Dances with Wolf Read Online Free Page B

Stella, who yawned and turned her face toward a spot of sunshine on the passenger seat. So much for sympathy. Abby swung her legs onto the street.
    A block away she spotted Wolf springing out of his father ’ s truck. His height and wide-legged stance were unmistakable, but he looked out of place on the paved street, with a thumb hooked into his belt loop and an expression of bored distraction on his face. This was a man born to straddle the wide breadth of a horse, who appeared foreign and out of sorts when his boots weren ’ t in a pair of stirrups. His hair full and wavy, blue eyes sparkling in the sun. It was as if Abby had conjured him from nothing, or from the deep well of her hidden hopes and fears. Just as it had yesterday, her heart began to race. Without thinking, she pulled her unruly hair from its lazy-morning ponytail and shook it around her face. “Wolf,” she whispered to herself.
    Sneaking up behind her on the sidewalk, Bridget surprised Abby with a wrap-around hug.
    “Look who ’ s here,” she said, wriggling from Bridget ’ s grasp and nodding toward Wolf, who still hadn ’ t noticed her.
    “Ugh, I know. He’s taking Dad shopping—Mom’s idea. God knows they both need a serious wardrobe update.” Bridget turned Abby around to face her. “Anyway, you saw him yesterday for a few minutes. Got past that awkward moment, right?”
    Abby gave her a look, like, you can’ t be serious.
    “Well, you can rest easy because they ’ re headed for Hansen ’ s. We ’ re going here.” She grasped Abby ’ s elbow and steered her through the double doors of Blue Lagoon.
    Nonsensically, Abby pouted in disappointment. Did she want to run into Wolf or didn ’ t she? How was she going to get her act together when she couldn ’ t even be honest with herself?
    She sat in the dressing room while Bridget and a saleswoman picked out dresses for her. “Nothing strapless,” she called out.
    “Don ’ t listen to her,” Bridget told the woman. “Bring out the bling!”
    Ten minutes later, Abby was in midnight-blue chiffon with a beaded top, turning on a podium in front of a three-faced mirror. “I look like a tricked-out rodeo queen,” she said.
    “It ’ s the perfect color for you.” Bridget laughed. “And it ’ s very sophisticated.”
    “I hate the low cut. If I dance two steps with Dad I ’ m going to burst out of it. How embarrassing would that be?” In the back of her mind, an image began to form of wearing a dress this sexy in front of Wolf. “Forget this one,” she said. “Do you have anything in pink, or peach?”
    Bridget shook her head. “You want to look like a Sunday school teacher?”
    “No, I want to look like I ’ m not trying too hard.”
    Bridget whirled from the dressing room and, after a whispered conversation with the saleswoman, appeared once more at the dressing room door with a short white-linen dress. “This one ’ s a sleeper,” she said. “Check out the back.” She turned the dress on its hanger. The bodice was draped and had two modest straps, but the back dipped so low that only a single rope of tiny rhinestones connected the two sides.
    “You ’ ve got to try it on,” said the saleswoman. “Somebody from Whitefish ordered it for a May wedding, then never picked it up.”
    “A bad luck dress, you mean?” Abby laughed morbidly.
    “No, girl,” said Bridget. “It ’ s never been worn because only a certain kind of person can pull this off. And that person is you.” She slipped the dress off its hanger, and dangled it toward Abby. “Come to Mama.”
    Abby closed her eyes and put her hands over her head like a swimmer taking her first plunge into an unknown body of water. The dress fell easily into place.
    Bridget turned her around slowly in front of the mirror. “ You sure don’ t look like a horse whisperer today,” she said softly.
    “What ’ s a horse whisperer look like, Bridge?”
    “Like Buck Brannaman. Not like…” She whistled, long and