Page 25 of Mail-Order Bride Substitute
Laughing together had released built-up tension but left her confused. Riley pushed back his chair, the scraping sound jarring her from her thoughts.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
She blinked. A walk? Up until now, he’d retired to the living room, leaving her to clean the kitchen in peace.
“I’ll help with dishes.” He took the plates and carried them to the wash basin and poured in hot water from the kettle.
This was her job. She had to prove she was capable and hustled about collecting the coffee cups and cutlery. She lowered them into the wash water and nudged at him. “I can do it.”
He refused to budge. “I know you can, but I intend to help.” He scrubbed a dish. “Why don’t you finish the table and then you can dry.”
Olivia stared out the window as she considered his request. Or was it an order?
“Hurry up, unless you don’t want to walk with me.”
“Of course, I do.”
“Sure doesn’t look like it.” He continued to wash the dishes.
Realizing she hadn’t moved, she hurried back to the table, put things away in record time then dried the dishes and had them in the cupboard while he scrubbed out the last item—the bread pan that she’d struggled to get the failed loaf from.
He finished and dumped out the water while she hung the towel.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Let me grab a bonnet.”
“You don’t need one.”
“I don’t?” A lady did not go out without a hat and if she was to be outside in the sun, she needed to protect her skin. Though the sun would soon be setting. “Very well.” If it pleased him for her to not wear a head covering, then she wouldn’t wear one.
They stepped onto the dusty trail.
“Want to see the rest of the ranch buildings?”
“Yes, I would.” She’d explored with Lindy and Kit and accompanied the other ladies around the place, but to see everything with Riley would be a treat.
A trail led through the trees to a row of sheds. He opened the door to each and let her look in.
“Tool shed,” he said at the first. The second was a harness shop and the third held supplies.
They continued on their way. He stopped at a larger building. “This is the cook house where the cowboys eat.”
“Cowboys?” She’d not seen any.
“They’re out with the cows at the moment but they’ll be coming in when winter comes.” He draped his arm over her shoulder and tipped his forehead to hers. “I expect they’ll be awestruck at your pretty face.”
She knew he was teasing. But it unsettled her nerves to have him lean so close. And doubly so to have him say she had a pretty face. She should move away. Jab him in the ribs. Laugh off his words. But she didn’t have the ability to do so.
He squeezed her shoulders which served to draw her closer then, as if realizing what he did, he dropped his arm and stepped back. “You want to have a look?” When she hesitated because she couldn’t think what he meant, he added, “At the cookhouse?”
“Of course.”
He indicated she should precede him inside. A long wooden table with backless wooden benches on each long side filled one end of the room. A big stove and large cupboards on the other. “Boots is the cook. Right now, he is using a chuckwagon and cooking out on the range.”
“I met a woman on the train who told me of cooking on the trail. It sounded quite challenging.”
“Boots is good at it.”
