August smiled at Phoebe. “By hiring a temporary assistant. Phoebe Hale. Let’s face it, she’s efficient, well organized, and lives here.”
Phoebe ignored the praise. She blotted the words, folded each message neatly, and handed them to the messenger boy. “Please see that these go through as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, miss.” He stuffed the slips into his cap with great seriousness. “I’ll run.” The door closed behind him. Phoebe heaved a sigh of relief and returned to the desk and sat.
Braxton’s hands were braced on the desk. He straightened slowly, easing back before he did something foolish like cover her hand with his. “You’re… going to work here?”
Phoebe smiled at him. “I have to do something to earn money.” She blushed a deep red, her next words a whisper. “I can’t expect you to… well, do what you did for me again.”
He smiled back and lowered his voice. “I would, you know.”
She met his gaze and swallowed hard. “I don’t know how I’m going to repay you…”
He held up a hand. “You’re not.”
“Do you think it will be enough?” Augusta said, eyes still on the office door.
“It’ll be a start,” Braxton said. “We can’t fetch them ourselves, but we can give the folks in those towns’ clear directions. That’s more than we’ve been doin’ so far.”
Phoebe closed the ledger. “And we can write proper letters tonight. Explain everything, and offer what we can.”
Margaret sniffled. “We don’t deserve you two.”
Josie stepped closer, studying them both. “Look how well you work together.”
Augusta’s eyes shone. “You’re like a disaster committee.”
“Like a marriage already,” Josie said then snapped her mouth shut.
Phoebe jolted. “Oh, we’re not…”
“We only meant,” Augusta cut in. “That you make an excellent team. We’re grateful. Truly.”
Braxton watched as red crept up Phoebe’s neck. She didn’t look at him and. instead, reached for a stray envelope and dusted off imaginary crumbs.
Braxton cleared his throat. “When I came to Chicago, I thought this whole get myself a wife business would be simple.”
Phoebe glanced up.
Braxton kept his eyes on the ledger. “I figured I’d pay the fee, read a few letters, pick a sensible bride from a stack of papers, and take her home before the snow got too bad.”
Augusta made an apologetic noise.
“I didn’t bargain on a dog causing such a ruckus, a snow storm, and brides goin’ to the wrong cities,” he added, mouth twisting wryly.
Phoebe’s lips curved. “Nor did I.”
He looked at her. Really looked. “What did you expect?”
Phoebe swallowed, fingers curling in George’s fur. “I thought I would fill out a form,” she said quietly. “Answer a few questions. And the sisters would hand me a respectable, steady husband who never raised his voice. A grocer, perhaps. Or an accountant. Maybe even a preacher.”
“You wanted a quiet life,” he said.
“I wanted… a safe one,” she admitted. “Predictable. Boring, even.” She glanced at the sisters, then back at him. “It seems I was chasing an idea, not a man.”
He considered that for a moment. “You still want that? A safe, predictable life with a man who ain’t never had dirt under his nails?”
Her gaze lingered on him, his workworn hands, the faint ink smudge on his jaw, his steadiness that hadn’t wavered once while everyone else was falling apart. It was one of the things his family loved about him.
