It’s beautiful, there is no disputing that, but it is a lot more revealing than the others. I’m just a bit confused, I assumed that this world was much more conservative than mine.
The dress nips me tightly at the waist and the skirt is full as it drapes to the ground, but it isn’t as full as the others. It’s straighter and slimmer cut in the front, gathering into a small bustle just below my ass. It’s definitely not the wide skirt that I have been wearing.
I feel beautiful, almost like all of the pictures of Victorian women that I have ever seen, but Martha’s reaction and the stark differences between the two dresses have me feeling very self-conscious.
Squaring my shoulders, I decide to make my way downstairs, regardless of how odd and uncomfortable I feel at the moment. The fabric is gorgeous, the dress itself is beautiful, too, even if it is different from the others.
Gathering the skirt in my grasp, I start to walk down the stairs in my soft tan slightly high-heeled boots. Once I’m outside, in the blistering heat, I catch a glance of Colt standing by the barn, his big black stallion at his side.
A shiver rolls throughout my entire body at the sight of him. He’s wearing light tan wool trousers, a dark navy shirt tucked in with a belt and belt buckle, along with dark brown boots and a dark brown sexy as shit cowboy hat, with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
He flicks the cigarette to the ground, then slightly lifts his heel and grinds it against the butt to put it out before he lifts his head. His eyes meet mine and even from across the desert dirt yard, I can see his eyes flash as he looks at me.
“Birdie,” Martha calls out behind me.
I tear my gaze away from him, even though I don’t want to. Martha comes up to me carrying something white at her side.
“Your umbrella, the heat will be too much and Abraham didn’t bring a bonnet.”
As much as I want to tell her that the thought of an umbrella while riding a horse terrifies me, mainly because I’ve never ridden a horse before, and I don’t count when I was found because I don’t remember that horse ride, I don’t say a word. This sun is no damn joke and I don’t feel like being burned to a crisp again.
Taking the umbrella from her grasp, I thank her and turn toward Colt. He’s still standing in the same place, unmoving. It doesn’t take me long to make my way toward him, my umbrella at my side. Tilting my head back, I smile up at Colt, but I’m met with his deep frown.
“Let’s go,” he growls, reaching out, wrapping his hands around my waist and practically throwing me on top of his horse.
Chapter Seventeen
COLT
That damned dressmaker. I didn’t know. I’m not up on women’s fashion, but I do know enough to realize that when he asked me if she was going to be my wife or my mistress, I should have said she was a Lady, not my whore. I figured there would be some subtle differences, but not any this stark.
Unfortunately, she is dressed like a soiled dove right now and not a woman who needs to be seen on my arm in public. But it doesn’t matter, as this is all she has that is laundered at the moment. Telling her that she looks like my whore will not do any good either, only harm.
Climbing up behind her, I wrap my arm around her waist. “Open the umbrella, hold it so it shades us both,” I demand.
I don’t introduce her to Lonesable, not yet at least. I’m still trying to gather my thoughts, to calm down from seeing the expanse of bare skin at her chest. Though I very much enjoy the view, I am not so sure the rest of town will wish to see it, nor will their reaction be what I deem appropriate.
It doesn’t take us long to reach town. Only a good hard hour-long ride. Lonesable isn’t speaking to me, though I don’t blame him, I wouldn’t be speaking to me either.
Once we’re in front of the general store, I lead him over to the trough and throw my leg over, dismounting from his back.
Wordlessly, I help Birdie off of him and gently place her down on her feet. “That was a fast ride, not really what I envisioned when you said you were bringing me to town, Colt,” she says, with a bit of irritation in her voice.
I don’t blame her, I can tell that she is less than an expert rider and she was probably scared and now she’s assuredly a bit sore too. I don’t mention any of those things though, I’m sure that I should, but she will have to get used to this harsh life if she is going to be living here, as deemed by the gods.
“Come,” I gruffly demand.
She jerks her head back, her eyes widening as she lifts her gaze to look up at me. “You’re angry,” she whispers.
Shaking my head, I’m not sure that I want to tell her that, yes, I am indeed angry. I’m not with her, just at Abraham who made that dratted dress the way that he did. I’ll need to converse with him as well since I’m here.
But first, I need provisions for the several hundred men that will be showing up at any given moment. They’ll no doubt be hungry and in need of supplies.
Making our way into the general store, I don’t touch Birdie the way that I want to. I keep her at a slight distance, though she is always within arm’s reach and within view. Men outnumber women in these parts ten to one. She will never be out of my sight, not for a single moment.
“Mr. James,” the
