HER Dress Read online

  Her Dress

  BY

  PAT SIMMONS

  Copyright © 2011 PAT SIMMONS

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. References to real events, organizations, and places are used in a fictional context. Any resemblances to actual people, living or dead are entirely coincidental. To read more books by this author, please visit www.patsimmons.net.

  Printed in the United States of America

  CONTENTS

  Reviews

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Other Books

  Praises for Pat Simmons

  I love Christian Romance novels and Pat Simmons knows how to unlock the imagination and take it on a quick path of hope, love and Jesus. You will always find some sort of message in her books just like I found in Stopping Traffic. I smiled! …Tamara Gatling, reader

  Pat Simmons does it again and again!

  Another great story from Pat Simmons! What I love about her books is they are all biblically based! She shows how we, as humans, are in need of healing, deliverance, forgiveness, etc. I really like her approach to the dating scene! It is refreshing from some other Christian novels that allow their characters to engage in sexual activity without being married! Thank you, Pat, for giving us some good, pure, interesting Christian materials to read!! I appreciate you! You and a handful of other Christian Authors are rare commodities in these last days! …LeeLee, reader

  Simmons has laid it all out on the line in this installment of the Jamieson legacy. This is pure Christian romance with a touch of heritage. There were moments in the middle that I wanted them to get it together but it turned out better than expected. The personal touch of genealogy is wonderful and will make you think about your own family heritage. Wanted to see more Grandma BB but loved the new character development. Simmons is on top of her genre... Reviewed by M. Bruner “Deltareviewer” on Free from Guilt

  Free from Guilt may be listed as Christian fiction, but it's so much more. You read about family history, romance and transformation. This is a great read and leaves the reader wanting more, with that being said I'm looking forward to the next Guilty installment.

  …Reviewed by Melody Vernor-Bartel for Reader's Paradise

  Other Christian titles include:

  Guilty Series

  Book I: Guilty of Love

  Book II: Not Guilty

  Book III: Still Guilty

  The Jamieson Legacy

  Book I: Guilty by Association

  Book II: The Guilt Trip

  Book III: Free from Guilt

  The Guilty Parties series

  Book I: The Acquittal

  Book II: The Confession (fall 2014)

  The Carmen Sisters

  Book I: No Easy Catch (April 2014)

  Love at the Crossroads

  Book I: Stopping Traffic

  Book II: A Baby for Christmas

  Book III: The Keepsake (March 2014)

  Making Love Work Anthology

  Book I: Love at Work

  Book II: Words of Love

  Book III: A Mother’s Love

  Love for The Holidays

  Book I: A Christian Christmas

  Book II: A Woman After David’s Heart

  Book III: A Christian Easter

  CHAPTER ONE

  “That’s my dress!” Pepper Trudeau’s mouth dropped open.

  “Where?” Her friend and coworker, Monica Marshall, craned her neck to peer through the crowd. “We’re standing in a ballroom with hundreds of people, dimmed lights and gorgeous hunks, and all you think you see is someone wearing the same dress? Honey, please. You need to refocus.”

  Pepper huffed without taking her eyes off the voluptuous woman across the room who modeled their two-piece scooped-neck sleeveless dress better than her. “When you spend more than four hundred dollars on a dress, shoes, handbag, and other accessories, you want to sniff out any competition.”

  The matching olive-colored duster gave the outfit more pizzazz with ruffles that trimmed its outline and the cuffs. Pepper thought it was a classy ensemble for the Children Are Our Future Scholarship dinner soiree.

  The fundraiser was promoted as the fundraising event of the year held at the Jones Dome in downtown St. Louis. Pepper’s purpose for attending was to support some of her students whom she tutored in an after school program who were also recipients. It was one of many projects her company encouraged employee participation in as part of its community outreach initiative.

  Monica’s pet project was her commitment to the yearly scholarship team to solicit donations and drive ticket sales. Although it was Monica’s third year on the committee, it was the first time she had convinced Pepper to come.

  Suddenly, Pepper’s idea of splurging on the pricey designer outfit at Ashanti’s House in the trendy Central West End seemed foolish. “Why didn’t I borrow my mother’s sewing machine, go fabric shopping, watch for a Vogue pattern sale, and declare a weekend sewing marathon?”

  “Hmmm. You want the top ten reasons or just one?” She didn’t wait for Pepper’s answer. “You didn’t have time to whip up a masterpiece for this soiree. Besides, there are so many people, no one will notice that two women are wearing the same dress, probably the same shoes and nail polish too,” She teased. “Oh wait. I do see her.”

  Pepper finger-combed through her bob cut as she scrutinized various guests’ attire. “This is like New York’s fashion week. Everyone is wearing a one-of-a-kind piece, except for me and her,” she pointed in the woman’s direction, “of course.”

  “Stop it. You’ve got the legs, the height, the face, the hair—”

  “…And the same dress. You’re not helping because from where I’m standing, I don’t see imperfection on her for days. She has what I have, plus a lot more. Case in point, she has no shortage of male attention. It’s as if she’s a queen and they are her servants.”

  “Jealous?” Monica grinned. “Listen, I can round you up a Soul Train line of men. Say the word.” Monica wasn’t bluffing.

  “You don’t have a good track record when it comes to blind dates. Should I whip out my list of disasters?”

  Monica shrugged. “You just haven’t met the right one.”

  Yes, Pepper was picky, but there was something appealing and even sexy about a God-fearing man who possessed the ability to rein in his pride and surrender to God. Her argument was how could a woman submit to her husband if he couldn’t submit to God? She just didn’t believe she could find him outside the church walls.

  And women thought biceps, triceps, quadriceps, and whatever else-ceps were what God used to create men who were sexy, but add a little reverence to the Man upstairs and it was like whipped cream on a slice of white macadamia cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory. Unfortunately, in Pepper’s thirty years on God’s earth, she had yet to meet “the one,” even in church.

  Tonight, she couldn’t buy a date, or rather, none of the men she knew would plunk down one hundred and fifty dollars a ticket for charity. They didn’t give her a chance to mention that a tuxedo was required.

  “Listen,” Monica said with a squeeze to her arm, “I’ve got to get back to my post. Ticket sales are down this year, so we’re e
ncouraging guests to bid higher. Hopefully, that will make up the difference. Just stay away from that diva imposter!” Monica winked and hurried off in five-inch stilettos as if she was born in heels.

  “This could only happen to a woman,” Pepper mumbled as she squinted through the guests looking for her dress. Uh-oh. She’d been spotted. The woman in question was heading Pepper’s way, which thwarted her escape to a corner to hideout until the coast was clear, ‘til, as they say in the airlines, “you’re free to move around the cabin.” Evidently, the ballroom wasn’t large enough for their worlds not to collide.

  Embarrassing couldn’t begin to describe the blow to her ego. Pepper had stepped out her front door with a dash of vanity, only to be upstaged. Pivoting on her own three-inch heels, Pepper strutted toward the gallery.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said from behind Pepper’s back. To ignore her would be rude, to play coy would be childish, so Pepper had no choice but to turn and acknowledge her. From a distance, the woman was nice looking. Up close, Pepper conceded the shorter woman was pretty. Her smile was friendly and engaging, and it lit up her face.

  “Hello. I see we have the same taste.”

  Her statement didn’t come across as demeaning, so Pepper relaxed and returned her smile. “Wow, so this is what I would look like if I lost ten pounds. I envy you. You’re a knockout in our dress.”

  Yeah, and this is what I would look like if I had different parents.

  The woman had fair skin, hazel eyes, long thick hair, and the list went on. What a contrast. Pepper’s parents said they gave her that name because she had dark skin at birth. Pepper never did see a correlation.

  Even today, people commented on her silky smooth complexion. Pepper’s eyes were medium brown, which was a contrast with her skin in a complementary way, so men said. Although her hair was long when she was growing up, she preferred the stylish blunt haircut, barely touching her shoulders, as an adult.

  Shaking her head, the woman released a high-pitched laugh, and then patted her feminine endowment with hands that displayed a blinking diamond wedding ring on a French manicured finger. “Don’t be ridiculous. What I wouldn’t give to be tall and slender. Oh, I was so awestruck, I forgot my manners. I’m Paige Logan.” She offered her hand as her eyes twinkled.

  “I’m Pepper Trudeau. I guess our parents had a preference for the letter P. I see you’re married, but that won’t keep men from drooling over you all night.”

  “My husband and his bodyguard-in-waiting-brothers would crush them. Anyway, I just wanted to introduce myself, since it seems we have the same exquisite taste. I’ll make sure I keep my distance so you can fight the men off.” She scurried away and disappeared into a sea of guests that swallowed her up from Pepper’s view for the first time since spotting her.

  Glancing around, Pepper calculated her chances were slim that no one had seen them talking, then tallied their votes for who wore it best. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be seated at the same table.

  Pepper fingered her dangling pendant necklace, which also served as a watch. It was a tiny replica of the crystal ball in New York’s Times Square. She noted the time as her stomach growled. Dinner wouldn’t start for almost another hour, so she detoured to the bar for a drink to pacify her stomach monster.

  The dark-skinned, bald bartender glanced up and gave her his full attention, bracing his palms on the counter. “What can I get you, pretty lady?”

  “A ginger ale or Sprite with a little cherry syrup, and can you add a slice of lime, please?” Pepper smiled.

  “Make that two Shirley Temples.” A baritone voice from behind startled her.

  Pepper shivered as she fought a whiff of his cologne. She dared not turn around. The voice alone had hypnotized her.

  “What a gorgeous dress on a beautiful lady,” he complimented.

  The dress again; she rolled her eyes. It would be just her luck he was mistaking her for Paige or another woman. Pepper slanted her head, but didn’t face him. “How do you know I’m beautiful?” she teased as the bartender watched in amusement, and then winked. “I could have a face like Shrek or warts or —”

  “I doubt it.”

  “That’s two dollars for you and—” the bartender interrupted.

  “I’ve got it.” Her benefactor reached in front of Pepper and handed over a twenty- dollar bill. “Keep the change.” The bartender nodded his gratitude.

  “Thank you,” Pepper said, loud enough for him to hear without giving him the satisfaction of being pleased or disappointed with his assessment of her. Feeling mischievous, she walked away, sipping on her drink.

  “Hey, aren’t you going to prove me wrong?”

  Giggling, Pepper shook her head moments before she mingled into the crowd. That was fun. Just because she didn’t want to give him a peek didn’t mean she didn’t want a glance, but the crowd was thickening, so her window of opportunity was also closed.

  She guessed he was at least six-foot-three or -four inches and probably handsome-as-sin-waiting-to-be-committed. On the flip side, he was possibly out of shape and ugly-as-sin as her mother described unattractive people. Crossing a marble floor corridor, Pepper stepped into a plush carpeted room that had been transformed into an art gallery for the night’s soiree.

  The guests there were sparse compared to the main ballroom. Partitions were set up in a maze to showcase artwork. One after the other, Pepper admired the young artists’ skills and perception of life. She couldn’t resist the urge to touch the textured scenes on a few of the canvases. One painting—a snapshot of a little girl who was sitting behind an executive desk—drew her in. Pepper briefly wondered what the future held for today’s youth. Every piece was impressive. If she had the money, she would make offers on most of them. Although she earned a good salary, she spent her money wisely, except for the dress she had on tonight.

  Before the night was over, the highest bidders would take home the masterpieces while the proceeds would fund twenty scholarships for outstanding high school seniors. Several of the recipients were students she tutored in the Hazelwood School District.

  It wasn’t long before her feet scolded her that stilettos were meant to be admired, not for practical use like walking. At least she would get some respite when dinner was served. Jutting her chin and standing to her full five-seven without heels, she decided not to wait for dinner as she headed to her table. She needed a seat. As she exited the gallery, Pepper nodded and smiled at other guests, but her feet demanded she forgo any small talk. Plus, she didn’t want to get within a mile of Paige.

  Pepper squinted as her eyes adjusted to the dimmed lighting when she re-entered the ballroom. She scanned the room, trying to read the designated numbers on circular tables draped with white linen and topped with crystal goblets, silverware and china. Suddenly, a magnificent good-looking man blocked her view. Pepper offered a brief apologetic smile, and attempted to go around him.

  “Hello again.”

  Again? Pepper definitely would have remembered this unbelievably handsome man with a one-dimpled smile and a thick mustache against mahogany smooth skin. She would have remembered his wavy close-cropped hair and his long lashes that she wished she could buy. She would have remembered this six-foot-something buff body of temptation. But his sexy voice she couldn’t forget. She blinked at the same time her feet went numb as if saying, ‘Girl don’t take another step’. “Mr. Shirley Temple.”

  “So, you remembered,” he teased. “Too bad you denied me the pleasure of admiring your gorgeous face.” He grinned and seemed to have no qualms about blocking an aisle and forcing others to walk around them. Pepper wished she could move, but she was too mesmerized by his expressions when he talked.

  “Cinderella left her glass slipper, but the crystal image of you in that dress was my beacon to find you again. I’m Drake Logan.”

  When he extended his hand, the trance was broken. Pepper blinked. She accepted it and felt his controlled strength. “Are you related to Paige Logan? I met her ear
lier. You’ve probably noticed we’re wearing the same dress.”

  Drake gave her an appreciative look and shook his head. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  She laughed. “Liar.”

  “No kidding. Paige is my sister-in-law.” He chuckled. “Didn’t you know most men are color blind, Miss…?”

  “Trudeau. Pepper Trudeau.”

  “I’m assuming Miss, since you’re not wearing a ring. That was the first thing I checked.”

  Immediately, Pepper glanced at his hand. “I noticed you’re not wearing one either, which really doesn’t reveal a man’s marital status,” she said, avoiding his question. Pepper couldn’t believe she was flirting with a stranger. That move was so unlike her. But then she was accustomed to dating men exclusively who were active in church. She had never been tempted to venture out.

  “I assure you no wedding ring means I’m not married, and when I do, people are going to know it, not only by a gold band, but the affections I plan to shower upon my wife—the woman I love.”

  Why didn’t she believe him? Someone who was trying to get by bumped them closer together. Pepper backed up; Drake didn’t. He grinned as if he appreciated the rude behavior. The subtle scent of his cologne permeated the air between them. “Would you like another Shirley Temple or a glass of wine?” he asked.

  “Oh no. I don’t drink.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Pepper shrugged. “You didn’t know.”

  “I will next time.” Drake raised a brow as if daring her to say the contrary.

  She tried to peep around him, but the crowd continued to grow. “Anyway, I was looking for my table—A-7.”