Page 111 of The Mountain Echoes
“Are you wearingthat?” Nadine demands as I head out that evening.
I look down at my jeans, which are a decade old, and a Chambray shirt that’s probably equally old and belongs to Nadine.
“Now, we both know you have some very nice clothes in your closet.” Vera folds her arms across her chest.
Sanya shipped me my clothes, so I don’t really need to wear old jeans, but…I like them.
“Where’s Benji?” I ask, desperately wanting to change the subject.
I debated what to wear a million times before settling on something I’d wear to the Rusty Spur—casual enough that no one, especially me, gets any ideas.
“Don’t you worry about Benji,” Vera retorts, her expression grim. “Now, go back upstairs and wear something…in thedresscategory.”
“Look—” I start to protest.
“Now,” Nadine snaps.
“Geez.” I look at them. “You really think I need to like…wear somethin’ else?”
“Yeah,” they both say in unison.
“Won’t that givehimideas?”
Nadine rolls her eyes. “Honey, that’s the point, ain’t it?”
“Wear something easy to take off…you know, sexy like,” Vera suggests.
My eyes narrow with barely contained irritation.
I really do want to look nice, not dusty cowgirl, but something that still feels like me. Just not the me who’s been fixing tractors and hauling hay. And definitely not something that gives him—or me—let’s get nakedvibes.
When did getting dressed become this exhausting?
I trudge back up to my room.
“You’ve been stomping around in boots and denim for weeks,” Vera calls out. “Let the man see you.”
“Yeah, show some skin,” Nadine cheers.
I open my closet and scowl at its contents.
A little black dress stares at me like a dare. It’s simple, fitted, with thin straps and a low back. The kind of dress that only comes out for weddings or…regrets?
I hesitate, then put it on.
It hugs my curves in all the right ways.
The truth? It says, “Fuck me.”
God! What on earth possessed me to buy this stupid dress?
I dust off a pair of black heeled boots, then rummage through my drawer for mascara that hasn’t dried out and a lipstick that doesn’t scream I’m trying too hard.
A little bronzer, a light touch of eyeliner, and I remember what it feels like to be a woman, not just a rancher clinging to survival.
Hair down. A few loose waves. Soft perfume behind my ears.
I glance in the mirror.
