Somehow, he’d gotten used to that not being an issue, and he admitted how cavalier and irresponsible he’d been with Callie Mae. They’d never even discussed children much. Obviously, he knew they would want a family at some point, but not now, not when everything was so uncertain.
Wiping the bar, he continued to stew about it. Marilee and Fancy were exceptionally quiet this morning. His terse answers to their inquiries did not inspire conversation.
“Where’s Callie Mae?” Fancy asked as she wiped down tables.
“At Doc Brubaker’s.”
“Is she ill?” Marilee’s face paled in concern as she stopped cleaning.
“No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Then why is she there? Is she seeing Jane? I know she’s concerned that Jane may be jumping into a relationship with the doctor too quickly.”
“I’ve told you I don’t know,” Morgan snapped. “She fainted; at least that’s what I think happened.”
“Fainted?” they replied in unison.
“That’s what I said. Now let’s get this place cleaned up, so she’s not fussing about that when I go and get her.”
They got to work, ignoring him and whispering secretively while shooting him somewhat nasty looks. Some things didn’t change no matter what century you lived in, he realized. Apparently, unexpected pregnancy and pissing off a woman were two of them.
Finally, sick of them glaring at him as they swept and dusted, he tossed the cloth onto the bar in frustration. Going through the kitchen, he stormed out the back door, ignoring Annalise’s question.
“Where’s Callie Mae this morning?”
What the hell? Did anyone care about him and what he was going through? No, of course not! He was just the schmuck whose arrival had caused all of these problems. If they were aware of it, he’d probably be locked up and considered crazy as a loon. They would pity any baby he fathered as the child of a nut job.
Shaking his head, he leaned against the side of the building and rolled a smoke. He watched for Mead to come through the doors of the bank as he went to lunch. If he didn’t talk to him soon, he would go crazy.
CHAPTER 9
PRESENT DAY
“What the hell? Are you trying to kill me?” Cara demanded, struggling to draw a deep breath.
“You said you wanted these to be authentic,” Lucille Delacruz huffed as she tugged on the strings of the corset. “I’m trying to do that. I design contour, not historical wardrobes.”
“Sorry. It’s just so tight,” Cara whined.
“Do you want believable clothes for the 1880’s or not? I’ve never even heard of this production company. Why do you want this part so badly? You’ve never shown an interest in the theater before. You can consider yourself lucky that I’m even bothering, as it’s not really my vocation.”
“I know, I know, and I’m grateful,” Cara sighed. “It’s just so uncomfortable. I can’t believe women actually wore this torturous garment.”
“Well, they did, and worse,” Lucille assured her finally satisfied that Cara’s waist was as small as it was likely to get. “Now let’s try the dresses. I’m uncertain about the cages,” the pretty blonde admitted thoughtfully. “And there are the bustles. I’ve researched it and some of it depends on what part of the country you lived in and your societal station.”
“Explain.”
“Well, if your character comes from wealth, and lives either in the east or far west, like San Francisco, you may have to dress for that position. However, if she’s more of a farm girl in the Midwest, she would naturally not be the height of fashion.”
“I see. Well, maybe I don’t need to be quite so perfect,” Cara drawled. “Can we lose the corset?”
“Absolutely not!” Lucille replied aghast. “Corsets were a mainstay, no matter your station. The corset stays.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Cara stated as she rested her hand on her flat waist.
“Don’t worry; I’ll try to alter it so you can put it on yourself. Then you can decide on how tiny you want your waist to look.”
“What else have you made for me?”
