“No,” she said, very softly. “I don’t think I do.”
The room seemed to tighten around them.
“I used to think I wanted a woman who looked good standing beside me while I talked to the bank.”
Phoebe’s throat went dry. “And now?”
He held her gaze. “Now I think I want someone who fits in the mess that seems to be my life.”
She searched his eyes, but he wasn’t sure what she was looking for. “You deserve someone who understands your life,” she said. “The land, work. Your family.”
“Maybe I already found someone who understands more than I gave her credit for,” he said.
She blushed and looked down, suddenly fascinated by George’s ears.
Margaret clapped her hands softly. “Well. That settles it.”
Phoebe blinked. “Settles… what?”
“That you two are in charge of disasters from now on,” Margaret said. “We clearly can’t be trusted.”
Augusta nodded. “Yes. From this moment, any telegram, or tangled file goes through your hands first.”
Josie sniffed. “We’ll stick to tea and biscuits.”
Braxton huffed a laugh. “Reckon we can manage that.”
“We’ll do our best,” Phoebe said with a smile. “But what are you going to do if both of us are gone before your assistant returns from Wild Rose Ridge?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Augusta said. “The way things are going, we might not find what the two of you need until after Christmas.” She turned to Braxton. “We wouldn’t blame you if you left for home before then, Mr. Jones.” She gave them a parting nod. “I’m going to make some tea. Sisters, come along and help me.”
The three drifted toward the back room, arguing quietly about whose teapot had the fewer chips. George yawned and flopped onto his side, rolling until his back rested against Braxton’s boots and his paws touched Phoebe’s skirt.
Braxton watched Phoebe as she reopened the ledger, carefully drawing a line beneath the latest entries. She wrote the words “Silver Falls / St. Louis. Resolution in progress” with steady strokes.
She’d come here alone, desperate, clinging to the promise of a faceless, sensible husband. Now she sat in the middle of chaos, ink on her cuff, dog hair on her hem, quietly putting the world back in order.
Braxton felt something in his chest settle. There might not be a perfect match written in some misfiled packet, or some letter tucked into a ledger book. The sisters’ promises had crumbled like stale biscuits. But there was this woman. In this office. In this mess.
Maybe he didn’t need a name on a form. Could it be, he just needed her?
But Braxton wasn’t ready to say it aloud. Not yet. But for the first time since arriving in Chicago, he knew exactly what he wanted. And it wasn’t a bride on paper.
It was a partner in the middle of a storm.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mercy me, what a day,” Margaret said.
She eyed George. His head came up, and he let out a soft “woof.”
“You need to be walked.”
“I’ll do it,” Braxton said. He stood, stretched, and made his way around the table where he and Phoebe were working. He smiled at her. “Want to come along?”
She stared at him a moment. He’d never invited her along before. She could use the break. “Yes, thank you for asking.” Phoebe left her chair. “Are you taking him to the park?”
“Of course. He likes it there,” Braxton said. “I’m not sure how long you’re going to last in those.” He gave her shoes a pointed look.
