Chapter 29 Riley

CHAPTER 29

Riley

OUR SUITE IS at the end of the hotel, with one side overlooking the main avenue and the other overlooking a large, well-tended vegetable garden, beyond which is the tall wooden wall that separates us from the wild prairie. I let the thin cream-colored lace curtains fall shut and wander around my room, which isn't large by any means, but it's definitely more hospitable than the tent Caleb and I have been sharing.

The double bed has a shabby-chic green and white quilt and a thick pillow that I can't wait to try out later tonight. It's not my bed, but it definitely holds the promise of a better night's sleep than a cot, which I'll gladly take. If these circles under my eyes get any darker, people will mistake me for a raccoon. On the dresser is a ceramic pitcher and washbowl set on a white linen table runner, and a long rectangular box wrapped in brown paper with my name on the manila tag.

I sink onto the bed, which has Goldilocks-level firmness, and ease the twine over the corners, pulling the lid free. Inside is a small prairie flower bouquet—more of a posy, really—that eclipses the rooty tangle that Jake tried to foist on me before. Each stem has a tiny paper tag tied on with a piece of white thread, the common names of the flowers written in what must be Colton's jagged penmanship. A damp paper towel in a plastic baggie is wrapped around the cuttings and secured with a rubber band. Beneath the bundle is a handwritten note in identical rough scrawl on thick, creamy stationery: To Riley, for inspiration. C.W.

My fingers twitch, anxious for my notebook and pencils to get started on some sketches, but it'll have to wait until later. I grab a glass of water from the bathroom and place each bloom inside the makeshift vase, taking care not to get the tags wet.

Yarrow

Blue false indigo

Beebalm

Spiderwort

Beardtongue

False sunflower

Colton's handwriting is a lot like he is: no-nonsense on the outside, but if you dig a bit deeper, you can see the earnestness and perceptiveness. This bouquet is as sweet as it smells, even more so because of the extra effort he went to in putting it together. He probably doesn't have a clue how much it means to me that he understands me enough to know what I want and what I need. Now, more than ever, I know I'd like to have him be a part of my new life out here. I should tell him I'm staying in Nebraska.

Mom knocks on the adjoining room door and pushes it open.

"All settled in?"

"Yeah."

"Dad heard a rumor that there might be a computer that we can use to check our email," she says. "We're going to check it out. Want to come with us?"

It's funny—before we climbed aboard the wagon and headed west, I would've been all about checking email and scanning social media to see what I was missing out on. But now…

"No, thanks. I'm good," I say.

I'm supposed to meet Colton soon and I don't want to be late. I glance longingly at my suitcase, with my comfortable modern clothes, but decide against changing. It wouldn't be fair to Colton, since he was such a good sport about wearing his costume for me. Instead, I decide to rearrange my hair into a more practical style to tuck under this massive bonnet. I knot the bonnet's ribbon into a large bow under my chin and finish getting ready.

Mom's sitting on the couch by the window when I enter the living room that serves as the central hub for our suite of rooms. She glances up from a coffee table magazine. "Maybe we could do something together tomorrow as a family? They have a cloth-dyeing course that might be fun. Or your dad's been talking about a blacksmithing class."

"Oh."

Mom picks up on my hesitation. "Riley, sweetie, I know you're still upset—"

Am I? I'm really not sure how I feel about Nebraska anymore. But I do know I don't want to be late meeting Colton. "Mom, I'm fine, okay. I've gotta run."

The hem of my dress swishes around my ankles as I rush from our suite, the door closing with a solid click behind me. My boots thud down the timeworn wooden stairs, bowed in the center from the passage of feet and time. A strong gust of warm wind greets me when I pull open the hotel door.

Colton's out front waiting for me, just like he said he'd be, leaning against a post, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. As always, he seems so comfortable in his skin. He straightens up when I approach and tips his hat to me. "Afternoon, Miss Thomas."

"Afternoon, Mr. Walker," I say with a giggle. I glance around to find we're the only people on the porch. "Is there a reason why we're being so formal?"

Colton winces and scratches at his stubble. "Employees are supposed to stay in character at all times when we're in costume to provide the best pioneer experience to our guests and the visitors to Fort Bellows."

"It sounds like you're quoting an employee manual."

"I am. Page three," he says.

"Don't tell me you have it memorized," I tease.

"It's only four pages."

Now I understand why Jake's phone bothered him so much that morning at breakfast. He was all decked out in his Pony Express uniform, so he was going against company policy using his iPhone. Not that there's much service out here, but still…

"You don't seem like the type of person who'd be into this kind of thing." From what I've seen, Colton's more of a down-to-earth straight shooter, and pretending to be something or someone that he's not, even if it's a pioneer…I just can't see it.

"I'm not an actor and I don't like the attention. To be honest, this is only the second time I've worn this outfit. Ever." He offers me his elbow, and I hook my arm through as he leads us down the stairs. We nod to a passing family of four and turn left behind them onto the dirt street.

"I feel honored. And in the spirit of full disclosure, this is the first time I've worn this outfit."

Colton's eyes crinkle when he laughs. "Fair enough."

I lean closer and catch a whiff of Ivory soap and leather. "I have to say, your pioneer costume suits you, though. Have you considered changing up your wardrobe a bit? Swapping out a few pairs of jeans for some fancy wool trousers with suspenders?"

He tips his head closer so that the brim of his hat brushes against my bonnet. "I can't tell if you're serious or teasing."

"Maybe a bit of both."

"What about you? Planning to add some calico to your wardrobe?" He reaches out and tugs at my sleeve.

"Calico? More like, calic-no."

Colton guides us past the post office/Pony Express station where I sketched the picture for him earlier.

"I loved the monarch and milkweed," Colton tells me with a lopsided smile that sends my heart billowing like the dust we leave in our wake. "Your art is amazing."

From the tone of his voice, I can tell he really means it. "Thanks," I say, my chest swelling with pride.

We take a right down a quiet lane, where Colton and I meet a group of tourists with a handful of elementary school-aged kids.

"Excuse me," says an older man. "Would you mind taking apicture?"

"Sure," I say, thinking he wants me to snap a photo of the group in front of the post office. Turns out, he wants me and Colton to pose with the kids.

"Are we supposed to pretend that we don't know what a camera is? Or that we're worried that we'll lose our souls if we have our picture taken?" I whisper to Colton.

"What?" he asks, giving me side-eye.

"I don't know." I shrug. "We visited a living history museum on a family vacation once when I was ten, and the people there pretended they didn't know what a camera was. Are we supposed to do that, too?"

Colton shakes his head. "Most pioneers would have at least known about cameras. They weren't often taken on the trail because of the rough conditions, which is why there aren't very many pictures, but they probably would have seen one or heard about them before they departed."

"Oh, right. That makes sense."

The children gather around us and we smile and say "cheese curds." Just as we finish up, Colton pulls his phone from his pocket. "Would you mind taking one of just the two of us?" he asks the man.

Before I register what's happening, Colton's arm wraps around my back and we lean into each other for the photo.

"All set," the man says, handing Colton back his phone. He slips it into his pocket like it's no big deal.

After the tourists walk away, I gasp dramatically. "You just broke character," I say, surprised that Colton Walker—mister straight as an arrow—might not be as inflexible as he seems. "How lawless and brazen of you."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "It's not against the law to have a phone while dressed as a pioneer; it's just frowned upon."

"Such a rebel," I tease, bumping my shoulder against his.

"If you like that," he says, grabbing my hand, "just wait until you see what I have up my sleeve next."