Then her eyes widened as the impact of the suite overwhelmed her. A longing came over her to bounce around the room and sit in every elegant chair, examine every bibelot on every elaborately dressed table.
But she wouldn't have touched a single item on a dare, not even if someone had offered to pay her. She was terrified that she'd break something or get something dirty. This was a look-at-only room, not intended for actual use.
And look she did, but from the center of the carpet, a safe distance from any items she felt tempted to touch. Once she'd seen and marveled at everything, she explored further and discovered an indoor water closet. Sure enough, when she pulled the handle, the water in the bowl swirled and gurgled away. She tried it several times, laughing and shaking her head in amazement.
Next to the water closet was a larger room containing a tub and a sink. After testing the tub spigots, she discovered the hot water was only tepid, but that didn't lessen the miracle of having running water right at her fingertips to turn on or off anytime she liked. No one had to haul it inside or heat the buckets at the stove. She'd heard about luxury like this, but she'd sure never expected to experience it for herself.
Leaving the water running and the tub filling, she examined the bedroom next. Someone, probably Max, had put their saddlebags in the closet. The clothing he'd worn earlier today hung on a rod, freshly washed and ironed, ready for tomorrow. None of her clothing hung there, but that didn't surprise her. Max expected her to wear her new lady things to meet his family.
Worried about the water running in the tub, she returned to the bathroom where she curiously studied Max's shaving items with her hands clasped behind her back so she wouldn't accidentally disturb his things.
Finally, she stiffened her backbone, drew a deep breath, and forced her gaze to the mirror above the basin. The dreaded moment of revelation had arrived.
"Oh my gawd!"
Shock darkened her eyes, and she cursed for a full minute. Even for her, she looked bad. There was a relatively clean oval that started at her forehead, curved in front of her ears and ended at her chin.
Beyond the oval lay a summer's worth of grime.
Her skin was golden-brown from the sun and wind-chapped. Her eyelashes were stuck together in clumps.
And, oh Lord, her hair. Her hair was so gray with dust and dried mud that she looked like an old woman. And her clothing. She'd been living in these duds for a while, and they looked it. Probably smelled like it, too.
"Well, damn!"
What she needed was a jug of brew to steady her nerves, and a miracle.
Thank heavens she'd refused to look into the mirror at the secondhand shop. Instinct had warmed her to save the shock of seeing herself until she was alone, and she was glad she'd waited. Because now she had a chance to do something about it immediately.
No wonder none of the men in Piney Creek had wanted to sleep with her.
"Stop that," she said in a low voice, turning her eyes away from the mirror. She needed to stop stewing over that bottom moment in her life when the hat was passed and the men had reached inside, their mouths turning down in dread. All remembering did was make her feel bad.
And she didn't want to feel bad tonight. She wanted to enjoy a real tub bath and the squeak of clean hair. She wanted to wring every tiny drop of pleasure out of staying in a suite—asuite, if you please. The queen of England didn't have it any better than this.
After her bath, she had to figure out how her new clothes went together, a chore she was determined to make pleasurable and not frustrating and annoying. Then she had supper to look forward to, a meal she didn't have to cook, and maybe more music, something lively, she hoped. The best tunes were the ones you could tap your toes to.
And finally, to top off this unbelievable experience, maybe tonight would be the night for a poke. And maybe a baby would result. Wouldn't it be grand to conceive a baby during her one and only night in a real hotel suite? Now that would be a fairy-tale story to remember all of her days.
Laughing softly, she slid under the water and lay on the bottom of the deep tub, blowing bubbles up to the surface.
CHAPTER 5
«^»
Max let himself in the door, absorbed with thoughts of the letter he had posted to Philadelphia and her father, turned toward the living room, and stopped short.
Low Down waited near the window, wringing her hands together and peering at him with an anxious expression. He knew it was Low Down because he expected to find her in the suite, but if this woman had walked past him in the lobby, he would not have recognized her.
As this was the first time he'd seen her when she wasn't wearing a hat, what he noticed immediately was her hair, a warm reddish brown, which she had smoothed back into a glossy knot at the nape of her neck. His sister, Gilly , would have referred to the style as work hair. But Max believed an explosion of frilly curls looked faintly ridiculous on a tall woman, and he silently applauded her wisdom in avoiding an elaborate arrangement. In fact, the simplicity of the style imparted a surprising hint of dignity.
No amount of scrubbing could have converted her tanned face and hands into the creamy paleness so coveted by women of fashion, but tonight she glowed with the same shiny golden health and vitality that he associated with his mother. That also surprised him. Previous to this moment, he would not have believed that Low Down had anything in common with his mother "You're staring at my face," she murmured, raising both hands to her cheeks. "I rubbed some lamp oil on my… but the oil was too shiny, so I rubbed it off again, but it wouldn't come off completely, and my face is still shiny, damn it, but I don't have any powder… "
Now he placed the scent he had detected: lamp kerosene beneath a strong soapy smell that reminded him of wash day at the ranch. And he noticed the clean natural arch of her eyebrows, and the feathery length of her lashes. Her nose was undistinguished, just a nose, and he couldn't tell whether she'd rouged her mouth, as her lips were pressed into an anxious line. If she didn't have powder, she probably didn't have rouge either, but tonight she looked like a woman.
Finally, he examined the ugliest dress he'd observed in a while, certainly not one his sister or Philadelphia would have chosen for an evening out. A shopkeeper's wife might have selected this dress for Sunday meeting; it was high-necked with plain sleeves to the wrist and boasted nothing whatsoever to distract the eye, no trim or fancy tucks that might be considered attractive. Moreover, the fit was wrong. The molded bodice clung too snugly, the waist hung too loosely, and he suspected the skirt required a larger petticoat frame in order to hang properly.
But his gaze lingered on the tight bodice that revealed full rounded breasts that astonished him. He'd had no inkling, none at all, that a beautifully statuesque figure existed beneath Low Down's sloppily loose, shapeless vest, shirt, and long johns. If he'd thought about the subject at all, he would have guessed that she was straight up and down with no curves.
