“We met in 1944, and we didn’t like each other. He was in uniform, I was an art student. I called him a fascist. But we met again a few months later when he was on furlough from the army. We were both vacationing at the same dude ranch. I was wearing my father’s suede jacket, because he’d just passed away, and the sleeves were too long for my arms. And without saying a word, he walked up to me, and rolled the sleeves back a bit. And I thought it was such a sweet gesture.”
Delphine checked her appearance once more in the mirror; she helped her golden curls forward with a flick of her head, letting them hang loosely in front of her face catching just in front of the dark patches at theshoulder of the pearl buttoned cowboy shirt she had bought at Sears that day.
The store was a bit further off than she hadwanted to wander, but the concierge assured her that for authentic ranch wear, the department store would do much betterthan the tourist boutique on the strip. She
considered donning the Stetson she had bought on impulse. Having already committed to two pair of dungarees,
three shirts and some two-tone boots (black embossed leather, with a grey, winged
cap across the toe), adding the stiff, light brown hat to her purchases seemed
like both and after thought and a commitment at the same time.