“No, thank you,” he said, his eyes never leaving Phoebe.
She could feel the waitress’s curious gaze as she walked away. Phoebe reached for her water, took a sip, and realized she still hadn’t broken eye contact with him. This wasn’t a staring contest. This was something else.
“You never answered my question,” he said quietly.
She drew in a small breath. “Oh. I suppose I didn’t. Yes… I love to dance.”
“Good to know.” He reached for his napkin and settled it in his lap. “So do I.”
Chapter Fourteen
Braxton watched Phoebe eat. She was a dainty eater, and he wished she would simply let go and enjoy the meal. The chicken was good. Fried to a crisp golden brown, tender and juicy inside. The mashed potatoes and gravy were good too, almost as good as Ma’s. And the vegetables weren’t overcooked.
When they were finished, he ordered them both a slice of apple pie and coffee.
“Goodness, are you trying to stuff me?” Phoebe asked when Theresa left their table.
“No, but I can tell you’re still hungry. And no one goes hungry while they’re with me.” He watched her closely for a reaction.
Phoebe fidgeted in her seat and dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. She’d cleaned her plate, which told him exactly how hungry she’d been. Did she even get breakfast this morning?
When Theresa brought their pie and coffee, Phoebe again tarried as she ate, as though trying to keep herself from going too fast.
“Enjoy it, darlin’. Good food is one of life’s pleasures. It doesn’t hurt that it’s necessary for survival.”
That caught her attention. He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes.
So… she’d known hunger. Food was a necessity of life, but a terrible hardship when one couldn’t get enough of it to survive.
Braxton fought the urge to reach across the table and take her hand. He wanted to reassure her, but how could he? He hadn’t voiced his growing feelings. Partly because he didn’t want to scare her off. Ranch life was hard, and he’d painted a clear picture of what awaited the bride he brought home.
She ate her pie at the same measured pace, but she took bigger bites. It was an improvement.
When they were finished, they lingered over their coffee, then Braxton paid the check. Outside the café, he looked up one side of the street, then the other. “So, where in tarnation is a good place to shop around here?”
“Oh, um, I… I wouldn’t know.” She bit her lower lip and wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“That so? You don’t shop?”
She looked at him, and he had a sneaking suspicion she was forcing herself to. “Um, not really.”
His chest tightened. So no money for shopping either. He’d fix that. “Come on, let’s go this way. Looks like there are shops down here.” Of course, he already knew there were. What he wanted to know was wheresheliked to shop and if she bought ready-made clothes or made her own.
He thought of the clothes he’d seen her wear. Phoebe’s wardrobe wasn’t careworn, but nothing about it suggested much money either. What she did have was clean, neatly pressed, and well kept. Everything cared for as best she could manage.
“There’s a shop,” she said, pointing ahead.
Sure enough, a dressmaker’s shop was up the street, with a milliner’s shop beside it. Braxton didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside.
A tall, thin woman with gray hair pulled into a severe bun straightened behind the counter. “May I help you?” She eyed them both and made no move to come closer.
“Howdy, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “I’d like to find a few fripperies for my Ma.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to Phoebe and back. “I see.”
Braxton’s eyes widened. “This ain’t her.”
“I concluded it wasn’t.” The woman came out from behind the counter. “What were you looking for?”
