“No, ma’am. I didn’t come here for a dog. I came for a wife.” He glanced at Phoebe and back. “One that can handle living on a large cattle ranch.”
Phoebe tried not to sigh. That counted her out. So, she was right back to square one. How was she going to speed things along so she could get out of Chicago and into a new life before her landlord came after her?
Mr. Jones looked around the office. “Maybe this is a bad time?” He pulled out a pocket watch and flipped it open. “I have another appointment. I can come back tomorrow…”
“Me too,” Phoebe said and headed for the door. Maybe she needed to re-think this. But then, what other choice did she have?
Chapter Three
The next morning, Phoebe returned to The Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company. As soon as she entered the office, she considered stepping back outside. What was the point? The place didn’t look any more organized than it did yesterday.
The thought was lost when George spied her, making her cringe. He trotted over, his hind end wiggling, and dropped a folded paper at her feet.
She looked down at him. “Um, good boy, George.”
He gave a short bark, as if confirming his good deed, then turned and sat on her toes.
“Oh dear,” Augusta said as she entered the office area from the other side of the room. “Miss Hale. We weren’t expecting you so early.”
Phoebe bent to pick up the paper. It was crumpled at the corner and bore teeth marks along one edge. “Good morning, Miss Merriweather.” She straightened, tucking the battered sheet into a basket on the nearest desk. “I only came by to see if there had been any word about… well.” She glanced at the desks covered in various files and papers. “I can come back later if you’d like.”
Margaret hurried forward with a quick shake of her head. “No, no, you’re most welcome. We simply had a bit more excitement yesterday after you and Mr. Jones left. George and Cleopatra, our cat, they were fighting again, and then the ink spilled, and…”
“Margaret,” Augusta said, cutting her off.
Margaret pressed her lips together.
Phoebe stepped farther into the office, careful to avoid the scattered papers and a broken bit of ornament. That’s when she noticed the Christmas tree. It listed to one side toward the wall in a resigned slouch. George stood, catching her attention, and she saw a ribbon looped around one of his legs. “I see you’ve had a busy morning,” she said. “Decorating were you?” Who knew how the dog got one leg wrapped in ribbon?
Augusta gave a crisp nod. “I do apologize for the state of the office. We had a small… episode… with our new lodger.” She gave the dog a pointed look.
George rolled onto his back and waved his paws in the air.
Phoebe had to stifle a giggle. “I can see that.”
“What you see,” Augusta said. “Is not our usual standard of organization.”
Josie entered the office and dropped a pile of letters on an empty chair. Half of them slid onto the floor.
Augusta smiled. “Well. Our almost-usual standard.”
Phoebe watched one envelope drift to the floor. George trotted over and sniffed it with interest. “If you like,” she heard herself say. “I could help you tidy things up around here. Just for the morning.”
Three heads turned at once.
“You would?” Margaret asked.
Phoebe nodded. Her stomach fluttered, but the decision seemed sensible. The better organized the sisters were, the sooner they could find her a husband. “I’ve a little time today, and it’s no trouble. I like things in order.” She glanced at the nearest desk, where papers lay in small, precarious piles. “If it would help.”
Augusta clasped her hands together. “Miss Hale, you are an angel!”
Margaret stepped closer and took Phoebe’s arm, steering her toward the center of the room. “You’re a natural organizer. I can tell.”
She smiled at Margaret, then slipped off her gloves and laid them neatly on a chair. “Right then, let’s get to work.” She drew in a steadying breath and bent to the nearest stack of papers.
George followed her, hind end wagging, as the office door opened. Phoebe straightened with a handful of applications. Braxton Jones stepped inside. Snow dusted the shoulders of his coat and the brim of his hat, which he removed as soon as he crossed the threshold.
He stopped just inside the office and took in the scene. Loose papers atop each desk, the lopsided tree, ink stains on files. And of course, George on his back again with the ribbon around his leg. Phoebe stood in the middle of it all, holding a stack of applications and tried to look away. It was hard. Mr. Jones was a handsome man.
