Page 38 of Blue Jean Summer

Savannah Scott had taken the reins of her family’s leather business a few years ago. Her grandfather was a legendary saddlemaker and had taught her everything he knew. On the side, she had a storefront with custom boots she made herself, a few name-brand staples, and clothes and accessories she gave a personal touch.

She was a brilliant seamstress and craftswoman, which was why she had made my state-themed costume when I was competing for Miss America.

The gown, in floating layers of sheer blue that matched the mountains, was proudly displayed in her storefront window. She had made a laurel headpiece that resembled dogwood flowers by using local leather for the stems and polished oyster shells from the Eastern Shore for the flower petals.

Pageants were ridiculously expensive, so we had worked out a quid pro quo deal. I did some modeling of the jeans and boots from her boutique line, Savannah got a crap ton of business from the pageant community and beyond, and I didn’t have to pay for the gown.

“Then it’s a perfect time to drum up some new clients!” I said, trying to paint this as a positive.

Savannah finished off the croissant and propped her hands on her belt. “I’ve got a stack of order requests for saddles that’ll last me until Christmas. I don’t need new clients.”

“These would be different clients,” I hedged.

Savannah’s shrewd eyes narrowed, and I knew I had piqued her interest.

I crossed my fingers. “Can you make me a wedding dress?”

Savannah stared at me for a long moment, then tossed her head back and laughed. “I thought you were serious for a second.”

“She is,” Hallie deadpanned.

Savannah dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand. “I don’t make wedding dresses. Not unless they’re made from leather.”

“Hayes probably wouldn’t mind seeing her in leather,” Hallie said with a devilish smirk.

Savannah cackled.

“Hallie!” I shrieked. Thankfully, the front doors of Ranch Dressing were still locked, so no one outside the three of us heard the comment. I pointed to the gown in the window. “Come on, Sav. You made that and it’s beautiful.”

“That was my first and only evening gown,” Savannah countered. “Besides, brides aren’t my ideal clientele. Neither are pageant people. I just got lucky that they were into the jeans and boots I put you in for that photo shoot.”

“Please!” I clasped my hands together. I wasn’t above begging.

Savannah’s gaze lingered on the dress. “When’s the big day?”

“First weekend in June,” I said under my breath.

Savannah blinked. “You mean the first weekend in June of next year, right?”

“More like…this year.”

Her jaw hit the front counter. “That’s in two weeks! I can’t even get fabric delivered in that amount of time. Especially not specialty fabric! And do you know how much fabric it takes to make a wedding dress?”

“No, which is why I need you to be your amazing, talented self and help me figure something out,” I begged.

Hayes was right. I couldn’t just pull out any old evening gown out of my pageant trunks. It had to be something worthy of a Wilder wedding.

The newspaper headline was only a partial exaggeration. The Wilders weren’t just Honey Hollow royalty. They were American royalty.

Savannah huffed. “I’ll go shopping with you, but you’ll have to find something off the rack and beg—and I mean beg—the salesperson to sell you the floor sample. I might be able to customize it a little, but I can’t make a wedding dress from scratch in two weeks.”

I looked at Hallie. “I can beg.”

Hallie nodded. “I can beg too.”

Savannah assessed us with suspicion. “You do realize this means you have to tell me what the hell is going on up at the estate, right?”

“Why don’t you come to the estate for dinner?” Hallie offered with a conspiratorial grin.