If Wishes Were Horses (21 page)

M
AY I BE
of help?” the saleslady asked pleasantly.

“I hope so,” Gabby answered.

The woman standing before Gabby was slim and middle aged, with long, auburn hair. As befit her profession, she was impeccably dressed and coifed. The gold-colored nametag pinned to her suit coat read:
GWENDOLYN MARCH, FASHION CONSULTANT
. None of these elegant touches surprised Gabby. After all, this was Neiman Marcus.

“Please call me Gwynne,” the other woman said.

“And I'm Gabby.”

Gabby wanted help choosing a gown. She always knew her own mind when it came to clothes, and she had good taste. But by her own admission, this purchase had to be just right. To help make sure, she had asked Celia to join her in the hunt. As expected, the snoopy redhead had been only too happy to tag along.

“Is this for a particular occasion?” Gwynne asked Gabby.

“You can say that again,” Celia chortled.

“And what sort of function is it?” Gwynne asked.

“It's a ball,” Gabby answered.

“And I assume that it's formal?” Gwynne asked.

“Yes.”

Gabby removed the engraved invitation to the Flying B annual ball from her purse and gave it to Gwynne. The ball was six days away. Gwynne recognized the invitation immediately.

“Oh, you lucky thing!” Gwynne said. “Every woman in Boca would give her eyeteeth to be invited!”

“No kidding,” Celia quipped.

“You're the third woman this week I've assisted for this occasion,” Gwynne gushed. “And that's a good thing, because it'll help keep you from showing up in the same dress as someone else!”

“Always a plus,” Celia said under her breath to Gabby, “especially when peasants go hobnobbing with the rich and famous.”

“Sorry?” Gwynne asked.

“Never mind,” Gabby said. “May I see some recommendations?”

“Of course,” Gwynne answered. “I assume that you're an eight?”

“Yes.”

Gwynne returned the precious invitation to Gabby. “I'll be right back.”

While Gwynne went to collect some dresses, Celia wandered over to a rack of gowns that were marked down. Even the sign announcing the deep discounts somehow exuded an air of superiority. As Celia perused the prices, she groaned.

“Good God, Gabbs!” she exclaimed. “This isn't retail therapy—it's credit report suicide!”

Gabby sighed. “I'd rather not think about that part of it.”

“And just what part of all this
are
you thinking about?” Celia asked as she selected a dress for closer examination. “It wouldn't have to do with a certain eligible rancher, would it?”

Gabby only smiled.

Celia returned the gown to the rack then walked back to Gabby. “Fish that invitation out of your purse again,” she ordered. “I never did get a proper look at it.”

Gabby handed the invitation to Celia. It was made of bone-colored paper, heavily engraved in emerald ink. The Flying B insignia adorned the outside. As Celia opened it and read the particulars, she shook her head.

“What's wrong?” Gabby asked.

“You say that Trevor also got one of these?” Celia asked.

Gabby nodded. “Each of the New Beginnings kids did.”

Celia grudgingly returned the invitation to Gabby. “Then what they say must be true.”

“What's that?” Gabby asked.

“That youth is wasted on the young,” Celia answered. “Now I've seen the proof.”

Gabby was about to laugh when Gwynne and two more salesladies returned, each of them carrying a gown. When Gwynne beckoned Gabby toward the dressing rooms, the others followed. As Gabby went off to try on one of the dresses, Celia plopped down in an upholstered guest chair.

“Would you like some coffee while you wait?” Gwynne asked.

For Celia, that was manna from heaven. “God, yes,” she
answered. “Please make it iced coffee, if possible, with cream and sugar.”

A few minutes later Gabby emerged, wearing what Celia could only describe as some sort of red, bunched-up monstrosity that collected too high on the shoulders. Gabby regarded herself in the triple mirror for a moment before turning and giving Celia a questioning look.

“Must I say it?” Celia asked.

“Yes,” Gabby answered.

“You look like a circus horse,” Celia said.

“You're right,” Gabby said.

After taking another sip of coffee, Celia waved Gabby away. “Back to the drawing board, girlfriend,” she said.

The next time Gabby emerged, she wore something even worse—black, shiny, and truly awful. Celia shook her head.

“This time you don't have to say it,” Gabby said.

“That's good,” Celia answered, “because it's hideous on so many levels that I wouldn't know where to begin.”

Gabby disappeared again. When next she returned, Celia nodded happily.

“Now that's more like it!” she said.

Gabby knew that this was the gown. It was a dark blue strapless affair with a form-fitting bodice and a ruffled hem.

Gwynne walked closer and cast her expert gaze over Gabby's selection. She smiled broadly.

“This might be the one,” she said. “Tell me—will you be dancing?”

The image of being held in Wyatt's arms made Gabby smile. “I certainly hope so,” she said.

“Then please put your heels back on and let me see you walk,” Gwynne requested.

Gabby slipped back into her shoes and walked across the floor and back. Gwynne and Celia both smiled.

“That's the one, Gabbs,” Celia said.

“She's right,” Gwynne said. “It moves with you beautifully. And we won't have to alter it. You'll need full-length gloves and matching heels, though. I can help with both.”

Gabby again thought of Wyatt, and of what the coming ball might be like. For a few moments she turned and wheeled around happily, letting the hem of the gown flow about her. Then she stopped and looked in the mirror again.

Will he really ask me to dance with him?
she wondered.

I
'M SO SORRY
that all this has to end,
Gabby thought.
These last twelve weeks have been like a wonderful dream, and I will always treasure them. But if my fairy tale must stop, it is certainly doing so with style.

It was a perfect Saturday evening, the night of the Flying B annual ball. Gabby was sitting at an outdoor table, sipping champagne and making small talk with some of her tablemates. Always the conscientious hosts, Wyatt, Ram, and Morgan were dutifully wandering among the many fashionable guests.

Gabby had never seen the ranch this crowded. Also, the Flying B was so elegantly decorated that it looked for all the world like some grand, five-star hotel. Dressed in formal attire, more than three hundred guests milled about the grounds and wandered in the big house. An annual ball tradition, many of the
women were carrying fans to help ward off the humidity. Had Gabby known, she would have brought one, too.

Gabby looked splendid in her new gown and matching stiletto heels. They had cost her a small fortune. Her elegant full-length gloves had also been an extravagance, but worth it. Gifts from her late grandmother, a string of white Akoya pearls, lay around her neck, and a matching bracelet adorned her left wrist. This was the first and only time she had worn anything other than Western-style clothing at the ranch, and the change was welcome.

Wherever Gabby looked she saw important people, including several judges, the mayor, and many business and community leaders. There was also a gaggle of wealthy old ladies wandering about, who probably made it their sole remaining purpose in life to attend exclusive functions such as this one. Gabby smiled as she imagined them trying to chat up the ever irascible Ram. Then she smiled even more broadly as she imagined Ram trying to escape from them.

Also scattered among the decidedly upscale group were all of the teens who had just graduated from the New Beginnings Program, their parents, the two psychotherapists, and all the ranch hands. The program had ended yesterday with a brief graduation ceremony, during which each boy and girl received a diploma and a silver lapel pin formed in the shape of the Flying B insignia. The girls wore colorful party dresses. The boys wore jackets and slacks, and each teen proudly sported his or her new pin. Trevor was here, but Gabby had lost track of him some time ago.

No need to worry,
she realized.
He's no doubt in the main barn with Sadie and Doc.

Decorating the ranch had taken a full week, every bit of it done under the stern gaze of Aunt Lou. Dozens of tables for ten with matching upholstered chairs dotted the manicured grounds. Each tabletop was graced with an embroidered white tablecloth, a crystal candelabra, and a huge bouquet of fresh orchids. Each piece of china, flatware, and leaded crystal was engraved with the Flying B insignia. Uniformed waiters and waitresses continually offered up silver trays laden with succulent appetizers. Champagne flowed, while elegant music wafted on the evening breeze.

White lights had been strung on the big house, on the eaves of the barns and guest cottages, and in each of the magnolia trees lining the long private road from the highway to the mansion. Inside the house, garlands of fresh red roses graced the banisters of the magnificent staircase and the second-story railings. Elegantly dressed men and women gathered around the foyer grand piano as a pianist played one request after another. By Ram's edict, it was a long-standing tradition that only candles should illuminate the big house during the annual ball. Tonight was no exception, and the subdued glow gave the entire mansion a decidedly Old South feel.

Near the swimming pool, a portable dance floor had been assembled where a nearby band of twenty professional musicians played everything from waltzes to rumbas. Their cares seemingly lost in the moment, dozens of men in tuxedos and women in beautiful gowns glided across the dance floor. Many of the women held their open fans behind their partners' backs as they danced, adding color and gaiety to the scene.

Gabby sipped her champagne, thinking. The cost of this
soiree was surely huge, but she understood its immense business value to the Blaines. Most of Boca Raton's movers and shakers were here. Before this night ended, new business ventures would be born and old ones reaffirmed.

Gabby again looked at her place card. Like the invitation she had received in the mail two weeks ago, it was elegantly engraved in emerald ink. When she first found her seat, she was delighted to learn that Wyatt's card lay directly to her left, Trevor's card to her right. On the other side of Trevor's card lay the cards for Sally Richardson and her parents.

Gabby wanted to believe that Wyatt was responsible for the seating arrangements, but she couldn't be sure. As her curiosity mounted, she remembered that little went on around here that Aunt Lou didn't know about. Rising from her chair, Gabby made her apologies to her tablemates then lifted the hem of her gown and headed for the big house.

The foyer was filled to overflowing with happy guests. The sounds of laughter, popping corks, and tinkling glasses eagerly filled the night. Expensive perfume and Cuban cigar smoke conspired to lend an exotic aroma to the air. The game room was especially busy, with men playing pool and cards. Four liveried bartenders stood behind the mahogany bar, busily mixing cocktails to order.

Gabby saw Mercy seated at the poker table, eagerly dealing five-card stud to five unsuspecting men. Mercy's pale green gown was lovely, and her dirty blond hair had been freed from its braids and arranged in an upswept style that nicely suited her face. The effect was striking, and quite unlike the Mercy Gabby knew.
Gabby smiled, wondering how much money Mercy would rake in tonight. She then wended her way among the guests and down the hallway to the kitchen.

Gabby had expected the kitchen to be busy, but what she saw surprised even her. Despite Lou's ability to produce mountains of food, she and the three house girls couldn't handle such a large function all by themselves, and so the annual ball was always a catered affair. But that didn't stop Lou from taste-testing every course, and constantly harassing the many waiters and waitresses as if they were Confederate plantation slaves. As Gabby entered the kitchen she weaved and dodged, trying to avoid the hordes of busy workers who were furiously laboring under Lou's command.

“Damnit all!” Aunt Lou shouted at one of the cooks. “Can't you move any faster with them appetizers? The people out there are hungry!”

The cook scowled before wisely obeying the big woman who was pointing a massive mixing spoon at him like some kind of deadly weapon. Purposely avoiding her dark eyes, he picked up his pace. Then Lou saw Gabby, and she smiled from ear to ear.

“Miss Gabby!” she shouted from the other side of the great kitchen. “Come over here, child!”

Gabby carefully wended her way across the kitchen. The place was so crowded that she could hardly get through.

“Whew!” she said when she finally reached Lou. “What a madhouse! So this is how it all gets done!”

Lou smiled, her broad face shining beneath the kitchen's fluorescent lights.

“Yep!” she said. “The first of these shindigs was held some
forty years ago, and I told Mr. Ram right there and then that if he wanted the rest of the house lit only by candlelight, so be it. But I was goddamned if I was going to try and operate this kitchen under nothin' but candle power!” She gave Gabby a wink. “We argued about it for nearly a week before he finally gave in. Men aren't that hard to handle, once a girl knows how!”

Gabby laughed then turned and again watched the organized chaos taking place before her. The kitchen was filled to overflowing with food in various stages of preparation. Some of it was being cooked on-site while the rest had been prepared at the caterers and trucked in. The formal dinner menu was crab cocktail, Caesar salad, steak and lobster with mushroom risotto, and baked Alaska. It all sounded delicious, and with Aunt Lou watching over things, Gabby knew that it would be.

Gabby discreetly beckoned Lou toward one corner of the kitchen. “Can I ask you something personal?” she asked.

“Course, child,” Lou answered. “You're damn near family.”

“Do you know who was responsible for the seating arrangements?” Gabby asked.

Before answering, Lou grimaced then again aimed her big spoon at yet another unsuspecting waiter. “You there!” she shouted. “Straighten up that tray you're carrying, or those stuffed mushrooms will go all over my floor! Good God, boy, ain't you never done this before?”

Lou finally turned back to Gabby. “What was that again?” she said.

“The seating arrangements,” Gabby answered, this time blushing a bit. “Do you know who put Wyatt beside me?”

Lou nodded. “Mr. Morgan always does it. He knows best who should go with who cause of all the business deals and such.”

Gabby's heart fell. “Are you sure that Wyatt didn't do it?”

Lou gave her a teasing smile. “Now just why would you care
who
did it? The result is still the same.”

“Please don't toy with me, Lou,” Gabby answered. “I think you know why I'm curious.”

“Truth is, I saw Mr. Wyatt change those cards after they had been put down,” Lou answered.

“You did?” Gabby asked eagerly.

“Yep,” Lou answered. “Just before the guests were due to arrive. He did it on the lowdown, like some kind of sneak thief or somethin'. He didn't see me watchin' him, but that don't matter.”

Gabby couldn't have been happier. “Thank you,” she said.

Lou took Gabby's hands and looked into her eyes. To Gabby, the Cajun woman's big, brown irises seemed endless and comforting. “He fancies you,” Lou said. “Hell, a child could see it. And I can tell that you feel the same way about him. But…”

“But what?” Gabby asked.

Shaking her head, Lou sighed. “I jes' don't want you gettin' your hopes up about him. He's not like other men. Ever since Miss Krista died, he can't…”

“I know, Lou,” Gabby answered. “And I thank you for your concern. But for now, I'll take however much of Wyatt that he'll give me. And if it isn't all of him, then I guess that it's better to have loved and lost…”

“I hope that you're right, child,” Lou answered. Her broad smile reappeared. “Now get out of my kitchen! Besides, a woman
as beautiful as you should be out on that dance floor, breakin' hearts!”

“I couldn't agree more,” another voice added.

Gabby turned to see Wyatt approaching. She immediately worried that he might have overheard her conversation with Lou. But if he had, his face didn't show it.

This was the first time Gabby had seen Wyatt in formal attire. Again she realized that he could wear anything from Armani to Levi's with equal aplomb. His black tuxedo was perfectly tailored, and his bow tie had been hand knotted. A simple white silk handkerchief peeked discreetly over the top of his breast pocket. His tuxedo shoes had been shined to perfection; he smelled faintly of fresh cologne.

“Good evening,” Gabby said to him. “You look wonderful.” She stole a quick glance at his left hand to see that his wedding ring remained in place.

Wyatt let go with a disparaging smile. “We men all look the same in these penguin suits,” he answered. He took both her hands in his and turned her one way then the other. “But
you're
a real stunner! Wouldn't you agree, Aunt Lou?”

“I would indeed,” Lou answered. “But I want you two out of here, and right now! I got work to do!”

Wyatt guided Gabby across the kitchen and out the open French doors. As they walked, Gabby decided to take a chance. She stopped, causing him to stop with her.

“May I tell you something?” she said.

Wyatt turned and looked in her eyes. His face had the same craggily handsome appearance as that other night in the moon
light, not so long ago. Gabby knew full well that after tonight she might not see Wyatt for some time. She could always greet him during Sunday worship at St. Andrew's, she supposed, but it wouldn't be the same. And because of that, she wanted this moment to last.

Wyatt noticed the wistful look in her eyes. “What is it?” he asked.

Gabby wanted to tell him what was burning in her heart, but at the last moment different words escaped her lips. “Will you dance with me?” she finally asked.

Wyatt smiled. “I'm not very fond of it, but since it's you asking, okay. I must warn you that I'm pretty terrible at it. Those pretty feet of yours could become crushed beyond all recognition.”

Gabby smiled. “I'll risk it.”

As Wyatt led Gabby toward the dance floor, guest after guest turned to watch them. It was no secret that Wyatt didn't like to dance. Since Krista's death he was always deluged with requests at the balls, most of which he politely declined. While he and Gabby took the dance floor, women started speaking to one another in hushed tones behind the protection of their fluttering evening fans. Their men seemed no less interested as they looked Gabby up and down with approval, and in some cases lecherous envy.

Just as Wyatt and Gabby reached the dance floor, the current tune ended. Wyatt gave Gabby a thoughtful look. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said. “I'm going to request something special.”

When Wyatt walked over to the band leader and spoke to him, it became apparent that they knew each other. The band leader glanced at Gabby then smiled at Wyatt and nodded. When
Wyatt returned to Gabby, the band leader raised his baton.

As Gabby was taken up in Wyatt's embrace for what she feared would be the last time, she immediately recognized the song that he had requested. It was perhaps her favorite of all, and she could only wonder how he had come to choose it. It was “As Time Goes By,” from the movie
Casablanca.

Gabby soon found that Wyatt had fibbed about his dancing skills. As he smoothly led her across the floor, she was reminded of the song lyrics. She knew them by heart and they seemed especially poignant tonight. Holding Wyatt closer, she gently placed her cheek against his. As she smelled his cologne, she closed her eyes.