it.
Violet should have grown to be just like her, but such stable, proficient character had proved too elusive.
She was too disordered on the inside, awhirl with grandiose ideas or crushing dread. She couldn’t blithely tolerate the tedious world that Helen took for granted. Violet didn’t want to tolerate it.
For several minutes, she watched them, and she was eager to interrupt so they’d pay attention to her, but they were too involved in their conversation. The more they talked, the more insignificant she felt.
She spun away and raced out into the grass, but they didn’t notice that she’d left.
* * * *
“Would you call me James?” James asked Helen.
“I will—if you’ll call me Helen.”
“I’d be honored, but just when we’re alone like this. I’d hate to seem too forward to Albert.”
“He wouldn’t mind.”
“Believe me, he’d mind.” He nodded. “How are you faring? This trip can be rough.”
And Albert liked to slowly plod along rather than get where he was going.
“I’m tired and sunburned.”
“Have you been wearing your bonnet?”
“All the time, but my coloring is so fair. How does a woman protect her skin out here?”
She peered off across the prairie, to the western horizon and the summer twilight. Her nose and cheeks were red, her pretty blond hair down and pulled into a ponytail. The evening breeze whipped a few wayward strands over her face. She swiped them away and tucked them behind her ear.
When he caught himself staring, he yanked his gaze away.
“I have a salve that might help,” he said. “I’ll send it over once we’re home.”
“I would consider it a marvelous gift. I doubt I’ll ever grow accustomed to the harsher elements.”
He doubted she would, either, and he’d try to deliver the salve right away. He studied her profile. Her skin was so smooth, and the wind and weather would quickly have it dry and wrinkled. Most every female of his acquaintance was haggard and gaunt.
He wanted her to always be just as beautiful as she was at that moment. She appeared young and serene and composed, and her calm equanimity stirred emotions that he hadn’t felt in an eternity. She fueled his masculine instincts, making him wish he had a woman in his life again, and wasn’t that the craziest notion ever?
If he’d learned one thing in his thirty years, it was that city girls didn’t belong in the wilderness. It was a recipe for disaster, and at the thought that he might be a tad smitten, he bit down a grin.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
“I was thinking about you—traveling all this way. You’re very brave.”
“Brave?” she scoffed. “Stupid, maybe. Impulsive. Reckless. Naïve. But brave? No.”
He chuckled. “You might surprise yourself.”
“I haven’t so far.” She stared out to where they could see Violet Pendleton’s silhouette against the darkening sky. She sighed. “It’s so big, isn’t it?”
“It definitely is.”
“And so empty.”
“Not really. It’s quite alive. After you’ve been here awhile, you’ll realize that it’s a vibrant place.”
“How long have you been out west?”
“Forever.”
“Forever?”
“My father was in the army. I was raised in the forts where he was stationed.”
“So you’re a genuine frontiersman.”
“I guess.”
“That explains it,” she mused.
“Explains what?”
“You’re so content in your surroundings.”
“I try to be. You can’t survive otherwise.”
They were quiet for a time, comfortable together, watching the night swallow Violet until she faded from view. He was nervous about her traipsing off, and he debated whether he should go after her, but he resisted the urge. He wasn’t her nanny, and it wasn’t his role to worry.
He was more aggravated over Albert’s lengthy absence and could barely stop himself from marching down to the creek and giving him a stern lecture.
It wasn’t safe to leave the women alone—even for a brief
Violet should have grown to be just like her, but such stable, proficient character had proved too elusive.
She was too disordered on the inside, awhirl with grandiose ideas or crushing dread. She couldn’t blithely tolerate the tedious world that Helen took for granted. Violet didn’t want to tolerate it.
For several minutes, she watched them, and she was eager to interrupt so they’d pay attention to her, but they were too involved in their conversation. The more they talked, the more insignificant she felt.
She spun away and raced out into the grass, but they didn’t notice that she’d left.
* * * *
“Would you call me James?” James asked Helen.
“I will—if you’ll call me Helen.”
“I’d be honored, but just when we’re alone like this. I’d hate to seem too forward to Albert.”
“He wouldn’t mind.”
“Believe me, he’d mind.” He nodded. “How are you faring? This trip can be rough.”
And Albert liked to slowly plod along rather than get where he was going.
“I’m tired and sunburned.”
“Have you been wearing your bonnet?”
“All the time, but my coloring is so fair. How does a woman protect her skin out here?”
She peered off across the prairie, to the western horizon and the summer twilight. Her nose and cheeks were red, her pretty blond hair down and pulled into a ponytail. The evening breeze whipped a few wayward strands over her face. She swiped them away and tucked them behind her ear.
When he caught himself staring, he yanked his gaze away.
“I have a salve that might help,” he said. “I’ll send it over once we’re home.”
“I would consider it a marvelous gift. I doubt I’ll ever grow accustomed to the harsher elements.”
He doubted she would, either, and he’d try to deliver the salve right away. He studied her profile. Her skin was so smooth, and the wind and weather would quickly have it dry and wrinkled. Most every female of his acquaintance was haggard and gaunt.
He wanted her to always be just as beautiful as she was at that moment. She appeared young and serene and composed, and her calm equanimity stirred emotions that he hadn’t felt in an eternity. She fueled his masculine instincts, making him wish he had a woman in his life again, and wasn’t that the craziest notion ever?
If he’d learned one thing in his thirty years, it was that city girls didn’t belong in the wilderness. It was a recipe for disaster, and at the thought that he might be a tad smitten, he bit down a grin.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
“I was thinking about you—traveling all this way. You’re very brave.”
“Brave?” she scoffed. “Stupid, maybe. Impulsive. Reckless. Naïve. But brave? No.”
He chuckled. “You might surprise yourself.”
“I haven’t so far.” She stared out to where they could see Violet Pendleton’s silhouette against the darkening sky. She sighed. “It’s so big, isn’t it?”
“It definitely is.”
“And so empty.”
“Not really. It’s quite alive. After you’ve been here awhile, you’ll realize that it’s a vibrant place.”
“How long have you been out west?”
“Forever.”
“Forever?”
“My father was in the army. I was raised in the forts where he was stationed.”
“So you’re a genuine frontiersman.”
“I guess.”
“That explains it,” she mused.
“Explains what?”
“You’re so content in your surroundings.”
“I try to be. You can’t survive otherwise.”
They were quiet for a time, comfortable together, watching the night swallow Violet until she faded from view. He was nervous about her traipsing off, and he debated whether he should go after her, but he resisted the urge. He wasn’t her nanny, and it wasn’t his role to worry.
He was more aggravated over Albert’s lengthy absence and could barely stop himself from marching down to the creek and giving him a stern lecture.
It wasn’t safe to leave the women alone—even for a brief
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