“Well, it varies, of course. One of the outfits I’m thinking of particularly is a two-piece suit, kind of a longer Chanel style, in a really soft wool that would be just lovely on you.”
Amanda paused, feeling a tug of regret at the thought of parting with this particular suit, one of her personal favorites.
“And how much would it be?” Mary asked.
“Let me see…” Amanda pretended to calculate.
“My cost, plus shipping expenses, less dealer tax…I could probably let you have it for around a hundred, if you decided you liked it.”
Mary’s weathered face brightened. “Really? That’s a pretty good deal, isn’t it?”
Damn right it is, Amanda thought gloomily. Especially since I paid more than nine hundred for it at Saks just a couple of months ago….
But her face betrayed none of these thoughts. “I think it’s a pretty good deal,” she agreed quietly. “And if you liked, I could bring a few of the other pieces, too, sweaters and blouses and slacks, and you could try them on in private at home before you made a choice.”
“Oh,” Mary sighed. “Oh, my, that’d be so nice. You know,” she added impulsively, gazing at the younger woman, “I think I really need something like this, Miss Walker. My life’s been…”
She paused and flushed awkwardly, then continued. “The way things have been happening, my life hasn’t been all that good lately. And I could really use a little lift like that. Something to make me feel…better about myself, you know?”
“I know,” Amanda murmured. “I know you could, Mary. Everybody needs a lift now and then. When would you like me to bring the things over for you to try on?”
“Oh, any time, I guess. Would it be…would you be coming fairly soon?” Mary asked wistfully.
Amanda nodded, considering the week ahead, reorganizing her schedule rapidly to accommodate another trip to Crystal Creek. If she could bring out the new winter outfits for Lynn McKinney on Wednesday, then she’d be able to…
“Miss Walker?”
Amanda smiled. “You’d better call me Amanda, if we’re going to be doing business together. I was just thinking about my week, Mary. Would Wednesday be good for you? Say about two o’clock?”
Mary nodded, rummaging in her handbag. “That’d be real nice. Just let me find a pen, and I’ll draw a map so you can find my place.”
“No problem,” Amanda said, waving her hand in dismissal. “I’ll be stopping off here and over at the Circle T. Someone can give me directions when I get there.”
“Oh, it’s real easy,” Mary said. “I’m just a few miles out on the other side of town, bordering Brock Munroe’s place.”
“What’s this?” A cheerful male voice came from the other side of the archway, beyond Amanda’s line of vision. “Mary Gibson, are you talking about me behind my back?”
Mary smiled and turned away to peer at the newcomer, who was still hidden from Amanda. “Hi, Brock,” she said. “My, don’t you look spiffy, all dressed up in a suit and tie.”
“I feel like a trained monkey in this rig,” the man with the deep voice said, reflecting such rueful distaste that Amanda smiled and leaned around the archway to see what he looked like.
At the same moment he stepped forward to allow a server past him, and faced Amanda head on. His mouth dropped open, his dark eyes widened, and he stood rooted to the spot, staring at her with such obvious amazement that her pale cheeks became a delicate pink.
But she collected herself almost at once, gave the man a polite smile and calmly returned his gaze.
He was certainly an arresting physical specimen, several inches taller than six feet with a rangy muscular look and an impressive breadth of chest and shoulders to balance his height. His face was tanned and clean-cut, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes warm and alert as he continued to stare at Amanda. When she smiled, he grinned back automatically, one side of his wide mouth lifting in an engaging lopsided grin that showed a flash of beautiful white teeth.
Amanda always noticed people’s hands. This man’s hands were hard and brown, probably as callused on the palms as old leather, but they were beautifully shaped, with fine square palms and long fingers.
Amanda looked back to the man’s shining dark eyes. She was beginning to feel uneasy. Apparently Mary Gibson was also becoming uncomfortable at the intensity with which the man was staring at Amanda.
“Brock, this is Amanda Walker,” Mary said finally. “Amanda, Brock Munroe, my nearest neighbor. He has a ranch right next to mine.”
The tall man broke his gaze with a visible effort and extended his hand. Amanda took it almost reluctantly and felt her own hand swallowed in his firm grip. Brock Munroe’s hand was just as steel-hard and strong as she’d expected. And she was distressed by the sudden tingle of sexual excitement that shivered through her at his touch.
“Amanda does clothes buying and TV commercials, things like that,” Mary explained.
“I know,” the man said abruptly. “I’ve seen her on television.”
He was staring again, as if trying to memorize every line and detail of Amanda’s face.
Or, Amanda thought in warm confusion, as if they were already well-known to each other, lovers meeting again after a long, long separation…
Mary smiled at them and began to edge away, murmuring something about helping Virginia with the buffet, but Brock and Amanda were so absorbed in their sudden and surprising contact that they hardly noticed her departure.
“So,” Brock said with that same abrupt tone, “what exactly is a personal shopping service, Amanda? What is it that you do for a living?”
“I dress people,” Amanda said automatically. “I help them to select a balanced complementary wardrobe, and the proper accessories to achieve a total look. And then I price-shop the stores for them, over as wide an area as I’m able, as well as the catalogues from the better houses.”
The man beside her nodded thoughtfully. Amanda looked up at him with a cautious critical eye, noticing for the first time that his suit had to be fifteen years old, at least, with its old-fashioned lapels and the awkward dated cut of the trousers. And that tie…
Amanda couldn’t help thinking what a shame it was to see a man like Brock Munroe dressed this way. With his beautifully-formed body, he’d look just wonderful in a really well-cut suit.
She stole another glance at his lapels.
“Eighteen years,” he told her quietly.
Amanda looked up at his face, startled. “I beg your pardon?”
“This suit. I bought it eighteen years ago for my high school graduation. That’s what you’re thinking, right? That I look real tacky and out-of-date?”
Amanda flushed and then realized with annoyance that this reaction had been as much of a giveaway as her earlier expression of distaste. “Clothes are my business,” she told the man stiffly. “I can’t help but notice cut and style. It’s my job.”
“And you think I’ve failed to deal with all those tiny intangibles that add up to a total look?”
Amanda glanced up at him sharply again, recognizing her own words in his deep teasing voice. Was she being gently ridiculed by this handsome rustic?
“I wasn’t really thinking about your appearance at all,” she lied, trying to keep her voice cool. “I’m just enjoying the party, and I was looking for my friends, actually. I think they’re out on the patio.”
She began