She yanked her dress and apron off and hurled them into the chair by the window. Mama had cautioned her over and over about going barefoot, but she hadn’t listened. Now she’d paid the price. She’d never been as embarrassed in her life as she was when she realized she must look like she’d been working in a cotton patch all day. She jerked the armoire door open and rifled through the dresses hanging there. She stopped, her hand on the white muslin with its long pink sash, at the thought of her skirt lifted above her ankles. Maybe that had been more embarrassing. She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. Why did Alex Taylor bring out the worst in her? Now wasn’t the time to be debating that question. Quickly she grabbed the dress, pulled it over her head, and dropped to her knees to search underneath her bed for shoes. Once she was dressed and her hair combed, she looked in the mirror, pinched her cheeks, and closed her eyes. Breathe deeply; settle down; and don’t let him see how flustered you are, she told herself.
