“Oh,” I said, fingering the hem of my skirt. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Don’t you worry about it, Rowen. I’m not here to tell you how or how not to dress. If this is what you wear, that’s great.” Rose ran her hand up and down me, making her silver and turquoise bracelets jingle. “But Neil and I are also responsible for your safety and well-being while you’re here. I’ve got a household to run, and I can’t be worrying at every meal that one of those guys out there will try to sweet-talk you into his bed at night.” Rose paused. Tucking her hand under my chin, she lifted it until I looked at her. “Do you understand, Rowen? I want to respect who you are, and I need to look after you. If this is how you dress every day and will continue to dress while you’re here, that’s just fine. There’s always plenty of laundry and household chores that need doing every day that would keep you out of the guys’ sight.”
“I understand.” I suddenly felt very aware of the hoop pierced through my eyebrow and my shirt’s low neckline. “Thank you for respecting me enough to not order me to go change.” When I’d started dressing differently and wearing my hair and makeup darker than other girls, Mom went so far as to hold me down and remove what I was wearing, one piece at a time. A lot of good that had done. “But even if I wanted to, what you see is what I packed. I can’t remember the last time I bought a pair of denim-colored jeans.”
“Then let’s do this today. I’ll have you manning the laundry room, and if you decide you just can’t imagine doing another load of laundry come tomorrow, we can figure out a way to get you some boring blue jeans. Then you can rotate through the chores like me and the girls do. Whatever you want to do, I’m good with it.”
As Rose started for the door, I said, “That’s right. You’re good with chaos.”
“So long as it’s organized,” she added, lifting her finger.
“See you later then. I’ll try not to break your laundry room.”
“I’ll check in with you after breakfast to see how you’re doing. You can get started with the clothes in that cart.” She pointed at a cart, an actual cart the size of a couch, filled to the brim with clothing. For the third time that morning, my mouth dropped open. “Oh, and Rowen . . .”
“Yeah?” I managed after pulling my jaw off the ground.
“I really do like the way you dress. If I had your figure and your courage, I’d wear the same thing.”
“What are you talking about?” I said, taking a good look at her. “You’ve got a great figure, and any woman brave enough to cook twenty-one meals a week for twenty people has a heck of a lot more courage than me.”
Rose waved her hand dismissively. “I used to have a great figure. That was before having kids.” She patted her stomach like it was anything but flat.
“For a woman who’s given birth to four . . . four,” I emphasized, “babies, you look amazing.”
Rose’s face fell for a moment, just barely, but I took note. That warm smile of hers lit up her face again before she waved and closed the door behind her.
I DIDN’T CARE if I had to wear overalls, pig tails, and rename myself Peggy Sue for the rest of the summer. I would do it to avoid spending another all day stint in the laundry room I was quite certain would haunt my nightmares for years to come.
That one ranch could keep four washers and four dryers in non-stop rotation didn’t seem possible, but after being up to my elbows in suds and sheets, I discovered just how possible it was. If I never saw another white undershirt in my life, I’d be good to go. Really.
I’d barely made it through the small vehicle-sized cart of laundry before the girls walked in with another full cart of sheets and towels. Willow Springs didn’t only provide meals for the ranch hands; they provided living quarters in some bunkhouse I had yet to see and, as I’d gained firsthand knowledge of, laundry service. The girls all took a break from their chores to help me fold the first four loads, and if speed folding was a competitive sport, each one would have a first place ribbon. They were still shy, casting a few sideways glances my way, but Clementine actually braved a few words. With a concerned face, she inspected my tights before offering to let me borrow a pair of her tights if I wanted. Hers didn’t have any rips or tears.
I thanked her for the offer and said I’d have to get back with her.
After another eight hours stuffed inside that torture chamber, I didn’t care if her tights were pale pink and dotted with cutsie white bows. I needed out of here. I had to figure out a way to get some “ranch appropriate” duds unless I wanted to spend another day in laundry hell. I had no clue how far away the nearest store was, but I didn’t care if I had no other way to get there than on foot. I would whistle every step of the way.
Rose had brought me breakfast and lunch and checked on me a few times in between. I guessed dinner was getting close because the room filled up with food smells again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be in here, but the new dirty laundry arrivals had stopped coming a few hours ago, so maybe . . .
I was folding my last pile of clothes when a sock fell off the side of the island. I’d dropped as much laundry as I’d folded.
Blowing out a breath, I kneeled and crawled around the side of the island. I’d just snagged the escapee sock when the door to the laundry room flew open. But it wasn’t Rose.