“Phoebe, dear? Would you mind helping us?” Augusta headed for the other side of the office.
Phoebe startled again, surprised to be included. She rose, smoothed her skirt, and hurried into the back after the others.
Moments later she returned with a tray of teacups and saucers. George lifted his head, perked his ears, and bounded toward her like a boulder rolling downhill.
Braxton jumped to his feet. “Careful there, ma’am.” He caught her elbow as she lurched forward, saving the entire tray from an airborne disaster. The cups rattled, but not a one slipped off the tray.
She gasped, then looked up at him with startled blue eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He released her once she found her footing again. George barreled intohim, and she almost dropped the tray again. “George!” He shooed the dog away.
Phoebe set the tray on Augusta’s desk with shaking fingers.
Braxton already concluded she wasn’t ranch wife material. Her eyes alone would tell him when a storm rolled in, because she’d panic before the thunder started. Still, she was a pretty thing, and part of him regretted the fact she was unsuitable.
He sat again while the sisters entered the room, whispering to each other.
“Mr. Jones,” Josie said brightly setting a teapot on the desk. “If you’d be so kind as to stay a bit longer, we can finish preparing the appropriate files.”
“That’s fine. But remember, I’d still like to meet a few prospects in person.”
Phoebe sank into the chair beside him. George trotted over, circled once, and flopped squarely across both their feet. Phoebe stiffened like she’d been glued to a floorboard. Braxton didn’t react; he’d lost circulation in his legs to dogs more times than he could count.
“Do you like children, Mr. Jones?” Josie asked suddenly.
“Yes, ma’am. I got four nieces, and they climb me like a tree.”
“Oh good!” Margaret said as she poured tea into everyone’s cup. “Some of our brides want families right away.”
“Well then,” Augusta began. “Tell us more about your ranch.”
He nodded and took the cup and saucer Margaret offered. “We run cattle, mostly longhorn. It’s a big spread with a lot of land to cover. Weather can be rough and chores never stop. It’s a hard life sometimes, but a good one.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened. She clutched her teacup as if the wordlonghornmight bite.
“You have a lot of family living on your ranch?” Augusta asked him.
“My brother and his wife. They run the place with me. My ma lives there too. Pa passed a few years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Margaret said.
“It wasn’t unexpected. He lived hard.” Braxton shrugged. “He taught us to do the same.”
Phoebe winced. Braxton pretended not to notice that either.
“So,” Augusta said, back to business. “The type of woman you’re searching for. She need not be fancy, correct?”
“No, ma’am. Ranch life don’t stand on fancy. I need someone who won’t cry if she breaks a fingernail.”
Phoebe immediately put her hands under the table.
“And she should know how to cook,” he added. “Or be willing to learn.”
Margaret, who’d been taking notes, smiled at him. “Do you cook, Mr. Jones?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You do?” Phoebe blurted. Her cheeks went pink.
