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He doesn’t bother to answer.

Ty calls our family up next.

“Ladies first,” Dad says.

Mom and I step into the sod house. Inside is a changing screen, full-length mirror, shoe rack filled with worn leather boots of all different shapes and sizes, and a rod full of pioneer clothes that have been selected for each participant on the Oregon Trail Adventure excursion.

Mom searches through the tags until she finds our outfits. In one hand, she holds up a brown wool dress with a white apron. In the other hand, she holds a calico nightmare with petticoats and pantaloons and a giant bonnet.

I reach for the brown option but she hands the other one to me. “This one’s yours,” she says.

CHAPTER 26

Colton

WHILE ALL THE passengers take turns getting dressed in their pioneer costumes in Clark’s Sod House, Wild Wanda and Felix prepare a list of supplies we’ll need to restock at Fort Bellows. Meat, eggs, butter, bacon. With a lot of preteen and teen boys on this excursion, the staples are being used up faster than usual. Dad’s asked me to ride ahead and call the order in to our team back in Darby, who’ll load up a truck with the supplies and have it to the fort by morning.

“Hey, wait up, Colton,” Riley calls out. She catches up to me just as I’m about to boost myself into Chance’s saddle.

I pull my boot from the stirrup and turn around, only to come face to face with the upper edge of a giant white bonnet.

“Please don’t laugh,” she says, stepping back with a grimace.

I have to dip down just to make sure it’s her under the brim. Her cheeks are rosy and her hair is pulled into two braided ponytails that rest on her shoulders. “That is some hat.”

“Tell me about it. This whole outfit is ridiculous.” Riley brushes her hands across the beige apron tied over her tan flower-print dress. A pair of scuffed black boots are visible beneath the ankle-length hem. “I can’t believe I’m being forced to wear this. I can’t believe pioneer girls were forced to wear this. And get this,” she says with mock seriousness. “It doesn’t even have pockets.”

“Pockets are important?”

Riley sets her hand on her hip. “Pockets are essential. Guys are so lucky. You never have to worry about pockets. I mean, look at you.” Riley steps back and runs her gaze over me from top to bottom. I suck in my abs and try to stand up straighter under her scrutiny. “Your pants have two front pockets and two back pockets, and there are two more on your shirt. Six pockets. Think of all the things you could carry in your pockets.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. A map. A compass.”

“Art supplies?”

“Exactly.” Riley smiles.

“Maybe you could shove some of that stuff up under your bonnet. It’s big enough,” I tease, reaching over to tug the end of the bow so the ribbons come loose beneath her chin.

“Very funny,” she says, slapping my arm playfully.

Her lips are soft and rosy pink. Our gazes meet and we drift closer together until our hat brims brush. I bend my knees and tilt my head, my heart racing. The wind kicks up, sending Riley’s skirt rippling against my shins and the ribbons of her hat dancing between us. Reaching up with my free hand, I pull my hat off, but just before I lean in to kiss her, the McCreadys, the Pinskis, and their passel of kids head our way. Riley drops her hand and we ease apart.

I clear my throat.

Riley bites her bottom lip. She blinks and glances away, watching as the others head to their wagons. I force down the disappointment of another missed opportunity as I resettle my Stetson on my head.

“You know, this whole getup is not exactly fit for a Prairie Princess,” Riley says. “I might have to speak with management.” She grabs the bottom corners of her apron and swishes it around.

“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor under all that calico.”

“Who says I’m joking?” she asks, though the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting off a smile. “I look like an extra on the set of Little Horror on the Prairie. And for your information, there is a linen shift, three layers of petticoats, and a pair of bloomers under all this calico. Not that you need to know about what’s going on under all this calico,” she adds, her cheeks getting even rosier.

It isn’t easy, but I manage to pull my attention away from what’s going on under all that calico. “All that and no pockets,” I manage.

Totally worth it for her surprised laugh. “You know, if I had to wear this for more than a day, I’d figure out a way to add pockets.”