Braxton hesitated before leaving the desk he was working at and headed for the coat rack. Truth was, his boarding house was cold, smelled like cigars, and had a man in the room next who snored loud enough to rattle the windows. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of leaving Miss Hale alone in this half-organized chaos.
He began to reach for his hat and tell her they should both go home. But stopped. “Well, reckon I’ll stay and help.”
She looked up in surprise. “Are you sure?”
He nodded once. “I don’t mind.” And he didn’t. Not even a little.
Miss Hale smiled at him, then brought one of the lamps from another desk to the one they’d been working at. Warm light filled the corners of the room and softened the shadows.
She sat and began sorting letters into piles with steady, practiced movements. Braxton moved to gather some boxes full of various papers and files. More chaos to be sorted. The sisters had them stored in the parlor beyond the door leading to the back. Good grief, it could take another week to sort through it all.
George snored, catching his attention. Miss Hale smiled down at him. “He really won’t move, will he?”
“Only if he thinks he’s in trouble,” Braxton said. “Or if there’s food.”
She laughed again. He liked that sound more than he expected.
They worked in comfortable silence for several minutes before Miss Hale spoke. “Have you always lived out West, Mr. Jones?”
He nodded. “Born and raised. My folks settled a ranch out there, then built the house I’m in now at the end of the property closest to town. I’ve been workin’ it ever since I could hold a rope.”
“Were you very young when they built the new place?” she asked.
“Five. Maybe six.” He smiled faintly. “Ma says I learned to lasso before my letters. Pa used to joke that if I ever tied one around my sister, he’d tan my hide.”
Phoebe laughed softly. “Did you?”
“Once,” he admitted. “Only once.”
Her smile lingered as she sorted more telegrams. She had a peaceful way about her. Gentle. Quiet. Not scared of hard work. He’d expected her to turn her nose up at the mess. But she’d rolled up her sleeves and got to it like she’d done it before.
And she looked… right in the lantern light. Calmer. Softer.
He cleared his throat. “What about you, Miss Hale? Have ya always lived here in Chicago?”
“Yes.” Her voice softened with memory. “I grew up on the south side. My mother, she kept the household together for as long as she could. After she passed… things became more difficult.”
Difficult. She said it lightly, but he felt the weight of it. “What about your father?”
Her hands slowed on the papers she was sorting. “He hasn’t been home in years. And when he does appear… it’s never for long. Always with new ideas to get rich. And he always needs money.”
Braxton’s jaw flexed. “Ya alone then?”
“Yes.” She took a careful breath. “Employment has been… difficult to come by.”
He waited.
She swallowed hard and continued. “People don’t want to take a chance on someone connected to a man with my father’s reputation.”
His chest tightened. Not with pity, but with anger on her behalf. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“That’s life,” she said, folding a telegram. “But I’m behind on rent now. And I didn’t want to be home when he returns. He always finds a way, somehow. And then he’d try to sweet talk me out of whatever money I might have.” Her eyes became downcast.
Braxton stilled. “Where are ya stayin’?”
She hesitated, then gave the boarding house address.
He kept his tone calm. “Is it safe there?”
