“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
Phoebe shook her head. Braxton looked about as impressed with Miss Poppinstock as she’d been with Mr. Pringle.
“So,” Dorothea said, brightening again. “I assume you expect a wife who will stand at the fence, waving a handkerchief as you ride out in the morning?”
“Reckon I expect a wife who won’t be bothered by mud,” he said. “Or long days or having to feed animals.”
“Oh, animals.” Her nose wrinkled. “You mean… actual animals?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Braxton said slowly. “Cows. Horses. Chickens. A couple of dogs and cats.”
Dorothea shuddered. “I can’t abide animals. They smell. They make noises… and messes.”
Braxton blinked. “You want to live on a ranch but don’t like animals.”
“I like the idea of them,” she said. “From a distance. Or in pictures. Speaking of which…” She rustled through her folio and drew out several more drawings, each horse more alarming-looking than the last. “I’ve been studying equine form. I’m sure, given the right instruction, I can learn to ride. Once someone lifts me into the saddle. And holds the reins.”
Braxton stared at the sketches. “Might be easier to start with a cow.”
Phoebe coughed into her hand to hide a laugh.
Dorothea fluffed her curls. “I am delicate, Mr. Jones. I admit it. But I can learn. I shall be an ornament to your life.”
“My ranch doesn’t need an ornament,” he said. “And I need a partner.”
She waved this aside. “Men always say such things. You think you want a partner, but what you really want is admiration.”
“That so?” he asked mildly.
“Of course,” she said. “Now, about living conditions. I assume you’ll be willing to modify your schedule. I’m a light sleeper. I can’t abide noise too early or too late.”
Braxton blinked again. “Ma’am, the sun and the cattle don’t much care about schedules.”
“Well, they shall have to learn,” Dorothea said.
George sat down directly in front of Braxton and rested his head on his lap.
Dorothea eyed him warily. “Is this one of your dogs?”
“No, ma’am, he’s not mine.” Braxton said. “He belongs to the Merriweather sisters. This here’s George.”
George sniffed her shoes and snorted.
She drew her feet back. “Does he bite?”
“Not unless you’re a hat,” Braxton said.
Phoebe smiled. She’d noticed the other day one of the sister’s hats had teeth marks in it.
Dorothea shuddered again. “I don’t care for animals indoors. Particularly ones that shed.” She eyed George’s coat like it personally offended her. “I hope your dogs and cats are kept outside.”
George tilted his head and gave a soft, unhappy whine.
Braxton’s jaw tightened.
“Perhaps,” Dorothea said. “You could build a separate dwelling for the animals. Far from the house.”
“The animals live where they’re needed,” Braxton said. “Same as the people.”
