Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes by Beverly Barton

Author:Beverly Barton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2002-04-12T04:00:00+00:00

Mary lifted her head from his shoulder and gave James a tender, dreamy smile. She’d left her glasses in the glove box of her car. Everything beyond two feet away was out of focus. But that was no problem. She could see well enough to get where she needed to be.

She was where she needed to be. In James’s arms. He held her nice and close and she could see him just fine.

And really, what else did she need to see?

Not a thing. Everyone else—the whole rest of the world—could just fade away. That would be fine with her.

She wasn’t herself tonight. Oh, no. Tonight she was the beautiful, mysterious Olivia Leigh. She had crashed the Lone Star County Debutante Ball—and she had gotten away with it, gotten just what she came for: the chance to spend an enchanted hour or two dancing in James Campbell’s big, strong arms.

The next dance was a slow one. And so was the one after that.

Then James asked her if she’d like some punch. She was a little thirsty by then, so she told him yes.

He led her to one of the refreshment tables lined up near the side wall. “Let’s see,” he said. “There’s something pink. And something purple. And something that looks like it just might be lemonade.”

“Lemonade,” she said. “Please.” He lifted the silver ladle and scooped her up a cupful. She took a sip—and watched as a frown formed between his dark brows. He was looking at something behind her. “What is it?”

“Frances Adair,” he said, his fine mouth twisting wryly. “Chairwoman of this year’s ball. Headed this way.”

Frances Adair. Mary’s stomach lurched and her heart seemed to stop dead—then start in again way too fast.

Everyone knew about Mrs. Adair. Everyone talked about how hard she’d worked this year, about her dedication and her respect for tradition. Mrs. Adair would not be impressed with the lovely and charming Olivia Leigh. She wasn’t going to grin and see Mary’s presence here as a delicious little joke, the way that Maddie Delarue had done.

No. Mrs. Adair would see Mary for exactly what she was—a counterfeit, a phony. A fake.

James took the lemonade from her suddenly nerveless fingers and set it back on the table next to the punch bowl. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Running off.”

“I’m not.” It was a lie and they both knew it.

He caught her hand and tucked it securely around his arm. “Stick with me. I can handle Frances Adair.”

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