My First Book--Scene Twenty

Instead of giving a long list of links for you to read the previous scenes in my book, might I point you to the "Categories" at the left? Mosey down to "my first book--scenes", click there and scroll down to wherever you have to start.

Go on. We'll wait for you.

Back? Okay. Without further ado, I give you Scene Twenty.
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“Dan, there’s no need for me to buy any clothes. I can make a dress for the wedding in no time,” I said for the umpteenth time that morning. I poured the bacon grease into its can and blew a stray bit of hair out of my eye. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be at the office this morning? Minerva told me yesterday that you had a full schedule today.”

He sat at the table and sipped his coffee. “I stopped by on my way to see the widow Halvorson. What’s the matter?” he asked, neatly buttering a biscuit and adding a slice of bacon to it. “You act like you don’t want to see me.” He took a bite of his makeshift sandwich and wiped the butter from his chin with a finger.

“You know better,” I said, tossing him a napkin. “I have to get to my sewing to get that dress finished in time for the wedding. You’re just slowing me down.” I smiled and turned to the dirty breakfast dishes in the sink.

“Chloe, you’re so damned stubborn sometimes, I just want to scream,” Dan said. He sighed. “Honey, I’m trying to make things a little easier for you. I can afford to buy you clothes—nice clothes—that you don’t have to make for yourself. You can use the time for other things that need to be done. How many other women would give an arm to have their man make such an offer?”

I turned to respond, but he stood and laid a finger across my lips. “Will you think of it as a wedding present, then? From me to you?”

I kissed the finger and tasted butter. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Dan answered with his own smile. “What a relief,” he said, “Otherwise, I’d be in a real pickle. I haven’t bought you a present yet.” He laughed when he saw the daggers in my eyes. “Or have I?” He pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. “Here, I think this should cover it,” he said, counting out a stack of bills and laying them on the table.

“I know you’ll want to take Lela with you. She can drive you up to Dallas, right?” he asked as we walked towards the door. Despite the fact that both he and Mabel had both tried to teach me to drive, I still would not willingly take the wheel.

“Something can be arranged,” I said, not bothering to tell him that Lela had also been working on me to accept the money. He didn’t need to know everything, right? She would be on my doorstep at nine.

“Oh, by the way,” he said as he reached for his hat, “Waylon and I are having supper at the café. He told me you ladies were planning a day in Dallas, and neither of us can cook. We poor men have to eat, don’t we?”