“You’re not leaving the store, ma’am?”

She bit her lip to keep from chuckling. “George, if I can buy something for you so you won’t have to go through all this-”

George looked blank.

Sonia gave up. “I’ll see you in a few…” She’d taken a step forward; so did George-directly on her heels. How could a man so graceful on a horse be such a clumsy puppy in a mere department store? She sighed. “I’ll meet you at the front door in half an hour All right?”

“Sure, ma’am.”

But he certainly looked uneasy. Sonia swallowed a grin as she wended her way past the display of shoes and then summer clothing. Marina’s offices were in back, past a steel door that led to a sudden confusion of computers and phones and bustle, a total contrast to the carpeted retreat Marina had tried to make of the store itself.

Sonia paused in the doorway to her friend’s office. Marina had a phone to her ear and her glasses perched on her cinnamon-colored hair. Her brown linen dress had clearly been through a rough morning, wisps of her hair were going every which way, and in usual style, she’d bitten off her lipstick. The desk was stacked high; somewhere in the debris were a computer. Marina inevitably looked buried. She was only five feet tall, and at forty-five had a few well-earned wrinkles on her brow, bright blue eyes that radiated shrewd intelligence and a broad, warm smile the minute she noticed Sonia in the doorway.

“Call you back,” she barked into the phone, and waved Sonia over. “Get in here, you hermit. You haven’t been to see me in ages. I want to know what you think of these.”

In minutes, Sonia was surrounded by fabric swatches and samples. Marina shoved a chair against the backs of Sonia’s legs and thrust a cup of jet-black, overstrong coffee into her hand.

“I’ve got to make some decisions on next spring’s line,” Marina said distractedly. “It’s everything I’ve already talked to you about, Sonia. I made a fortune on dressy clothes in the past, but that’s just not what’s required anymore. Many of the women who shop here nowadays are holding down new jobs and buying professional-looking clothing at reasonable prices. Now, I want to make some changes, but I don’t want to lower the quality of our merchandise. I won’t carry cheap lines, of course. Workmanship and taste are still crucial, but…”

They talked about the prime rate, Sonia’s roses, Marina’s cats and local politics, and between times scribbled out choices of style and compared notes. Marina’s life was the store. Sonia loved the chatter and always had. Clothes had once been her business; she loved the feel and smell and look of fabrics; she loved to work with color and had an intrinsic understanding of the way a style could affect a woman’s mood and confidence.

“You’ve been thinking about the job, haven’t you?” Marina probed.

“About working with you as a fashion consultant?” Sonia’s voice was thoughtful. “You know I’d like to, Marina, but the issue is time. We’re finally home for a long period now, but Craig’s busier than ever on the extraction project. I could do some of the ranch paperwork for him-I like being free to take off with him when he has to travel, and…” She hesitated, finally deciding not to mention that she wanted a child to be part of her future as well.

“Perhaps you could work here part-time, then, Sonia.” Marina had that determined set to her jaw. “Look, I can’t tell you how many women ask for help. They come in knowing just how much they want to spend, but they don’t have the vaguest idea what clothes to choose. Suddenly, we’ve got jobs for women in this area. Only they haven’t gotten out of jeans in a century. Now they need comfortable, reasonable, attractive outfits to wear to work, and I want them to feel comfortable walking in here-”

“And spending their money-”

“Oh, hush, you.”

“On clothes that make them feel good about themselves.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“You have a buyer,” Sonia reminded her.

“And she’s terrific at selecting quality stuff in up-to-date styles, but she doesn’t know the women in this area-she doesn’t understand the kind of jobs they have, and she can’t talk to them the way you do.”

“Lord, you must be desperate for cheap help,” Sonia said wryly, and they both laughed. They talked a few more minutes before Sonia gave Marina a quick hug and told her she’d get back to her in a few days. She stepped out of the office, humming under her breath, energy restlessly surging through her after sitting so long. Pushing open the steel door that led to the selling floor, she took a step through and nearly collided with George.

He didn’t, she noticed with surprise, have any packages in his hands. In fact, he didn’t look as if he’d moved a fraction of an inch from where she’d left him. An odd gleam of wariness suddenly flickered in her eyes, then was gone.

“Ready to go, ma’am?” he questioned politely.

“Actually…” She glanced up at him. “Did you finish your…shopping?”

He opened his mouth and then took a nervous breath. “If you have anything else to do, Mrs. Hamilton, I got no problems waiting around.”

Which didn’t answer her question, Sonia noticed. “I have one more thing I’d like to do, George, if you’ll give me another fifteen minutes. You could catch a quick cup of coffee in Harry’s across the street, couldn’t-”

“That’s okay, ma’am.”

Actually, it wasn’t. Sonia determinedly caught those eyes shifting hurriedly away from hers. “I have just a small amount of personal shopping I need to do,” she said gently.

“That’s okay, too, ma’am.”

“George…” A wisp of a smile touched her soft lips. She’d planned the trip to town for one main purpose, and as much as she loved Marina, talking clothes wasn’t it. Pleasing Craig was her purpose, and though George’s unprecedented behavior was amusing, Sonia hadn’t really planned on shopping with a sidekick who stuck to her like glue. “I really think you’d be more comfortable waiting in the car,” she tried one more time.

He evidently didn’t think so, standing silently before her with his hat in his hands. I’m sorry, George, she thought briefly, and swept into the lingerie department, hearing a booted foot abruptly stumble behind her.

If George wanted to watch her shop for bras and panties, it was certainly fine with her. The plans she had in mind for Craig that evening, though, were rather private. Totally private, actually. Slowly she fingered a beige satin nightgown on a mannequin and turned with a deliberate smile for George. “What do you think?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, his cheeks turning beet-red, and his hands twisting his hat. “Pardon, ma’am?”

The counter next to the nightgowns was piled with bras, lovely filmy little see-through things. She lifted one rose-colored confection to the light and again turned to George with a cheerful smile. “I don’t know whether I like this or the blue one…”

He fled.

He stationed himself near the door and turned toward an innocuous display of scarves and belts. Poor George, Sonia thought, but the dancing light in her eyes had already died. A thoughtful expression replaced it. There were days when it took a bulldozer to get through to her.

She suddenly realized that George hadn’t accompanied her to Brock’s to get parts, and he hadn’t come to get a present for his girl friend, either.

He was here, she realized, to watch over her. Amusement warred with exasperation inside her. Craig, you silly, foolish man. Dammit, I’m all right. When are you going to get that through your head?

“Would you like some help, Mrs. Hamilton?” A soft-eyed blonde stepped shyly forward.

“No, thank you, Sharon.”

With a ruthless eye, Sonia fingered only the most luxurious of satins, the most frivolous of laces. It was time she took some direct action against her increasingly enigmatic husband. Craig could occasionally be unbudgeable. Bullheaded, in short. Maybe it was going to take him a little more time to get that incident in Chicago out of his head, and maybe the wisest thing for her to do was simply ignore that receipt she’d found in his desk, ignore George, ignore all the little signs that her husband’s possessiveness had burgeoned out of control.

Patience, she urged herself. In all but one arena. She held a lacy shocking-pink robe up to the light and put it down again. Not nearly sexy enough.

Craig had always been a strong, dominating personality. It might be a well-kept secret most of the time, but she was a long way from being a marshmallow herself. And not that she really believed anything was seriously wrong with their relationship, but occasionally it couldn’t hurt to use a little guerrilla warfare. Her eyes lit up and narrowed on an emerald satin nightgown.

Now there was lethal ammunition.


***

Sonia stretched lazily as she stood up from the table. “I can’t understand why I’m so sleepy. Think I’ll turn in early tonight.”

Charlie lifted his eyes from the plate of cherry pie. “You look about as sleepy as popcorn that just got the heat. And it’s only eight o’clock, you know.”

“I know.” One by one, she fed the dinner plates into the dishwasher, trying to work slower than her usual speed, which was like Parnelli Jones in a car race. Craig had called to say he would be working late, that he’d have dinner in town and hoped to be home by nine.

“And did you know that those pups of yours chewed straight through a brand-new harness last night?” Charlie asked.

“The harness shouldn’t have been left on the ground,” Sonia instantly defended them.

Charlie snorted. “That Rayburn lady in town said she’d take one on, and pay good money for it, too.”

“She doesn’t have any kids.” After she made a swift swipe of the counter, the kitchen looked spotless-barring the broiler pan in the sink.