Inside, they got George settled and put the leash away. Then Braxton announced he was taking Phoebe to lunch.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Augusta said. “Have a good time, you two, and don’t worry about us. We have everything under control.”
The three sisters grinned at them, making Phoebe cringe.
Thankfully, George had crawled under the table and was settling in for a nap. At least he wasn’t going to cause any immediate trouble or chew up any files. Everything had been put out of his reach.
Braxton offered Phoebe his arm. “Shall we?”
She took it with a smile, and they left the building.
Outside, he headed up the street as if he knew exactly where he was going. “You have a place in mind?” she asked.
“I do. There’s a lovely café not far from here. I don’t know if you’ve noticed it. I pass it on my way from the boardinghouse I’m staying in. I have to admit; I’m going to miss the peace and quiet of that place.”
“I take it it’s not that quiet on your ranch,” she said.
Braxton laughed. “Yes and no. Ma gets to ordering everyone around when she’s in a mood, and Ophelia—my brother’s wife—butts heads with her now and then. Otherwise, things are calm. Though sometimes there are arguments in the kitchen over who’s the best cook.”
“Who is the best cook?” she asked with a laugh. “Or do you keep your opinions to yourself to keep the peace?”
“Something like that,” he said with a chuckle. “The ranch hands have their own cook among them. Jasper Owens runs the chuck wagon when we do cattle drives instead of transporting them by train.”
“Do you transport most of your cattle by train now?” she asked, curious.
“We do, but we still have to round them up. Our spread is pretty big.”
She smiled and nodded, leaving it at that.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the café, and she studied the exterior as they approached.
The Yellow Bird Café had multi-pane windows that overlooked the street. The sign was yellow with red lettering, and a small bird perched on a branch, musical notes painted beside its beak. Inside, it was quaint, with a fireplace on one wall and more space than Phoebe expected. Tables were placed a decent distance apart, giving patrons a measure of privacy.
Braxton headed for a table for two near the fireplace.
“Mr. Jones,” a waitress said as she approached. “It’s so nice to see you again.”
She didn’t give Phoebe a second glance.
“Yes,” he said, pulling out a chair for Phoebe. He waited for her to sit, scooted her in, then took his own seat. “Two menus, please, Theresa.”
“Right away, Mr. Jones.” She hurried off, and Phoebe smiled at him.
“You come here often?” she teased.
“Often enough. If I’m not having breakfast at the boarding house, I have it here. Along with the occasional late lunch or dinner.”
Phoebe nodded in understanding. She’d gotten back to her own boarding house later than she should and missed dinner entirely more than once.
He watched her a moment, and Phoebe forced herself to sit still. It wouldn’t do to start fidgeting.
“Do you get enough to eat, Phoebe?” he asked, taking her by surprise.
Good grief, could the man read minds? “Yes, of… course. What makes you say that?” she stammered.
He shrugged. “Maybe the way you wolfed down those chestnuts. And I can see you’ve lost a little weight since I first met you.”
Was he truly a mind reader? How could he notice such a thing? Had she lost weight? Her skirtswerea little looser of late, and she’d missed more than a few dinners getting home late and all.
