truth in what she'd said about Jason's future bride, anyway—that he'd want a society girl. She'd never thought about Jason getting married, but inevitably, he would. He'd want an heir for the Diamond Spur. And, although it hurt to admit it, a poor girl like Kate would never fit into his world.
"If only we could afford some fancy clothes for you," Mary moaned. "I'm sure he'd noticed you if you had pretty things to wear. Not that these things you sew yourself aren't pretty," she was quick to add. She was proud of her daughter's accomplishments, but some nice store-bought things would catch a rich man's eye even better.
Mary couldn't know that Jason had noticed Kate. Her eyes went dreamy as she relived that unexpected and exciting interlude in the field, felt his arm around her, felt the warm and vibrant urging of his hard mouth, his body. She was aware of a new, nagging hunger that made her restless, and hoped that she could hide it from her mother. The last thing in the world she needed was to have her ambitious mother pushing her at Jason. He might be her best friend, but he'd already said that he didn't want commitment. Her mother could easily cost her his company forever by making it look as if Kate were trying to trap him into marriage.
"How about some dessert?" Kate hedged. "I made an apple pie."
"Well, aren't you the smart one? I'd love a slice. Make that two slices, I feel like living
dangerously."
Kate grinned and got down two saucers to put the pie in. Thank goodness for her mother's
appetite. It saved her from a modern Spanish inquisition.
The next morning, Kate rode into San Frio with her mother. She was wearing one of the
outfits she'd designed herself—a simple, loose, sky blue blouse with set-in cap sleeves with lots
of embroidery in Indian patterns on the square yoke and bodice and sleeves, and an ankle-length full circle skirt of chambray that echoed the blouse's embroidery around the hem. She finished the outfit with simple suede fringed boots in a powder blue and a matching bag. Jason had given her those for Christmas. They weren't new, but they looked it because Kate kept them for special occasions. She'd put her hair in braids and added big blue bows to each one, and her own natural grace and carriage gave the outfit a charm all its own.
"You look delightful," Mary sighed as she parked the battered old blue Ford Galaxy outside the neat offices of Clayborn Manufacturing Company. Clayborn was the south Texas division of a national manufacturing company with headquarters in New York City.
Kate sighed as they got out of the car. She slammed the door twice to get the lock to catch. "Stupid car," she muttered. "I hate it."
"It gets us around," Mary replied. "And it's a long walk from the house to here."
"Walking is healthy," came the short reply. Kate gnawed her lower lip as Mary opened the door marked "employees only," and was met immediately by the sound of sewing machines running and steam surging through pipes into the pressing department. The colors of the current cut were echoed down the rows of seamstresses in the pants department. Kate waved to two of the girls she sat near and followed Mary down the aisle toward the front office.
The plant was large. It had a shirts line and a pants line, a training room, a huge cutting room
and warehouse, a pressing department and quality control department and mechanics who wer e kept busy making the old machines produce. It smelled of fabric and machine oil and thread , pleasant smells that Kate had grown accustomed to sinc e graduation from high school. She'd worked in the plant that long .
The canteen was empty as they passed it, the long tables spotless, the machines standing waiting for break time. The lady who worked seconds was busy packing them up in brown cartons, and the floor lady over the pressing department threw up a hand as Mary and Kate went by.
The main offices had a payroll department, personnel office, a receptionist and the plant
"If only we could afford some fancy clothes for you," Mary moaned. "I'm sure he'd noticed you if you had pretty things to wear. Not that these things you sew yourself aren't pretty," she was quick to add. She was proud of her daughter's accomplishments, but some nice store-bought things would catch a rich man's eye even better.
Mary couldn't know that Jason had noticed Kate. Her eyes went dreamy as she relived that unexpected and exciting interlude in the field, felt his arm around her, felt the warm and vibrant urging of his hard mouth, his body. She was aware of a new, nagging hunger that made her restless, and hoped that she could hide it from her mother. The last thing in the world she needed was to have her ambitious mother pushing her at Jason. He might be her best friend, but he'd already said that he didn't want commitment. Her mother could easily cost her his company forever by making it look as if Kate were trying to trap him into marriage.
"How about some dessert?" Kate hedged. "I made an apple pie."
"Well, aren't you the smart one? I'd love a slice. Make that two slices, I feel like living
dangerously."
Kate grinned and got down two saucers to put the pie in. Thank goodness for her mother's
appetite. It saved her from a modern Spanish inquisition.
The next morning, Kate rode into San Frio with her mother. She was wearing one of the
outfits she'd designed herself—a simple, loose, sky blue blouse with set-in cap sleeves with lots
of embroidery in Indian patterns on the square yoke and bodice and sleeves, and an ankle-length full circle skirt of chambray that echoed the blouse's embroidery around the hem. She finished the outfit with simple suede fringed boots in a powder blue and a matching bag. Jason had given her those for Christmas. They weren't new, but they looked it because Kate kept them for special occasions. She'd put her hair in braids and added big blue bows to each one, and her own natural grace and carriage gave the outfit a charm all its own.
"You look delightful," Mary sighed as she parked the battered old blue Ford Galaxy outside the neat offices of Clayborn Manufacturing Company. Clayborn was the south Texas division of a national manufacturing company with headquarters in New York City.
Kate sighed as they got out of the car. She slammed the door twice to get the lock to catch. "Stupid car," she muttered. "I hate it."
"It gets us around," Mary replied. "And it's a long walk from the house to here."
"Walking is healthy," came the short reply. Kate gnawed her lower lip as Mary opened the door marked "employees only," and was met immediately by the sound of sewing machines running and steam surging through pipes into the pressing department. The colors of the current cut were echoed down the rows of seamstresses in the pants department. Kate waved to two of the girls she sat near and followed Mary down the aisle toward the front office.
The plant was large. It had a shirts line and a pants line, a training room, a huge cutting room
and warehouse, a pressing department and quality control department and mechanics who wer e kept busy making the old machines produce. It smelled of fabric and machine oil and thread , pleasant smells that Kate had grown accustomed to sinc e graduation from high school. She'd worked in the plant that long .
The canteen was empty as they passed it, the long tables spotless, the machines standing waiting for break time. The lady who worked seconds was busy packing them up in brown cartons, and the floor lady over the pressing department threw up a hand as Mary and Kate went by.
The main offices had a payroll department, personnel office, a receptionist and the plant
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