Shameless. Kimberly Raye

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      “They couldn’t have.” Laverne Dolby, proprietor of the dress store and president of the local Reba McIntyre fan club, shoved the curtains aside. “I’ve been here nigh on twenty-five years and not once…” Her words faded as she pulled heart-shaped, rose-tinted glasses from her pile of Reba-red curls, and slid her second pair of eyes into place. “Land sakes, this is the dress my niece, Rita Ann, ordered.”

      Hope lit Annie’s tear-streaked features. “So if I have hers, she has mine, right?”

      “’Fraid not. Hers—I mean, yours is on back order. Won’t be in for another six weeks.”

      “But my wedding’s in exactly three weeks. What am I going to do?” Annie turned stricken eyes on Deb.

      Deb handed Annie a tissue and turned to Laverne. “We need another wedding gown.”

      Laverne shook her head. “All of mine are special order. I’ve got a nice selection of bridesmaid dresses, some mother-of-the-bride, that sort of thing. As for wedding dresses…” Her gaze fell to the box. “Hey, I bet Rita Ann wouldn’t mind you wearing this one. Her wedding’s not for two months. I could let you have this one and get her another.”

      Another glance at the dress and Annie burst into fresh tears.

      “I guess this isn’t exactly what you had in mind,” Laverne said. “Lordy, this is a pickle.”

      “A pickle?” Annie cried. “This is the worst day of my life! And here I thought I was finally going to have a happily ever after with Tack.” Annie Divine and Tack Brandon had been high school sweethearts. Tack had been the captain of the football team, handsome and popular, and Annie had been invisible. Somehow, and Deb felt certain it was because Annie was as sweet and understanding as Texas was big, she and Tack had gotten together. They’d been right in the middle of a hot high school romance when Tack’s mom had died in a tragic accident. He’d left the Big B, a large ranch bordering the Mission spread, and spent the next ten years racing the motorcross circuit. Finally, he’d come home for good and set his sights on Annie who’d been working for the In Touch, aspiring to be a big-time reporter.

      Annie had tried to resist him, but her love, still alive after all these years, had won in the end. She’d decided she’d be happier freelancing for magazines and making babies than working for a major newspaper.

      While Deb wasn’t too keen on the baby part—her own mother had passed away when she was three and she’d never really experienced the nurturing-mother phenomenon up close, much less developed a craving for it—she still wished Annie every bit of happiness.

      “I should have known something would go wrong.” Annie’s words faded into a series of sniffles and choked sobs.

      Sympathy tears burned Deb’s eyes and she blinked frantically. “Laverne,” she snapped, dashing away one lone, traitorous tear before anyone could see, “why don’t you go dig up some bridesmaid dresses for me while I talk to Annie in private?” Before the woman could respond, Deb hustled her toward the doorway, yanked the curtains closed behind her. She turned to Annie.

      “I’m sorry,” Annie blurted. “I’m not usually such a mess.” She wiped at her face. “It’s just that I’ve still got to find a photographer and a florist, pick out and mail the invitations and find a caterer and a baker. And Tack’s racing friends are coming in next Saturday. I don’t have time to drive to Austin and look for another dress.”

      “We’ll figure something out.” Deb studied the gown. “You know, this material’s not half bad.”

      “How can you tell with all that stuff on it…?” Annie’s words faded as her gaze locked with Deb’s. “I know what you’re thinking and you can just forget it. This dress is awful.”

      “That’s because it’s just lying there. Formals always look that way. Then you put them on, and voilà, it makes all the difference in the world.”

      A moment of thoughtful silence passed, punctuated by a huge sniffle. “You think?” Deb nodded and Annie seemed to gather her courage. “You know, you’re probably right. I’ll just try it on and maybe it won’t be so bad.” Minutes later, she turned her gaze to the surrounding mirrors and burst into another bout of tears. “Forget it. It’s horrible.”

      “It isn’t horrible. It’s just…different.” Deb searched for the right words as she stared at the rows of beaded roses, the miles of tulle, the myriad of white silk ribbons and appliqués of all shapes and sizes. “Busy.”

      “It’s worse than downtown Houston during rush hour.”

      “True, but we can fix it. We’ll cut here, rearrange there, take off the bows and the overabundance of sequins and beadwork and it’ll be perfect.”

      “Laverne can handle hems, but this is major—”

      “I’ll do it.”

      “You?”

      Deb fingered the lapel of her champagne-colored suit. “Who do you think made this?”

      “I was thinking Saks or Gucci.”

      “Way out here in Timbuktu, Texas?”

      “They have catalogues. And you do drive to Austin every now and then. I thought maybe you did some power shopping.”

      As if she had the cash for that. “Granny Lily taught me everything she knew and left me her sewing machine to keep me company.”

      Annie eyed the gown. “You really think you can do something with this?”

      “Girlfriend, I know I can.” Deb wiped at Annie’s smudged cheeks with a tissue. “Now cheer up and let’s get on with this fitting.”

      Annie sniffled and looked hopeful as she glanced into the mirror. Her expression fell as she surveyed her reflection. “Forget it. This is white.”

      “What’s wrong with white?”

      She gave Deb an “Are you kidding?” look.

      “Oh, please, Annie. If you think everyone who wears white in this day and age is as pure as the driven snow, guess again.”

      “It’s not that. It’s just…Tack and I have been living together the past few weeks and—”

      “If anyone deserves to wear white, it’s you,” Deb cut in. “It’s your first wedding with your first and only true love. I don’t care how long you’ve been living together or what wicked things you do in the privacy of your own bedroom.”

      Annie grinned. “Or the barn.”

      Deb arched an eyebrow. “The barn?”

      “Then there was that time down by the river.”

      “The river?”

      “And on the back of Tack’s motorcycle.”

      “A motorcycle?” Deb shook her head. “Goody-goody Annie Divine has done it on the back of a motorcycle, and I can’t even find a decent date. What’s wrong with this picture?”

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