He managed to move. One step. Then another. He stopped a few feet away, as if afraid getting too close would make her disappear.
Phoebe looked up at him, eyes bright in the lamplight. “Are you going to stand there all night?” she asked, the faintest hint of humor in her voice. “Or are you going to help me back up these slippery porch steps?”
Braxton’s chest loosened, a fraction. He nodded, because he still couldn’t trust his voice.
Phoebe stepped closer to him. “Braxton,” she said again.
He looked at her.
She held his gaze. “I’m not asking you to be perfect.”
His throat tightened. “I can’t be.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m asking you to be brave. To give me a chance.”
Braxton’s eyes stung, and he hated that, hated the weakness of it. But he didn’t look away.
“I can do that,” he whispered.
Phoebe’s smile returned, quiet and sure. “Good,” she said. “Because I’m very cold.”
Braxton blinked, startled, and then a laugh broke loose. He offered his arm, and she took it as if it had always been meant for her.
When he guided her toward the warmth of the boardinghouse door, hope rose in him again. Phoebe was willing to leave a comfortable life in Chicago to be with him. And there was only one reason she’d do that.
Braxton smiled at the thought. So, he wasn’t the only one that had fallen in love.
He smiled again and ushered her inside.
Chapter Nineteen
The Mustang Gulch Hotel…
Christmas morning Braxton woke before the sun, not because he could sleep no longer, but because he couldn’t stop listening for any sound of Phoebe coming from the next room at the boardinghouse. He had a couple of things to do while in town, and could take care of them before they left.
Braxton grinned. Phoebe was here. She’d been sent as his mail-order bride. And now it was time to take her home. He’d let the town think what it wanted.
They enjoyed Christmas breakfast at the boarding house. Mrs. Simmons the owner insisted. When it was time to leave, Phoebe stepped outside bundled in her cloak. Her cheeks went pink from the cold, her eyes clear and unafraid. Braxton’s chest tightened with a combination of gratitude and terror. She was determined to make this work. But now, so was he.
He helped her mount, handed her the one valise she brought, then mounted up behind her. What folks there were in town waved to them, calling out congratulations. Word travelled fast in Mustang Gulch.
Phoebe didn’t pepper him with questions or demand reassurances as they rode. She looked around at the open land, the fence lines partially buried in the snow, and what few trees there were.
“It’s so quiet,” she said at last.
Braxton glanced at her. “Not quite the same as Chicago, is it?”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s… bigger. Like the world has room to breathe.”
He heaved a sigh, “It’s also work.”
Phoebe’s mouth curved. “I expect that.”
“Yes, but do you know how much?” he asked. The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Phoebe turned her head toward him. “Braxton,” she said gently, “I am not naïve.”
He swallowed, feeling both chastened and oddly relieved.
