“That’s kindness,” she said. “I’m here more for self preservation.”
Braxton stepped back before he could do something foolish… like reach for her hand.
Outside, snow drifted softly past the window, gathering on the street. Inside, the office hummed with frantic energy, ink stains, and scattered letters. Braxton moved toward the back to help with the cabinet, but not before glancing once more at Phoebe bending to blot a damp envelope, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Maybe he’d been wrong about her. Maybe she wasn’t a delicate city girl who’d crumble on a ranch. She was tougher, steadier, and better suited to hard days than he’d realized. Maybe… she was exactly the kind of partner he’d never thought to look for.
He ran a hand over his face, exhaled hard, and muttered to himself: “Well now. That’s a problem.” Braxton went into the back.
“This one,” Augusta said. “There’s papers and files behind it. She wrung her hands. “I admit, since we’ve been organizing, we’re finding all sorts of things around here.”
“Fancy that,” Josie said with a huff. “Val had a system, and we didn’t pay much attention to it. Now we’re paying for it.”
“What you ladies need is your own system.” He looked at the china cabinet. “Where do you want it?”
Augusta showed him, and he got to work. Braxton wanted to spend more time with Phoebe, but feared he’d discover that though she was all the things he thought she might be, she could still be too delicate for ranch life. He also didn’t dare lose his heart to her, and find her unsuitable.
He moved the cabinet then hesitated before going back into the office. So what should he do now? Continue to help the Merriweather sisters and wind up spending more time with Phoebe? Or help them help Phoebe find a decent husband?
His gut twisted at the thought. Maybe he should just go home? That thought didn’t settle his gut, so he trudged back into the office, and tried not to sit to close to Phoebe to help her sort through more piles. If he did, well, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen.
Chapter Ten
The snow started up again just after noon. Lightly at first, then thickening in lazy white curtains that blurred the street and swallowed sound. Phoebe watched the flakes drift past the office windows, powdering the sill. Each hour the sky dimmed until even the lamps inside seemed to glow against a world turning steadily gray.
“You two had better not tarry,” Augusta said, sweeping past with a stack of letters clasped to her chest. “The storm will worsen before long.”
Josie peered out the window with worry. “We had a messenger boy nearly blown sideways on his way here. If you’re walking home, Phoebe, you’ll need someone to see you safely.”
Phoebe glanced toward Braxton, though she didn’t know why. Possibly because he was the only person in the room who looked like he could wrestle a bear, or a snow drift, if the situation demanded.
He met her gaze. “Don’t fret. I’ll walk you home.”
Phoebe’s stomach fluttered. “Oh. Well. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll not walk alone in this weather,” Augusta said firmly, ending the matter.
The sisters bustled upstairs to their apartment soon after, claiming they needed to prepare supper and ensure their window shutters were properly fastened. “We trust you two to close up!” Margaret called from the stairs in the back.
Phoebe shared a helpless look with Braxton. The office door on the other side of the room thudded shut behind the sisters, leaving the room oddly quiet. A hush settled across the space, broken only by the faint crackle of the small stove Braxton had stoked earlier, and the soft snoring puffs of George, who slept in a furry heap beside Phoebe’s feet.
Braxton set down a handful of mail. “Reckon we ought to finish this last stack before we go.”
“More applications from grooms,” Phoebe stated, but she didn’t sit right away. She stood for a moment, gazing out the window. Snowflakes the size of pennies drifted downward, sticking to the glass in delicate clusters. “It’s almost… peaceful,” she murmured.
Braxton came to stand beside her. “Storm’s got a way of quietin’ things. Makes you notice what’s right in front of you.”
She felt him glance her way before he turned to the window again. Phoebe swallowed. “We should work.”
“I reckon so.”
They moved back to the table. George joined them and flopped onto the floor underneath it. Without the sisters flitting about, the office was somehow smaller, warmer. Lantern light softened every corner, and for once, the place wasn’t an explosion of papers and chaos. It was simply… still.
Phoebe sat beside Braxton to share the light. Their elbows nearly touched. Nearly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was keeping his distance. He’d get close, but was careful not to brush against her in any way.
George shifted in his sleep, stretching until one of his paws rested across both their feet like an unconscious peace offering.
Phoebe smiled and reorganized another set of ink-damaged papers. “At the rate we’re working, we might even have this office restored before Val returns. Of course, I’m not sure when that will be.”
