Just how much money did he have? It seemed he was tipping and paying and doling out cash every time she turned around.
When the porter had gone, Bowie straightened. “Go ahead and have your bath. I’ll be back in a bit, and then we can find some grub.” He handed her the key. “Keep the door locked. I’ll knock.”
Elise nodded, staring after his departing form, something she seemed to do often. What a complex man. He saw to her every comfort, but he kept himself at a distance. The only time he had talked at any length was when she asked about his family.
The bath refreshed her, body and spirit. Her only regret was that her one decent dress was limp and travel worn. She didn’t relish putting it on again now, but perhaps tonight she could sponge it and hang it up, and hopefully some of the wrinkles would come out before morning.
She was brushing her hair when a knock sounded on the door. Remembering Bowie’s caution, she asked before she opened it. He entered, followed by Stonewall, and she caught the smell of soap and noted Bowie’s damp hair. Her husband had taken advantage of a bath as well.
He rested his rifle against the foot of the bed and folded his arms across his broad chest, setting the fringe on his jacket to swaying. She was conscious of his stare as she coiled her hair and pinned it up. No one had seen her with her hair down since she was a girl, and to have him watching her so intently sent flutters skittering across her skin.
“The hotel restaurant opens in a couple of hours. I thought you might like to do some shopping in the meantime.”
Shopping? Since she had exactly three dollars and forty-one cents in her handbag, this would be a short endeavor. She gathered her hat and bag. Still, it would be nice to get out. It had been a long time since she’d had the freedom to take a leisurely stroll along some storefronts. Window-shopping would be a treat.
Bowie had other ideas. He held the door for her to enter a vast emporium, making the bell overhead jangle their arrival. When Stonewall would’ve followed, he snapped his fingers, motioned with his hand flat, and the big dog stayed on the porch, eyes soulful but patient.
Elise inhaled a kaleidoscope of fragrances. Vinegar, leather, coffee, tobacco, kerosene, peppermint. The store was so large, there were two center aisles and long counters down each side.
She could get lost in here.
“Afternoon, folks. What can I do for you?” The shopkeeper ambled over, a trio of new pitchforks on his shoulder. He stood them in a barrel near the door, clattering the tines together and dusting his hands. “Got everything from A to Z.”
Bowie put his hand on the small of her back, and the warmth of his touch spread through her. “You sell ready-made clothes for ladies?” he asked.
“Sure, sure. Got a whole section, right there in the back. Got a room to try on things if you need.” The storekeeper eyed Elise from her shoe tips to her hat brim. “Should be plenty to choose from in your size. Let me go get my wife. She can help you better than me.”
As he trotted to the staircase that ascended one wall, Elise stood on tiptoe to whisper into Bowie’s ear. At the last moment he turned, as if startled to have her coming up on the damaged side of his face, and suddenly they were nose to nose.
Air clogged high in her lungs, and she blinked. They hadn’t been this close since she had first peeked beneath his dirty, encrusted bandages in the hospital.
“Yes? Is there something you need?” It was a question he’d asked every day since he’d rescued her. He didn’t move away, and she felt mesmerized by his dark, brown eye.
She eased back a step, her cheeks warm. “I thought we were just window-shopping. I don’t have money for new clothes.” How could she explain that the wages her uncle should’ve paid her over the years had gone for her room and board?
He raised the eyebrow over his good eye, and shrugged. “Money isn’t a problem. Get everything you need. Dresses, hats, shoes.” He touched her threadbare sleeve where she’d repaired a small tear months before. “You’re a Hart now. You need to look the part.”
Stung, she looked away, tears pricking her eyes. He must be ashamed of her appearance. He didn’t want to return home with such a tatty-looking bride.
The storekeeper returned with a pretty blond woman in a lovely blue gown, all tucks and ruffles, the exact color of her eyes. She looked so stylish and up-to-the-minute, Elise felt worse than ever.
“Hello, I’m Janet Cloverton. My husband says you’re looking for some new clothes?”
Was she? Another glance at Bowie, remembering how kind he had been, how he’d rescued her, had seen to her every need the past few days. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him in front of his family.
Bowie nodded, keeping his face turned away from Mrs. Cloverton. “My wife needs a new wardrobe, what do you call it when a woman gets married, all the clothes she gets?”
Mrs. Cloverton smiled. “A trousseau?”
“That’s it. My wife needs a trousseau.”
Elise let Mrs. Cloverton lead her toward the back of the store, determined to buy whatever she needed to meet Bowie’s expectations.