That Sunday morning, Emily left her room, wondering how to fill the long hours ahead. Much to her surprise, she found Chase waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“I have something to show you,” he said, motioning her to follow.

He led her to a window and pointed to the buckboard parked out front. “Finally got it repaired,” he said. “Get ready. We’re going to the gospel mill…uh…church.”

She stared at him. “Why?” It was hard to believe he would drag himself away from the ranch, even for a few short hours.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? Because it’s Sunday, that’s why. And it’s nigh time I introduced my bride to friends and neighbors. Now go.” He shooed her back toward the stairs. “You have a half hour to get ready.”

Church. Emily couldn’t believe it, and her heart pounded with excitement as she raced up the stairs to her room. How she missed the weekly outings to the little white chapel back home, missed the sense of community, the messages of hope. She didn’t want to think that part of her excitement grew out of the prospect of spending time with Chase, though she had to admit the thought wasn’t all that unpleasant.

Bursting into her room, she flung open the door to the chifforobe. After much consideration, she chose her favorite blue floral frock from among her neglected wardrobe and quickly set to work getting dressed. Her fingers fumbled with the hooks of her corset. She’d forgotten what a chore it was to dress the way Bostonian society deemed proper.

Strange as it seemed, she’d gotten used to the ease of slipping into a divided skirt and shirtwaist and not having to bother with corset, petticoats, and stockings. She’d even grown careless in arranging her hair. Instead of wearing it in a proper bun, she was now in the habit of tying it with a ribbon and letting it trail down her back, ponytail style.

After the necessary tugging, squeezing, and breath-holding that such attire necessitated, she was finally dressed. She stared at herself in the mirror and tried to breathe but had to settle for short little gasps of air. A knight’s armor couldn’t have felt more confining. The steel corset ribs dug into her flesh like pincers, the bustle hung heavy, and her wool stockings felt scratchy and hot. If such fashion had been designed specifically to restrict a woman’s movements, it succeeded on every level.

With a sigh, she reached for her fancy feathered hat.

* * *

Chase paced back and forth, his gaze shifting from the pocket watch in his hand to the top of the stairs. What in tarnation was taking Emily so long to get dressed? If they didn’t leave soon, they’d be late.

Women!

He had just about decided to knock on her door when she appeared.

She stood at the top of the stairs looking down at him. It irritated him that the mere sight of her made his heart beat faster. So much so that it took him a moment to notice she was still dressed in her usual divided skirt and high-crown felt hat.