A burst of laughter erupted from James’ lips at the image her words conjured up. “I do have hair, a rather dull shade of brown I’m afraid, but my head is covered with it.” He ran his fingers through his rather shaggy mane since he hadn’t had it cut in far too long.
She laughed, too. "I'm sorry. I do sometimes rather put my foot in it." That was actually literally true, as well, annoyingly.
“Not like yours which has warmth and depth. Hints of red and gold woven through it.” James blushed, his voice trailing off awkwardly since he’d spoken without thinking. Clearing his throat he changed the subject praying she would say nothing in response to his unexpected comments.
"Really? Thank you." Frances reached up and touched her tresses, which most people would frankly describe as a boring mousy brown: that James was able to find such poetry in its hues would have buoyed her significantly, had she known it.
“My pleasure.” He said, as their hands slid slowly apart so he could do what he needed for her comfort while she revealed what she wanted from him. However, Frances soon let him know that she was no fragile china doll.
“I’m sorry if I somehow offended you Miss Frances.” He stammered quickly, his cheeks going red again. “That was not my intention.”
She shook her head and calmed his fears.
"Do not fret, Mr. Vaughn. That is just my way, I have been taught to speak up for myself, lest I be moved around like a piece of mindless furniture, as I was as an infant. To speak out boldly, to be heard, that was instilled in all of us at the Institute for the Education of the Blind. But enough of my infirmities, you will soon grow used to them, I hope."
She then described all that needed to be done.
"Perhaps, tomorrow, you could escort me around the various businesses where my brother may owe money. I imagine the Saloon should be our first port of call." she ventured. In fact, it was the one place she was pretty sure he'd have a tab.