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at that fancy school, and you were home in a week.”
    She winced, not wanting to remember that painful time. However, she was grown now and her guardian would be with her. At the debutante ball was where she would meet the most eligible of Texas bachelors, rich, important, and influential, some handsome gringo who would protect herfrom slights and continual questions about her white complexion but Mexican name. “What looks good?” she asked.
    “I’m having Mexican food, myself,” he said, “with a cold mug of
cerveza
and plenty of chili peppers.”
    “If Cimarron were home, she’d be telling you you might get heartburn,” Turquoise chided.
    Trace grinned. “But she and the kids are gone ’til July to the big World’s Fair thing.”
    “Philadelphia Centennial Exposition,” she corrected. “And it’s going to be a very educational experience for both your wife and the children, celebrating our country’s one hundredth birthday.”
    “I don’t understand why you passed up the chance to go with them,” Trace grumbled and closed his menu.
    “Because I wanted to be part of the debutante ball,” she reminded him.
    “I hope you enjoy it. It cost me enough to get you on the list. Besides being from the best gringo families, they must all be rich to pay that fee.”
    “And I can never thank you enough.” She smiled at him and then nodded to the patient waiter. “I’ll have the cold cucumber soup, those tiny chicken sandwiches, and a very tall glass of iced tea.”
    “What about dessert?” Trace asked as he gave his order to the waiter.
    She sighed. “Maybe. That chocolate mousse looks excellent but so does the strawberry tart.”
    The waiter left and she sipped her water and thought. Somehow it was not as refreshing as that she’d had from the tin dipper at the blacksmith shop.
    She felt the admiring gaze of many of the gentlemen, but she ignored them. A high-class white girl would only meet gentlemen on respectable terms, such as an introduction from a friend or relative or perhaps tonight at the debutante ball. That was what she yearned for, a gentleman who wouldlove her in spite of her Mexican name and questionable blood, and who would protect her from all the hateful taunts of mean-spirited gringa girls.
    Tonight she would be the beautiful girl from the fairy tale
Snow White,
and a handsome, rich, and successful prince would fall in love with her and beg for her hand in marriage.
    She frowned. Yes, that had been her goal for some years now. Then why did her mind keep returning to that dark, muscular Mexican vaquero with the four-leaf clover tattoo whom she had met this morning? He was everything she did not want: poor, of no social standing, and yet, in her mind, she saw that half-naked body gleaming with sweat and her mouth wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Uncle Trace stared at her. “What’s the matter? You’re blushin’.”
    She felt guilty and flustered. “It’s probably a touch of sunburn, that’s all.”
    She hid her face behind her napkin and coughed, annoyed with herself that she couldn’t get the vaquero off her mind.

Chapter 2
    After lunch, Trace ordered a rental buggy and Turquoise shielded herself from the sun with her parasol on the ride to the La Mode Dress Shoppe.
    A middle-age, elegant lady approached them as they entered. “Hello, I am Mrs. Whittle. Welcome to my shop.”
    “Oh, yes,” Turquoise said, “you’re the one we sent the paperwork to.”
    “And all that money,” Trace grumbled and took a chair.
    “Well, sir”—Mrs. Whittle drew herself up proudly—“if we didn’t keep the fees high, just anybody could take part and the society committee only wants the very best girls.”
    “That depends on who you’re callin’ the very best girls,” Trace answered but Turquoise gave him a pleading look and he hushed. “Just sell my ward a proper gown.”
    Turquoise smiled and curtsied. “I am Turquoise Sanchez.”
    Turquoise noted Mrs. Whittle