-6A-

Flashback

Matt's fists balled into leaded weights. A battering ram, the heels of his boots struck the hard surface of the sidewalk like sledge hammers. Face rigid, he wanted to push the people walking with or against him out of his way.

This short walk between his rooming house and the St. Louis State Courthouse was more than enough to get his anger boiling. These city slickers had no right to be laughing, talking in light tones.

Because he wasn't.

He needed to think about something else. Not just for his own sanity but also for the welfare of one Kitty Russell.

Pleasant thoughts. To take him away from the hard paved streets and the high spirits of the crowds. The drudgery of the trial.

Like the last time he and Kitty walked these same streets. Three years ago. And how he'd been rude enough to bull his way through the crowds back then.

But for a very different reason.

Spring. Just after Easter. Kitty needed new clothes. New hats. New underwear. New shoes. New everything all in the latest style. The whole gamut.

He would accompany her. Be the package bearer. Companion. Critic.

It came off as planned. That in itself was a miracle. He couldn't stifle the wince at the time before when plans did not work out. The time when Will Stambridge came between them.

Always methodical, Kitty started with a new corset.

Madam Sylvester was severe. With a long pointed nose and dark eyes, she reminded Matt of the witch in one of the stories his mother used to tell him as a child. Matt had no doubt that this woman's corset was cinched ten times more than comfort allowed.

"You will," Madam Sylvester looked down the length of her pipestem smeller first at Matt then at Kitty, "be needing some help, Miss Russell."

Kitty responded quickly. "Oh, no, Constance. Matt will help me," her eyes bright with azure humor.

A Kansas twister. The sound that emanated from the woman's proboscis.

"Come on, Matt."

Kitty led him through a side door to another room lined with mirrors floor to ceiling.

"Close the door, Matt."

He hadn't expected to be doing this.

Corsets.

Not that he minded.

Corsets.

Kitty took off her white silk gloves and dropped them leisurely across the back of the lone chair. Adept at working the diminutive pearl buttons on her waist coat, she quickly discarded that item over the gloves. A few more buttons and the skirt and petticoat lay in a pile around her feet. She stepped out of them.

"Matt, would you put these on the chair?"

Matt was busy watching the corset she already wore. It had a way of encouraging Kitty's well endowed breasts to be even more so as they attempted to escape the confines of the camisole underneath it.

"Matt,"

"Oh...ya..." He picked up the skirt and pettycoat and draped them both atop the coat.

"I need help getting out of this corset."

Why a woman would choose to imprison her curves within this uncomfortable looking contraption Matt Dillon would never understand. Those were his thoughts as he pulled one of the string ends and began the slow process of extricating Kitty's midsection.

Kitty breathed a big sigh of relief as she took the corset from Matt's hands and tossed it on the chair.

"Now," she grabbed the new corset, pulled it apart, an end in either hand to inspect the flesh colored article. "Lots of staves. They sure weren't lying about that. This Hygeian brand is expensive, a dollar and a quarter. But it's supposed to be the best."

Matt understood that she was not talking to him. But to herself. And that he was little more than an eavesdropper at this particular point.

Her breasts hung freely beneath the crisp whiteness of the lacy camisole. Gently swaying. Two protrusions breaking the smoothness.

He wanted to touch.

In the worst way.

"Cowboy, I need you..."

He coughed.

"Here,"

He wanted something else under his hands but all he got was the new corset.

A knock on the door, "Miss Russell, are you doing alright?"

"Yes, Constance. Matt is a great help."

They both did their best to stifle the giggles that so desperately wanted to erupt after hearing Madam Sylvester snort. Again.

Two corsets wrapped in brown paper with brand new string later, Kitty led Matt down the street to Francios' Milinary.

Hats. A big deal to her. A necessity to him. He assumed that necessity led to the ease in which he chose a new hat. If it fit the circumference of his head and was a tan color, he bought it. But only if he needed one. Unlike Kitty who, he felt strongly, could never have enough.

Green hats with narrow brims. Purple hats with wide brims. Red hats with no brims. Feathers dyed to match. Feathers off the fowl with no touch up. Peacock feathers with many colors and eyes. Hats with sheer veils. Hats with no veils. Hats with colored veils. Small, medium, big. Huge.

Picking out a corset was much easier. Kitty would be here for hours.

But he sat patiently while Louis Francios hovered on Kitty's every wish.

Five hats packed in five not-so-dainty boxes later, they exited the small shop.

"Bamburg's has this new kind of dress fastener," she said as she looked straight ahead, "I'd like to see what it's all about."

Matt wanted to object.

But thought better of it.

She'd be taking off her clothes.

Again.

"But Miss Russell, this simply is not done."

The head seamstress at Bamburg's was a stout woman. And unmarried, judging by the look of her barren left ring finger.

"Mr. Dillon always helps me."

Kitty told a lie.

A beautifully convincing one.

She didn't flinch. She never dropped her eyes from the seamstress' own.

No wonder she won at poker.

"If you do not agree to my way of doing things I'll take my business elsewhere. And Mr. Bamburg will hear of it."

Kitty used her 'don't mess with me little girl, I'm tougher than you' voice.

He'd watched mean cowboys back off when she used that tone. Backed off himself more than once. Mostly from fear of what her temper would bring.

The sizable lady deliberated silently, obviously weighing all the options.

"As you wish, Miss Russell."

The emphasis on the word 'miss' was not lost on Kitty or himself.

"I'd like to try one of those clasp locker dresses."

A simple nod.

"Size 2."

A single beat then Kitty spoke again, "All my dresses should be a size 2."

The rotund woman's left nostril flared just a bit.

"And your colors...?"

"Pastels, darks, and with an orange or two. I love orange."

"But, Miss Russell, the orange color does not flatter the redness of your hair."

"I know. But I like orange."

"As you wish."

"You were pretty hard on her, Kitty," Matt said as soon as the fitting room door latched closed.

"I don't think so. Did you see the way she eyed our left hands?"

"You have no shame, Kitty Russell."

She marched up to him until the fronts of their bodies touched.

"Are you up for this, Cowboy?"

She was a terrible woman.

Then she smiled.

She was worse than terrible.

And he loved it.

The clasp locker required the hands of another to make it work. Hands used to working with delicate items. Not the hands of a man accustomed to holding a gun or the reins of a bridle, or a heavy leather saddle. There would be no sale on this new fangled item.

Evening gowns. Some low cut, visibly exposing the mounds of her breasts above the cloth. Some bodices with sheer material but giving no illusion as to what lay beneath. Some with a high neck in material that concealed everything to make her look like a prudish school marm.

Five dresses, a deep burgundy, a pale orange, two blues, one light one dark, and one deep brown. Some chosen to match the hats.

"They will be ready for pickup tomorrow evening."

Kitty placed her left hand on the plump woman's arm, "Thank you. I'll recommend you very highly to your boss."

"Are you ready to go back to the hotel, Kitty?"

She stopped amidst the flow of foot traffic on the brick sidewalk, a puzzled expression looming.

"Don't you need something, Matt?"

Yes. He needed something. But it definitely could not be purchased in any of the shops that lined the street.

Then she eyed him from head to toe and back up again.

"We're going to Montgomery Wards. It's just a few blocks from here."

"Kitty..."

It came out as a whine.

An impatient one.

"You could use a new union suit."

She was vile.

Jeffrey patiently asked questions or gave answers to the oddly matched couple.

"Silk union suit? Why yes, we have them in stock. Would you like to try one on?"

"Yes we would," Kitty answered quickly. "And a cotton blend, also."

As soon as Jeffrey turned his back to them Kitty raised a perfectly shaped red eyebrow.

More mischief.

Jeffrey handed two neatly folded parcels of cloth to Matt before leading them to a fitting room.

Small, the room had one bench running the width of it, a full length mirror, and a wooden door with a key inserted into the lock.

"If we need to get a different size we'll let you know." Kitty closed the door and turned the key.

"Let's get you out of these clothes."

It was going to be difficult working around his manly uprising.

"Oh, Matt."

She brushed against that same protrusion as she placed her hands beneath his coat to push it off his shoulders.

How many buttons kept the front of his linen shirt closed across his chest? It seemed like a million even as Kitty deftly slid button from button hole.

She had the audacity to pull his shirt from his trousers but not before using her hands to feel his enthusiasm along the way.

"Kitty..."

She slipped her hands beneath the shirt and sloughed it off. "Yes, Matt."

As her hands unclasp his belt buckle followed by the five straining closures that imprisoned his manliness, he groaned, "We can't. Not here."

She pushed him down on the bench, pulled off his boots and threw them in the corner. His pants came next. "Probably not. Let's get that old union suit off you."

Matt moaned.

Completely naked. Ready as he would ever be. And she, fully clothed. In a small room. In a Montgomery Wards. In St. Louis, Missouri.

"Just feel this," Kitty rubbed the silk material of the brand new suit against his chest.

Cool.

It slid across his chest. Slick. Inviting.

"Imagine," she rubbed the material against her own cheek, "you'd slide right out of these just thinking about it."

"Not practical on on the prairie."

"But they could sure be useful someplace else. We'll take it."

"But how do you know it'll fit?"

She held the shoulders up to his own to gauge the size. "It'll work." Then she glanced downward to where the material was hung up. "Even got room down there, Cowboy. I'm sure the other will fit, too. Let's go back to the hotel."