“Oh, no,” Martha protested, as Magnolia plucked a vibrant red hibiscus blossom from the vase on the dresser. “I can’t go around putting flowers in my hair like some slip of a girl. I don’t want to draw attention to my gray hairs.”
“Now, why would you be ashamed of these beautiful silver streaks?” Magnolia put her hand on top of Martha’s head, foiling her attempt to duck away. “Hold still.”
For a soft-looking person, Magnolia had a grip like a bear trap. Martha could only submit as the other woman carefully pinned the flower behind her left ear.
“There.” Magnolia stepped back, admiring her handiwork. “Wo
nderful. You shall go to the ball, Cinderella.”
Martha studied herself in the mirror critically. She had to admit, Magnolia’s deft touch had worked wonders. Martha would never have dared to use such bold eyeliner, but the smoky tones made her copper-brown eyes look as bright as new pennies. The scarlet hibiscus flower somehow transformed her salt-and-pepper hairdo into something elegant and sophisticated rather than short and sensible.
“You’ve got real style,” she said to Magnolia in admiration. “You can even make an old desert dog look presentable.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can claim credit for the pink in your cheeks,” Magnolia said with a shamelessly lewd wink. “I’m pretty sure that’s down to a certain Mr. Tall, Pale, and Sharkish. Now, promise you’ll find me at breakfast tomorrow and tell me all the juicy details.”
“Won’t be anything to tell,” Martha said primly as she searched for her shoes amidst the piles of rejected clothes scattered across the floor. “You’ll be at the dance, after all. You’ll see everything for yourself.”
Magnolia let out a rich, throaty chuckle. “You say that now, but you haven’t seen his outfit yet.”
“How on earth would you know what he’s wearing?”
Magnolia waggled her eyebrows mysteriously. “My spies are everywhere. Now, I’ve got to run and meet my own date. I’ll drop in at Housekeeping on the way and ask them to come tidy up in here while you’re out.”
“Oh, don’t do that.” Magnolia had rather torn through Martha’s limited wardrobe like an incredibly fashion-conscious tornado, but Martha hardly wanted to be bothering the poor staff at this time of the evening. “I’ll sort it out myself later.”
“You might be busy later.” Magnolia shot her a sly glance over her shoulder as she headed out the door. “And it never hurts to be prepared for visitors. Or rather, a visitor.”
She disappeared down the path in a flutter of silk before Martha could think of a suitably scathing retort. Growling under her breath, she slipped on her shoes. She hesitated at the door, casting a last glance back at the room.
Maybe I should tidy up just a little.
Shaking her head free of the silly notion, she left the room exactly as it was. The fact that her baggy underthings were on full display meant that she’d have to think twice before issuing any…impulsive invitations. She needed all the help she could get to keep a leash on her fool inner animal. Her coyote was frisking like a pup with anticipation already.
“Settle down, you,” she muttered as she closed the door behind herself. “It’s just a dance. That’s all.”
The stars were just starting to gleam in the deep turquoise sky, but the full moon had already climbed high above the horizon. Night-blooming jasmine filled the air with a heady, hypnotic scent. Despite her attempt to rein in her coyote’s exuberance, Martha couldn’t help feeling practically giddy herself as she followed the curving, white-graveled path that ran from the guests’ cottages to the main part of the resort.
Oh, it’s been too long since I last went dancing.
She’d used to go practically every week, before she’d gotten married. But Manuel, bless his soul, had possessed two left feet and the sense of rhythm of a stunned duckling. After the kids had come along, it just didn’t feel right to ask him to spend their few precious date nights doing something he hated.
I hope he doesn’t hate it. Martha felt a twinge of guilt at her own mischievousness for setting her mate this challenge. Though he probably will.
She didn’t imagine that a person who didn’t even have feet most of the time would care for dancing. Or have much experience of it.
Well, it’ll serve me right if he breaks all my toes.
Candles in colored glass jars flickered among the tropical shrubs, guiding the way to the main building. The French windows lining the dining room had been folded back for the evening. Her pulse kicked up a notch as a sudden intoxicating roll of samba drums came from inside. A few other couples had already gathered on the veranda, laughing and chatting as they waited for the musicians to finish tuning up.
Breath coming short with anticipation, she hastened up the veranda steps. Her heart fell a little as she peered through the French windows. It was immediately apparent that he—she still couldn’t bring herself to think of him by that frankly ridiculous title—hadn’t arrived yet. A man of his dimensions couldn’t hide in even the thickest crowd, and the dance hall was still mostly empty.
“Looking for someone, ma’am?”
She jumped. Breck had managed to sneak up without her notice, soft-footed as a cat. The waiter had a silver tray of champagne flutes, and a rather wicked gleam in his eye.
“Is everyone in on this?” Martha said in exasperation. “You all need some more excitement in your lives if you find other people’s business this fascinating.”
“Here at Shifting Sands, we pride ourselves in taking a keen personal interest in the happiness of our guests,” Breck said, not looking the slightest bit repentant. He offered her the tray. “Please, take two. And if you will allow me to make a suggestion…I can highly recommend the view at the far end of the veranda.”