So, what choices did she have? Go commando? “Talk about ‘getting grubby,’” she muttered, as an image of Tucker McBride flashed through her mind. Why in the world would she think of him at this particular moment?
Probably because he was former military, and she could easily picture him as a commando dressed in camouflage and wearing face paint while he skulked through a foreign city on a moonlit night. He’d have a knife in his belt and a rifle in his hands and—
“Oh for crying out loud,” Gillian scolded herself. What was that all about? She must be losing her mind.
Shaking off crazy commando thoughts, she focused on her other choice and opened the bottom drawer on her chest. There, she knew, she’d find an acceptable solution to her dilemma, a gift from Maisy at the lingerie shower her friends had given her as part of her bachelorette weekend. Ten minutes later, wearing black fishnet hose with a built-in panty beneath her Bliss uniform of black slacks and a white shirt, Gillian left her house.
It was another gorgeous winter day, so she chose to walk to work. She’d better be careful when crossing the street. Arriving at an emergency room wearing tattered underwear would be bad enough, but fishnet pantyhose? She’d have to move away from Redemption. Probably out of Texas too. To somewhere that didn’t have cell service, so her mother wouldn’t call and chew her butt about the embarrassment of it all every single day for the rest of her life.
Of course, that didn’t take into account the possibility of afterlife haunting. She’d need to be really, really careful when crossing the street.
Thankfully, she arrived at Bliss without incident. She unlocked the door, braced herself, and stepped inside. The atmosphere assaulted her. It smelled like weddings, looked like weddings, and even sounded like weddings—that church bell door chime seriously had to go. The slight lightening of her mood brought about by the walk evaporated, and she spent the next ten minutes going about the usual morning routine in a blue funk.
With preparations completed for opening, she turned her attentions to the task her mother had assigned her. Just inside the display window that faced the courtyard, she found a large square box stacked on top of one of the flat, rectangular boxes that dry cleaners use to preserve wedding gowns. The top box was full of—“What is this?”
Not wedding stuff. Weird stuff. Cordage and a bandana and bandages. Other items she couldn’t identify. There wasn’t a scrap of satin or lace anywhere in the top box. And the second? She moved the top box and saw that the box underneath was filled with fabric. Fabric in a camouflage pattern. Camo?
These things must have been delivered to the wrong place, Gillian thought, as she reached into the box and pulled out—not a bolt of fabric—but a dress. A gown. A camo wedding gown? “Mom has lost her mind.”
What was the woman thinking? Gillian found her phone and called to ask.
“Hello?”
“Mom! Camo?”
Like a cheery, chirpy bird, Barbara said, “You found the boxes, did you? How do you like the gown? I had so much fun making it. Have you put it on a mannequin yet? Which one do you think you’ll use?”
“Wait. Just wait. I don’t understand. You made this dress? That’s the secret project you’ve been working on the past few days?”
“Yes.”
“You made a wedding gown out of camo pattern … what kind of fabric is this? Cotton?”
“Cotton broadcloth.”
“Why? Why would you do that? We do satin and silk, ruffles and lace.”
“Not for the next month, we won’t. We’re doing a cross-promotion with Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School for the next four weeks.”
“A cross-promotion,” Gillian repeated.
“Yes. Have you noticed his window? It’s gonna be darling when he’s done.”
Gillian looked outside and across the courtyard and gasped. Loudly.
* * *
Tucker whistled “Get Me to the Church on Time” while putting the finishing touches on his window. He’d had a seriously good time with this project. Whether it achieved his goal or not, he was glad to have made an effort.
After enthusiastically agreeing to his suggestion during his visit to Bliss Bridal Salon while Caroline and Maisy tried to force-feed Gillian chili, Barbara Thacker had given him run of her stockroom for his supplies and helped him make selections. When it came to the wedding gown, however, she’d made a request of her own. He had been ready to take anything, but she wouldn’t hear of that. Barbara Thacker was serious about wedding gowns. She’d wanted him to choose it and to choose something he’d like to see his own bride wearing. “You’re not married yet, I understand?” she’d asked.
“Nope. I’m as single as a person can get.”
He’d felt a little foolish and entirely out of his wheelhouse while scanning the racks of wedding gowns—until he’d mentally pictured Gillian wearing one. After that, he made his selection quickly. Romantic and sparkly and feminine. Gillian Thacker would look like a princess in the wedding gown now draping a mannequin in the display window of Enchanted Canyon Wilderness School.
He couldn’t picture her having added a five-inch fixed blade knife as an accessory, however.
He added a paracord bracelet to the mannequin’s arm, then stepped outside to view the completed project. It caused him to laugh out loud.
Then, because it was a beautiful, sunny winter morning and birds were singing, and the aroma of frying bacon drifted on the air from the Bluebonnet Café, Tucker decided to enjoy the courtyard for the ten minutes or so before he officially opened the shop. Besides, Barbara had told him she intended to ask Gillian to decorate Bliss’s window this morning and sitting in the courtyard would give him a front-row seat.
He sat in the center of the bench, stretched out his legs, laced his fingers behind his head, and extended his elbows. He lifted his face toward the sunshine. He did love being home. The Texas Hill Country in February was hard to beat, having enough winter to notice and enjoy, but not so much that you got tired of it. In DC this time of year, the sky was often gray, temperatures freezing, with snow or ice on the ground. By the time the cherry trees blossomed, he’d inevitably been sick to death of winter.
Of course, some of the sandboxes where he’d been stationed had been damned uncomfortable too. Coldest he’d ever been had been a long, January night in a Middle Eastern desert. Recalling that night sent his thoughts down a memory lane that was full of potholes. He shifted uncomfortably, at first thinking he did so because of a couple of seriously unpleasant mental images, but then he realized the problem was physical. He lowered his arms and shifted his back. Something was poking at his shoulders in addition to his brain.
He glanced down and saw that a nail head had worked its way out of the willow. Further examination revealed a dozen or more similarly protruding nail heads on the bench and surrounding chairs. Tucker started to rise, intending to fetch a hammer from his toolbox and take care of the problem before somebody got hurt, but the violent clang of Bliss’s front door chimes stopped him.
Gillian charged out of the salon, headed across the courtyard toward his front door.
Tucker grinned. He could almost hear “Ride of the Valkyries” playing. Bummed-out Gillian had transformed into a battlefield beauty ready to haul his ass off to Valhalla.