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She bumped the door open with her hip and wiped her hands on a dish towel. A thin stripe of gray by her left temple was scraped back with the rest of her inky hair into a lopsided bun at the top of her head. Intelligence sparkled in her coffee-colored eyes, and laugh lines proved she had a sense of humor. “You must be Sydney. Been expecting you. Got two extra bedrooms upstairs. Go on ’head and pick one. I don’t much care which. I’ll have to put sheets on the bed. No use in letting sheets go stale on a bed that lies empty.”
    “Yes, I’m Hathwell. One of the hands mentioned your name. I believe it was Velma, was it not?”
    “Was and still is.” She grinned. “Now get out of my hair. I’ve got plenty to do. Supper’s in an hour. I’ll holler once and only once. You show up or you go hungry. I’m not about to start toting water up and down the stairs for anybody, so you’ll have to pump your own from the kitchen if you want to use the washbowl in your chamber.”
    She won’t start, so that means she normally doesn’t perform that task even for my uncle. Well, with only one house servant, allowances need to be made . “I’ll see to filling my pitcher. Bert mentioned Uncle Fuller is in Abilene.”
    “Yep. Be back in ’bout ten days, give or take a few. Depends on how the cure is going. Your uncle ain’t the kind to stick around and do any tom cattin’.”
    The housekeeper’s frank acknowledgment of a man’s baser needs astonished Sydney. Her eyes widened, though she did manage to keep her jaw from dropping.
    Slapping her on the shoulder and nearly knocking her down, the housekeeper cackled. “Boy, ain’t nothing old Velma don’t know ten times over by now. My mama ran a bordello down in N’Awlins. Nothing surprises me.”
    “Out of respect for your sensibilities—”
    Velma cackled even louder. “I don’t pull any punches. The hands out there know not to pussyfoot around me. I take no sass, and I don’t take any passes. Long as you remember those two things, you and me—we’ll get along just fine.”
    “Fine,” Sydney echoed in an unsteady tone. She looked at the stairs with dismay. She knew full well that no young man would stand there and complain about the heat and dust and his aching feet, though she was sorely tempted to do all three.
    “Kid, you’d best move on. Big Tim’s gonna be bustling through soon, and he’ll mow over the likes of you faster than a toad gulps flies.”
    It was not a reassuring metaphor. Sydney shuffled forward. “I’ll locate a chamber and meet you for supper.”
    “You do that. Tim’s going to give you a hard once-over. You ought to put on something a whole lot plainer if you don’t want to have him squirm all through the meal. He’s not a man to abide fussy manners and clothes.”
    Sydney noticed the cowboys were all in shirtsleeves, but surely landowners would wear respectable attire and dress for dinner. “I’m wearing a simple cravat!”
    Velma threw back her head and roared in the most unladylike display of sound Sydney had ever witnessed. “That was a good one. Now scamper on up and let me get back to work.”
    Lugging the valise up the stairs tested Sydney’s mettle. Her shoulders felt as if they couldn’t bear such a burden for a second longer. Once she reached the head of the stairs, she walked straight into the first chamber and dropped the valise. Nothing short of a pistol aimed at her head would convince her to pick up that load again.
    The bedchamber held a modest bedstead and a nice threedrawer chest with a carved mirror above it. Heavy green damask curtains swagged back from the window, and faded cabbage rose wallpaper finished the decor.
    Sydney smiled at the room. She could spruce it up with a little attention and care. In truth, it was far prettier than what she’d planned to find in the midst of this wild place. The glimpse she’d gotten of the downstairs let her know the other rooms, though well worn, were tastefully