Augusta clasped her hands in front of her. “I just knew today would go smoothly.” It was hard to miss the delight in her voice.
The door burst open.
A messenger boy stumbled in, huffing and puffing, his cap askew. “Telegram!” he shouted. “Urgent telegram for the Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company!”
George jerked awake and barked.
So much for smooth. Phoebe looked from the boy to the sisters, then the neat stacks of paper on each desk. Mr. Jones, whose chair had dropped back onto all four legs with a quietthump,heaved a sigh.
“Oh no,” Phoebe muttered under her breath. “Now what?”
Chapter Four
Braxton took in the renewed chaos around him and wondered if he should leave. No reputable matchmaking office operated in this much mayhem. At least the sisters were more organized now. But how long would it last?
The Christmas tree in the corner was half-decorated and leaned as though it had already given up on the season. And then there was the dog.
The messenger boy gone, the massive sheepdog lay in the center of the floor like a furry carpet someone had tripped over and forgotten to move.
Braxton cleared his throat. “Ladies, if I can have your attention, I’d like to get to my business while I’m here. Seeing as how we didn’t get much time to talk yesterday or this morning.”
The three sisters looked up from the telegraph message the boy brought and smiled at him. “Oh! Yes of course,” Augusta said. “We apologize. We put the two of you to work and forgot all about taking care of you.” She hurried to a desk and sat. “Please, Mr. Jones, join me.”
He left the table where he’d been working alongside Miss Hale and took the seat on the other side of Augusta’s desk. “I’ll get straight to it. I’m a rancher from Texas, and I need a wife. But I’m not marryin’ anyone sight unseen.”
All three Merriweather sisters froze. Even Miss Hale was staring at him.
He continued calmly, “I’d like to meet the applicants myself. Make sure they’re suited for ranch life.”
The sisters nodded hard enough to jostle hairpins. They looked enthusiastic, but also utterly bewildered.
“I’m not real particular,” he added. “But I do need certain qualities in a future bride.” He lifted a finger. “She’s got to be practical and steady. Someone who won’t faint when somethin’ falls over.” He lifted a second finger. “She can’t be afraid of mud or livestock.” A third finger came up. “And she’s got to be good under pressure and helpful in an emergency.”
George rose, stretched, and trotted over to the tree. He then turned around and backed into it with his fluffy behind. The tree wobbled, listed, and fell on its side, ornaments rolling across the floor like marbles.
The sisters didn’t flinch.
Phoebe Hale did.
She still sat at the table where they’d been working and let out a squeak of alarm. Her eyes went wide and she looked as if she was trying to determine whether she should duck for cover or run for the fire brigade.
Braxton sent her a quick glance and took in her sweet face, thick blonde hair and graceful hands. She was as delicate as spun sugar and twice as likely to melt in the rain. He doubted she’d last five minutes on the ranch. Ten if the weather was good.
Josie reached for a stack of papers on another desk. “We have several excellent candidates for you, Mr. Jones.” She brought them to Augusta.
Margaret leaned over and looked at them. “No, we don’t.”
Josie elbowed her.
Braxton took the papers anyway. Every page was worse than the last. One woman refused to walk anywhere without an escort. Another disliked animals. One insisted on a home with velvet curtains.
Velvet.In a ranch house? Dust would eat those curtains alive in a week.
He pushed the stack aside, careful not to put it anywhere George could reach. The dog had opened his mouth expectantly, as though waiting for a paper snack.
“Perhaps you’d like some tea while we prepare more files?” Augusta asked, already motioning the others toward the back room.
“Thank you kindly,” he said. “That’d be just fine.”
