his muscles defined.

Would his chest be as brown as his forearms?

She shifted, realizing it was stifling in the small space.

The silk of her gown seemed to be sticking to her skin so she tugged at the neckline.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” His voice made her look away, catching his knowing gaze in the mirror. He didn’t appear upset that she’d been looking him over. He even seemed to be holding back a smile.

She shook her head and tried to appear as if she hadn’t been gawking at him. Gesturing to him, she said, “You’ve clearly seen a tailor before. Why do you seem so uncomfortable?”

“Can’t get accustomed to…strangers making my clothes.”

She stared at him for a moment in silence, unable to believe how her heart was beginning to pound.

She wanted to know what he meant. What had his life been like up until now?

What would it be like after he left? Before she could stop herself, she heard herself asking, “What do you mean? Did someone you know make those?” She gestured to what he was wearing.

He took in a breath through his nose and she could almost see him turning over the question in his mind. “No, these were made in Denver. The Jamesons and I spent a winter there a couple of years back.”

That made no sense. Surely that person had been a stranger, but to keep him talking, she said, “I’ve never thought of it that way. When I was a child, my mother made all of our clothes, though most of mine were altered versions of my older sister’s.”

“You had an older sister. Any brothers?”

“Why do I feel like you’re always trying to get information out of me?

” She wasn’t really annoyed. Mainly she was covering because of how much she wanted to tell him.

So much of her life had been spent not talking about her past, but talking to him was easy.

She wanted to tell him things, to make a connection with him, because he might be someone who could understand.

It was probably silly to think so, and she didn’t really understand why she did.

Instead of answering her question, he offered up some information of his own. “I had two older sisters.”

“Had?” An unexpected pain tugged at her heart.

He shrugged. “I think they’re still living. We had the same mother, but my father was white. A trader who traveled through our village from time to time. After my mother died, I went to live with him and we lost touch. They married and moved north to Canada years.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He turned to look at her fully.

The response had been automatic. What was she sorry for? Him losing touch with his sisters? His mother’s death? “For the pain on your face when you told me that.”

His expression didn’t change but something in his eyes did.

She’d surprised him. She didn’t know why but that made her happy.

Able’s deep voice rumbled out from one of the curtained alcoves where he was being fitted by Sainsbury himself.

Sainsbury’s assistant came bustling in a moment later, effectively breaking up whatever moment had been happening between them.

“You’re in luck. We have a shirt that we can alter to fit.” The man came to a stop next to the dais and set a few waistcoats in various shades of gray and black on a rack next to it. “Take off your shirt, Mr. Pierce, if you please, so that I can note the adjustments we need to make.”

Zane’s hands went to the buttons of his shirt, and Glory couldn’t keep her eyes from the bronze skin he revealed in the mirror as he unbuttoned each one.

She nearly leaned forward until she caught herself when he revealed the indentation between the well-formed muscles of his chest. The line went all the way down to his stomach, where she could just make out ridges of muscle.

His thick fingers pulled the tail of his shirt from his trousers and she silently gaped at the bare expanse of skin revealed to her.

Her fingers curled into the arms of her chair and her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. It wasn’t from fear this time.

No one could harm her, and this was in no way sexual.

Maybe that was the very reason she actually experienced arousal instead of apprehension.

Well, that, coupled with the memory of that kiss and being pressed against him.

He was shrugging out of the garment before she came to her senses enough to realize that she had no business watching such an intimate scene.

“I—I’m sorry. I should leave you to your privacy.”

She pushed out of the chair, but his voice froze her in place. “Stay.”