Amelia asked, with rather a pathetic amount of hope.
“Temperatures can drop to the sixties.”
“That sounds purely delightful,” she said, looking at Carson with such love it made Boone want to leave the room.
He did, followed by Carson, and went down the hall to the store. He’d always planned to have Carson help out and eventually run the store, but his younger brother had never shown any interest in doing so. Some days Boone was so busy with his practice and running the emporium, it was near impossible. If it wasn’t for Agatha, he wouldn’t have been able to manage. When the ranches were getting ready to drive the cattle to Abilene, they went through Small Fork and both his mercantile and doctor’s office were busy. But all the ranches had already begun their drives, leaving Small Fork sedate and quiet for a time.
When they reached the relative privacy of the store, Carson let out a foul curse. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he said, looking to Boone for answers as he always had.
“The way I see it, you either marry her or you don’t.”
Carson gave him a dark look, but Boone had little patience for his brother’s dilemma. It was just one in a long line of dilemmas Carson had gotten himself into, and this one, he decided, his little brother was just going to have to solve by himself.
“It’s not my fault she came,” Carson said, sounding like a spoiled six-year-old. “She came on her own. We agreed that I would send for her. I figured after a while, she’d meet someone else and move on. Hell, I know her brother didn’t want her to come.”
“The thing is, Carson,” Boone said with forced patience, “the girl is here and it looks to me like she’s still expecting to walk down the aisle with you. You’ve got to tell her the truth.”
Carson shook himself as if Miss Wellesley was on his back, clinging, while muttering, “Damn, damn, damn,” over and over. He stopped finally and looked at Boone with an almost tortured expression in his eyes. If Boone didn’t know better, he’d say that Carson was actually tortured by the circumstances.
“She told me she loved me,” he said, as if that were the worst possible thing to hear from a woman’s lips. For Carson, it probably was.
“And how do you feel about her?”
“She makes me horny,” he said hopefully.
Boone let out a low chuckle.
“Why in hell did she come?” Carson asked again, as if this time he was hoping the answer would be different.
“You’ve got to deal with this,” Boone said, a clear warning in his voice.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will.”
When Amelia woke up, it was to a world gone soft and pinkish yellow. Her room glowed in the early evening light, and she smiled because she hadn’t seen anything so pretty in a long time. Best of all, it was no longer hot, but pleasantly warm. She felt amazingly rested and content, considering how miserable she’d been just a few hours ago. Smiling, she stretched luxuriously.
“You’re as pale as a fish belly.”
Amelia let out a small screech to hear the strange female voice in her room.
“I’m Dulce Sullivan.”
Amelia found a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman staring at her. Her skin was the color of tea with a bit of cream.
“I’m supposed to make sure the men don’t get beneath all those skirts,” she said, nodding to her dress, which had become a frothing mess in her sleep. Or perhaps in her faint.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Sullivan. You may call Miss Wellesley.”
Dulce stared for two beats, then burst out laughing. “My mother was right,” she said.
“Right?”
“You are the strangest-talking woman I’ve ever heard in my entire life.”
“Yes, well, strange is in the ears of the hearer,” Amelia grumbled. That only made Dulce laugh even harder.
“I’m sorry, I’ll get used to you eventually.” The woman hardly looked sorry at all. She appeared rather pleased with herself. “For as long as you’re here.”
She said this last with forced emphasis, as if trying to tell Amelia something without saying it aloud. Dulce had a way of looking at her that made her distinctly self-conscious, with a hostile undertone, perhaps. “I plan to be here for the rest of my life,” she said.
“That right? I just don’t see it. Fainting types don’t last long out here.”
Amelia sat up and straightened her skirt and her spine. She supposed she did look like a “fainting” type. Everyone, even her brother, had underestimated how tough she was, and part of that was her appearance. She always had been pale, and having golden blond hair didn’t help. She was petite and thin and sweet looking, which was why whenever she asserted herself, everyone appeared slightly shocked.
“Mrs. Sullivan. I have traveled across an ocean, then traveled by myself across this vast country. I would hardly say that is the action of a weak woman.”
Dulce stared at her and Amelia thought she’d gotten through to her when the girl started laughing again. “Just can’t take a word out of your mouth seriously. Just can’t.”
Amelia let out a sigh and stood, grateful that the room didn’t spin around her. “If you are going to laugh each time I speak, Mrs. Sullivan, I’m afraid this arrangement will not be acceptable.”
Now that shut the girl up. “First off, call me Dulce. What exactly am I supposed to do? My mother said you just needed a female about to keep the men away.”
“Not men, man. Carson is my fiancé and there are times when, well, he doesn’t act the proper gentleman.” Amelia could feel her cheeks flush and was so mortified, she failed to see Dulce’s dark look. “But that is not the only reason you are here. I also need a maid.”
“A maid? My mother does maid stuff.”
“No, a personal maid. You will do my hair, help me change. Take care of my clothing. Make certain it is fresh and the wrinkles removed.” Amelia shrugged. “I’ve been making do, but most of my gowns are simply impossible to put on by myself, never mind my good corset, which laces in the back.”
Dulce shook her head, her eyes incredulous. “You want me to dress you?”
“Well, yes. To assist me,” she said, feeling somehow ridiculous for wanting such a basic thing. “Look at this dress,” she said, opening her trunk and taking it out. It was a lovely gown, made for her London Season by one of the best dressmakers in town. She held up the deep blue silk gown, and turned it round to show Dulce the intricate back held together by tiny buttons. “I could never get this on or off without assistance.”
“We don’t have fancy dances around here where you could even wear such a thing,” Dulce said, eyeing the gown as if it were made of rat fur instead of the finest washed silk.
