They crested the last rise and the ranch appeared, smoke curling from the chimney, the house sturdy against the winter landscape.
Phoebe straightened in the saddle and stared.
Braxton did his best to look at her, searching for doubt or regret. Anything to indicate she realized she’d been foolish.
Instead, her eyes softened. “It’s beautiful.”
Braxton exhaled, slow.
Ma met them on the porch, a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her gaze sharp and assessing as she took them in. She stepped forward. “You must be Phoebe.”
Braxton dismounted and helped Phoebe down. As soon as her shoes sank into snow, she faced his mother. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’s mouth softened, and she reached for Phoebe’s hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Welcome,” she said.
Something in Braxton’s chest eased. Phoebe was a petite woman, and he wasn’t sure what Ma was going to think once she finally saw her.
Inside, the house was warm and bright. Christmas greenery was tucked along the mantel in the parlor, the Christmas tree nearby. The scent of cinnamon bread and coffee lingering in the air. Ophelia and Marcus sat on the settee, their expressions curious and a little guarded. They warmed as soon as Ma started the introductions and Phoebe spoke to them with calm politeness.
Braxton knew she had to be nervous as a cat and found himself watching her in small moments. The way she paused to admire the little carved ornament he’d made when he was young. Or how she thanked Ma for hot cider she offered. The way she stood near the window, looking out at the land as though she were trying to understand it, not judge it.
Later, when the morning bustle settled into a quieter rhythm, Braxton found Phoebe alone by the tree. It was a modest pine decorated with a few candles, ribbons, and small ornaments. But the room felt different with her in it, admiring the tree the way she was. He didn’t know how, but the house felt even more like home. As if she belonged here and had finally returned.
Phoebe smiled as he approached. “Your mother is kind.”
“She’s formidable,” he corrected.
Phoebe giggled. “That too.”
Braxton stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets as if that could keep them from shaking. He didn’t think he’d be so nervous.
Phoebe studied him. “Braxton, are you all right?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
Phoebe waited as a gentle silence settled between them.
Braxton drew in a breath and pulled the velvet box from his pocket.
Phoebe’s gaze dropped to it, then lifted back to his face.
“I bought this in Chicago,” he said then rolled his eyes. “Before I lost my nerve.”
Phoebe’s eyes misted as she smiled. “Oh, Braxton…”
Braxton’s throat tightened. “I told myself I was letting you go for your own good,” he admitted. “That you wanted quiet, and I didn’t have the right to pull you into my life.”
Phoebe tilted her head. “And what was the truth?”
Braxton’s jaw clenched. “The truth was, I was afraid you’d say no if I asked you be with me.”
Phoebe’s eyes softened. “Well, it seems we’ve had some miscommunication.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I see it now. I see what I did. I took your choice away because I didn’t trust myself to survive disappointment.”
Phoebe looked down at the box again. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but steady. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you,” she admitted. “That I wouldn’t have what it takes to marry a man like you.”
Braxton flinched, shame sharp in his chest. “But you are. And I was wrong not to express my feelings. I’m sorry, Phoebe.”
