“What did he do back in Wyoming?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I haven’t asked. But he knows farming. He grew up in Indiana.” Josie felt as if she were simply stating the handful of facts she knew about Mr. Thomas. She bit her lip before she mentioned he had a slight limp.
“Mr. Thomas, the farmer from Indiana by way of Wyoming,” Faith said. There was no judgment in her voice, but Josie felt guilty anyhow.
“It isn’t as if I’m going to marry him.” She winced at the defensive note in her voice.
“I didn’t say you were. Only that if the man is staying on to help you and George, it might be nice to know more about him.”
“Oh . . .” It made sense. “I suppose.”
So long as she didn’t let herself get distracted by his disarming smile and the way he seemed to own a space simply by being in it, it shouldn’t hurt to ask about his family or his previous work or simply what he most enjoyed having for supper.
Arlen was bound and determined to stay at their ranch, and she’d already begrudgingly accepted the desperately-needed help. Besides, she was mighty curious about the man.
Being friendly certainly didn’t mean she agreed to marriage.
*****
Sunday was the onlyday of the week Josie begrudgingly wore a dress instead of her usual men’s clothing. And then it was only for as long as traveling to and from the church service required. This morning, she wore a simple skirt and matching bodice in a shade of green that reminded her of the fields around the ranch in spring. But as pretty as the color was, Josie always felt constrained and uncomfortable in skirts.
She peered at her reflection in the small glass. It sat upon the stand that also held the washbasin that was a twin to the one she’d used to drench Arlen earlier in the week. The memory caused her to smirk at herself in the mirror. Pleased that she looked presentable enough—Josie was hardly one to fall into a heap at the sight of freckles or blemishes—she emerged into the parlor and found her way to the kitchen where the men were already dressed and eating a quick breakfast of cheese and bread.
“Good morning,” she said as cheerfully as possible despite the fact she was about to sit through a lengthy sermon by a preacher she wished might find a new church in a town far, far away from Last Chance.
“Mornin’,” George said through a mouthful of food, barely looking up at her from the newspaper that Josie had ever so kindly brought back from town yesterday.
Arlen turned in his seat and then immediately stood. He gestured at the chair he held out. “Would you care for some breakfast?” he asked as his eyes lingered on her dress. To his credit, he made no remark about the difference in her clothing.
Josie fought to keep the surprise off her face. “I— Yes. I could fetch it myself?” She stood uncertainly by the chair.
But Arlen simply gestured at the chair again, and so Josie sat and waited while he sliced her some bread and cheese, added slices of an apple, and set the plate in front of her. “Thank you,” she said, entirely unable to keep the dumbfounded tone from her voice this time.
And as Arlen sat beside her, his eyes straying to her from time to time, Josie decided this was certainly going to be the most interesting of Pastor Collins’s services she’d ever sat through.
Chapter Seven
