Page 31 of If the Boot Fits

Twisting to the side, she eyed the skirt from the back, then walked three paces away from the mirror. Hmm. The pantaloon legs flared wide, hiding most of the separation, but it might be best not to wear this in town. She’d hate for some bored biddy to crank up the rumor mill over the Dearing girl’s scandalous skirt. Daddy would not be pleased. By either her attire or the fact that she was defying him by learning how to ride astride. It was possible he’d respect her choice to take lessons now that she was a grown woman and no longer a child under his jurisdiction, but she didn’t yet possess enough confidence in him to take that chance. She’d stuff the skirt into her satchel and change at the old mill. No one need be any the wiser. Well, except Asher. But he didn’t seem the type to scandalize easily.

First, though, she required a sturdy pair of boots. Neither her heeled white-kid half boots or her stylish satin slippers would serve her well when it came to tromping through fields and sticking in stirrups. Her sensible Oxfords might fare slightly better, but they were cut too low on the ankle. Men always wore boots that covered their calves when they rode. She’d do the same.

Duke had made good on his promise to fetch her cart yesterday morning. Thankfully, the damage to the vehicle hadn’t been too severe. He and Martin tracked down the missing wheel and managed to get it back on the buggy long enough to pull the cart into town. Best of all, he’d not made a big to-do over the drag-mark evidence of her adventure left behind in the road. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, or maybe he didn’t see the point in getting her father all worked up about something that had done no lasting harm. Either way, she appreciated his discretion. As a result, Daddy hadn’t tried to stop her tutoring sessions. He’d even given her permission to use the ranch’s buckboard for running to and from town while the axle on her cart was being repaired. Unfortunately, using the buckboard meant leaving sweet Dolly behind. Her father’s team of Morgans intimidated her just a smidgeon, but draft horses would be better suited to carrying her out to the old mill, so she’d not complain.

Samantha stepped out of her handcrafted riding skirt and replaced it with a petticoat, small bustle, and one of her favorite fan-style skirts. The vertical stripes of garnet and cream matched the ivory blouse she’d already donned. Plus, the stripes made her look slightly taller, which boosted her confidence. She dug through her wardrobe until she found the solid garnet vest that matched the skirt. She slipped her arms through the holes and fastened the shiny gold buttons at the front, then nodded with satisfaction. Stylish and professional. Perfect for a shopping excursion followed by a tutoring session later that evening. No one would suspect her secret riding rendezvous in between.

Her hands shook slightly as she fit a red-trimmed straw bonnet to her head, trailing the thin ribbon behind her ears before tying it under her chin. She’d waited years for this chance. Yet it wasn’t just the riding that had her stomach fluttering.

Heroic rescuers with dashing aplomb and considerate ways made for exceptionally romantic daydreams, and Asher had figured prominently in hers the last two days, successfully supplanting the faceless mystery man she’d encountered the night of the ball. Sewing might busy the hands, but it left the mind free to wander. And hers had wandered back to Mr. Ellis, time and time again. Recollecting strong arms that carried her from danger, a firm chest that offered shelter and support, tender words, gentle touches. Goodness! If she wasn’t careful, she was going to get lost in the weeds of her imaginings and squander half the day.

Samantha shoved thoughts of Asher into a box at the back of her mind and got down to business. She rolled up her riding skirt and hid it inside the satchel with her teaching materials, then made her way to the barn, where Martin had the buckboard and team waiting for her.

An unexpected shiver coursed through her as she approached the wagon. Her steps slowed as trepidation pushed aside all the lovely excitement that had been propelling her through the day.

“Need a hand up, Miss Dearing?” Martin set aside the rope he’d been coiling around his elbow and hurried over to assist.

Samantha swallowed. The team of Morgans loomed so much taller than sweet little Dolly. Broader shoulders. Stronger backs and legs. Two horses would certainly create twice as much speed as one should they spook.

You’re the one spooking. Do you want your riding lesson or not?

The pair of bays appeared docile—bored even—as they waited to do their duty. Samantha set her shoulders. She could do this.

Forcing a smile to her lips, she turned to Martin. “Yes, thank you.”

She handed him her satchel, which he tossed beneath the driver’s seat. Then he pivoted back to offer her a hand. She hesitated.

“You checked all the wheel nuts, right? They’re all present and tightened appropriately?”

“Yes, ma’am. Everything is in good working order.” Sympathy shone in his eyes, ruffling her pride.

“Well then,” she said, injecting a note of cheerfulness into her voice she didn’t yet feel, “I’m sure everything is fine.”

Though she did eye the hub on the wheel in front of her, ensuring the presence of a nut before she set her hand in his. He steadied her with a grip to her elbow as she climbed the wheel spokes and made her way into the driver’s box.

“Thank you for your assistance, Martin,” she said as she unwound the driving lines from the rein hitch on her left.

Reaching to her right, she released the brake, then clicked to the team, encouraging them with a light flick of the reins. Surely the Lord hadn’t preserved her life only to take it from her two days later. He was watching over her. She could trust him.

The horses moved. The wagon jolted. Samantha’s heart lodged in her throat. She grabbed the edge of the seat with her left hand.

A Bible verse jumped to mind from one of the psalms she’d memorized as a child. The final promise of Psalm 121. “The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore.”

She mouthed the promise as the buckboard pulled away from the barn. And again when they reached the drive.

Yes, Lord. Preserve my going out and my coming in.

She repeated the verse over and over in her mind until her heart started to believe. By the time she reached the road, her pulse had calmed, and she urged the Morgans into a trot.

God be praised, the wheels stayed on! Samantha’s exuberance returned in full force, and an unfettered laugh burst from her throat as the wagon’s increased pace drew passing air across her cheeks.

Heart lightened and spirits high, Samantha smiled all the way to town. The sun seemed brighter, the passersby friendlier, and even the practical black boots she’d purchased seemed more charming than ugly. They weren’t quite as tall as a man’s boot, but they would lace up a few inches past her ankles and offer plenty of protection. She plucked a pair in her size from the shelf the dry goods clerk had directed her to when she’d asked for the sturdiest shoes in the store. He’d touted them as double soled, which apparently meant they were twice as durable as the average ladies’ shoe. Samantha attempted to bend the shoe in her hand, but the leather was so stiff it barely budged. Good heavens. How did people walk in these things? They had to be dreadfully uncomfortable. She supposed they’d soften with use, but in the meantime, perhaps it would be wise to purchase an extra pair of stockings to protect her feet from blisters. She selected a pair made of thick black wool and headed to the front counter.

“Shall I charge these to your father’s account, Miss Dearing?”

Samantha shook her head. “No, I’ll be paying for these myself.” She extracted her coin purse and counted out one dollar and fifty-five cents.

“Very well, miss. Shall I wrap your purchases for you?”