dressing.
Charlie, bowtie freshly tied and a black wool vest over the new white shirt, looked every bit the gentleman he claimed not to be. His freshly trimmed walrus mustache set off the razor shine of just shaven cheeks. Charlie would never be considered handsome by anyone’s standards, but the smile that twinkled in his dark eyes created friends wherever he went.
‘‘You’re looking mighty lovely, Miss Ruby. I’m thinking this Easter will be something more special than usual.’’
‘‘Thank you, Charlie. Do you think anyone will come?’’
‘‘Don’t you be worryin’. I know Rand is coming. He said he’d be playing his guitar, and he always lives up to his word.’’
Ruby contained her snort, an action that the mention of Rand always brought forth. Why was it that everyone else thought so highly of the man when she always wanted to whack him in the kneecaps, send him out to play with his cows, catch him dribbling on his chin, anything to take the edge off his perfection? And to think he’d had the gall to ask her to marry him, without courtship, or even a hint of his intentions. And then he had acted affronted when she’d told him exactly what she thought of his proposal. To top it all off, ever since then, he’d acted like nothing ever happened.
What unmitigated gall!
The bell tinkled over the front door.
Ruby made sure a smile lifted the corners of her mouth before she pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen and entered the polished dining room, now set up for church.
Rand Harrison, hat pulled low against the wind, sheepskin coat darkened on the shoulders by snowmelt, and carrying his guitar case, blew through the front door. He set his Stetson on a nearby table, hung his coat on the hall tree, and laid his case on a table to lift out his guitar.
‘‘Mornin’ Miss Torvald. Blustery day out there.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison. Thank you for coming.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison.’’ With the lilt in Opal’s voice, even Ruby could hear the difference in the greeting.
Opal gazed up at him with something close to hero worship. After all, he owned horses, horses that could be ridden. ‘‘Is Mr. Beans coming?’’
‘‘My men are putting the horses up at the livery in case the weather turns nasty. Hate for them to stand out in a wind like this. Mrs. Robertson and her family are almost here.’’
Ah, good. There will be someone here besides the residents of Dove House .
‘‘Rand, how good to see you.’’ Belle’s gravelly voice came from behind Ruby, along with the greetings from the rest of the Dove House staff.
As soon as Ruby turned to ask Cimarron a question she clapped a hand to her throat and felt her smile slipping. ‘‘You can’t wear th-those . . .’’Her voice squeezed to a squeak.
CHAPTER SIX
All she could see was bosoms.
Ruby quickly turned her back on the women as she struggled for something to say.
‘‘My, ladies, don’t you look lovely.’’ Rand might well have tipped his hat, had it not been resting on a table in the rear.
I’m going to . . . Killing him was not appropriate, but even the thought was immensely satisfying. Instead she sucked in a breath, turned back to the girls, and said in her most gentle and strangled voice, ‘‘Oh my, I . . . uh, I . . . perhaps you, I mean, I believe you might want to return upstairs and change your, uh, ah . . .’’—she tried again—‘‘garments.’’
‘‘But, Ruby, you said to wear your best clothes, and these are their best,’’ Opal hissed under her breath. She stared at her older sister, at the same time clenching and opening her fists at her sides.
‘‘I-I’m sorry I was not more clear.’’ Ruby rubbed her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘‘I . . .’’
‘‘She means, wear your good wool skirts and those downright lovely waists that Cimarron sewed for everyone.’’ Charlie stepped in between Ruby and the wounded faces before him. He dropped his voice.
Charlie, bowtie freshly tied and a black wool vest over the new white shirt, looked every bit the gentleman he claimed not to be. His freshly trimmed walrus mustache set off the razor shine of just shaven cheeks. Charlie would never be considered handsome by anyone’s standards, but the smile that twinkled in his dark eyes created friends wherever he went.
‘‘You’re looking mighty lovely, Miss Ruby. I’m thinking this Easter will be something more special than usual.’’
‘‘Thank you, Charlie. Do you think anyone will come?’’
‘‘Don’t you be worryin’. I know Rand is coming. He said he’d be playing his guitar, and he always lives up to his word.’’
Ruby contained her snort, an action that the mention of Rand always brought forth. Why was it that everyone else thought so highly of the man when she always wanted to whack him in the kneecaps, send him out to play with his cows, catch him dribbling on his chin, anything to take the edge off his perfection? And to think he’d had the gall to ask her to marry him, without courtship, or even a hint of his intentions. And then he had acted affronted when she’d told him exactly what she thought of his proposal. To top it all off, ever since then, he’d acted like nothing ever happened.
What unmitigated gall!
The bell tinkled over the front door.
Ruby made sure a smile lifted the corners of her mouth before she pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen and entered the polished dining room, now set up for church.
Rand Harrison, hat pulled low against the wind, sheepskin coat darkened on the shoulders by snowmelt, and carrying his guitar case, blew through the front door. He set his Stetson on a nearby table, hung his coat on the hall tree, and laid his case on a table to lift out his guitar.
‘‘Mornin’ Miss Torvald. Blustery day out there.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison. Thank you for coming.’’
‘‘Happy Easter, Mr. Harrison.’’ With the lilt in Opal’s voice, even Ruby could hear the difference in the greeting.
Opal gazed up at him with something close to hero worship. After all, he owned horses, horses that could be ridden. ‘‘Is Mr. Beans coming?’’
‘‘My men are putting the horses up at the livery in case the weather turns nasty. Hate for them to stand out in a wind like this. Mrs. Robertson and her family are almost here.’’
Ah, good. There will be someone here besides the residents of Dove House .
‘‘Rand, how good to see you.’’ Belle’s gravelly voice came from behind Ruby, along with the greetings from the rest of the Dove House staff.
As soon as Ruby turned to ask Cimarron a question she clapped a hand to her throat and felt her smile slipping. ‘‘You can’t wear th-those . . .’’Her voice squeezed to a squeak.
CHAPTER SIX
All she could see was bosoms.
Ruby quickly turned her back on the women as she struggled for something to say.
‘‘My, ladies, don’t you look lovely.’’ Rand might well have tipped his hat, had it not been resting on a table in the rear.
I’m going to . . . Killing him was not appropriate, but even the thought was immensely satisfying. Instead she sucked in a breath, turned back to the girls, and said in her most gentle and strangled voice, ‘‘Oh my, I . . . uh, I . . . perhaps you, I mean, I believe you might want to return upstairs and change your, uh, ah . . .’’—she tried again—‘‘garments.’’
‘‘But, Ruby, you said to wear your best clothes, and these are their best,’’ Opal hissed under her breath. She stared at her older sister, at the same time clenching and opening her fists at her sides.
‘‘I-I’m sorry I was not more clear.’’ Ruby rubbed her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘‘I . . .’’
‘‘She means, wear your good wool skirts and those downright lovely waists that Cimarron sewed for everyone.’’ Charlie stepped in between Ruby and the wounded faces before him. He dropped his voice.
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