Five (Continued)

Dell and Diana hurried to the paddock, oblivious to dust and brambles. They found Boeing struggling with a girth strap, his new shirt already smudged and sweaty. "Need help with that?" Diana offered.

Boeing straightened up. "Aren't you pretty? You clean up good, you know?"

Diana ignored him and turned her attention to the horse. "You can pull that cinch at least two notches tighter. She’s bloated her stomach with air."

"I know. I already hit her once, but she puffed back up again."















Diana gathered her long skirt and knotted it above her knees, then scrambled over the fence in a most unladylike way. She pushed Boeing aside, grabbed the girth strap and slammed her body against the mare’s belly, then jerked hard on the strap, using her entire body weight. "That's how you do it."

"I wouldn't mind seeing you climb that fence again," he said, casting a look at her calves.

"Quit looking at my legs." She struggled with the knot, letting her skirt drop back to its proper length, skimming her ankles.

"But you have such nice legs. You should wear a short skirt, like the city girls."

"You mean like a whore? Not on your life. Besides, I couldn't ride a horse in a short skirt. I can barely ride in this stupid thing."

"There's more to life than horses. Maybe it's time to broaden your interests."

Diana turned to Dell. "Is he saying what I think he's saying?"

"Yes. He's a hopeless flirt. And so am I." Dell winked. "Be careful. We've got you surrounded, and you don't have Will here to protect you."

Diana was dismayed for a moment, then laughed. "Okay, you two can quit playing around. Like I need Will, anyway." She cast an eye toward the other animals in the paddock. "Look at this— our horses aren't anywhere near ready. We’re going to be late."

Five

Diana sat on a wooden stool, scowling as Amalia brushed out her hair.













"Hold still," Amalia said.

"I'm trying. You pull too hard."

"Well, it's a mystery to me how your hair got tangled like this. I've never seen anybody get so many knots when their hair has been in braids the whole time."

Dell wandered over. A split skirt, clean boots and a pair of tiny gold earrings were her only concessions to femininity. "You should cut your hair short like mine. Then it wouldn't tangle."

"Don't give her any ideas."

"I don't mind that it's long," Diana said. "I just mind that we have to fuss over it like this. What's wrong with braids?"

"Same thing that's wrong with your pants. We're meeting some important people today and you need to look like a lady."

"I'm a trained scout and messenger. I don't need to go around in this getup." She waved her hand to indicate her flounced black skirt and loose red blouse cinched with an embroidered scarf.

"We wear many hats in this group, and we may need you to do some spying. Consider this your disguise. Besides, we're under truce. You're not supposed to go around dressed for a fight. It gives the wrong impression."

Amalia stepped back to admire her work. Diana's hair flowed in loose chestnut waves over her shoulders. She looked like a young goddess from a European painting, but Amalia would never tell her that. The only paintings Diana was familiar with were Indian-patterned pottery and the graffiti on derelict gas stations. "Keep your knees together when you sit," she reminded her. "And fold your hands in your lap when you aren't doing anything."

"I haven't forgotten." She adjusted her posture accordingly. "But I figured it's just us in this barn, and until we actually go to the parley—"

"If you're dressed like a lady, you need to act like one."

"Yes, Auntie. Are we done now?"

"I suppose."

"Good." She jumped to her feet. "Let's go see how Boeing is doing with the horses," she told Dell. "I bet he's screwed it up already."

"He's no good with tack, that's for sure."

Before Amalia could call out a warning about dust or other hazards to their good clothes, both young women ran for the barn door, their boots clattering on the wooden floor. With a sigh, Amalia returned the comb and brush to the table she had made out of a hay bale. It was time she started getting dressed herself—quickly, before the young people had a chance to undo all her hard work.