Chapter Seven
Although Spring got along well with Glenda Cale, the idea of having to attend a dinner party at her home was not something she would’ve agreed to on her own, so while Regan did up her hair, she simmered silently.
“There,” Regan said, placing the curling iron in the brazier for the last time. “I’m done.”
Spring looked at herself in the mirror and scowled. Regan ignored the displeasure on her face and said, “Get dressed. You don’t want to be late.”
A short while later, stomping through the house in the fancy, off-shoulder burgundy gown and thin-soled slippers she didn’t want to wear, Spring snatched up her shawl and went to seek out her sister-in-law.
“You look lovely,” Regan said. “But please don’t glare at Glenda’s guests that way.”
Spring glared at Regan instead. “Tell me again why I’m going to this party?”
“Because I have to stay with the children, and Colt is away handling an emergency, so you, my dear angry sister, have to represent the family. Mr. McCray is our guest after all.”
“Not mine.”
“Yours, too. Didn’t you rescue him from the blizzard?”
“Yes, I did. I also fed him, helped him out of his boots, and gave him bark tea. My obligations are done.” So maybe she was curious about how he might be faring, but it wasn’t necessary for her to get all gussied up to find out.
“You’ll have fun.”
“Lightning is going to strike you dead.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to know more about him?”
“I lied.”
Regan laughed softly. “Colt hitched up my buggy for you before he left.”
Spring blew out a breath. “I’ll bring it back in the morning.”
“Thank you, Spring.”
Waving dismissively, she left the house.
Stepping up onto the Cales’ porch, Spring wondered sarcastically if she should wait for a man to open the door. Inside, the Chinese maidgreeted her with a smile and took her shawl. Spring thanked her, drew in a calming breath, and followed the voices to the parlor. Once there she paused for a moment to survey the people in the well-furnished room with its dark emerald drapes and large portrait of Glenda in an off-shoulder, emerald gown hanging above the fireplace. The Millers were in attendance as were most of the area’s prominent ranchers, along with their wives. Upon seeing Spring, some of the women deliberately turned their backs.
“Spring,” Glenda said fondly. “Welcome. You look lovely.”
“Thanks. Regan and Colt couldn’t come, so I’m here to represent the family.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No, but I did manage to open the door without male assistance.”
Glenda smiled. “You’re going to pay me back for that sometime soon, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” Spring scanned the small crowd again. McCray, clad in a brown suit, was in a conversation with rancher Randolph Nelson and Heath Leary. As he glanced up, their eyes met, and she did her best to ignore the rush in her blood. He sent her a smile and a slight nod of greeting. She returned the gesture and thought about the invitation she wanted to extend. Hissuit wasn’t as fancy as the ones worn by Arnold and some of the others in the room, but it fit his lean frame and broad shoulders well and gave his appearance a level of sophistication she found appealing.
“Help yourself to the buffet,” Glenda said.
Before she could do so, her attention settled on someone else. Forcing down her anger, she asked in as casual a voice as could be managed, “What’s Matt Ketchum doing here?” By the glassy sheen in his glare he was already drunk.
Glenda sighed. “Arnold invited him. I’m sorry. I heard about the incident at the Irish Rose. Arnold hopes Ketchum and the people visiting him from New York will invest in the bank.”
Standing with Ketchum was the man who’d needed directions to Paradise. “Is he one of the friends?”