Brewer listened, thoughtful, and when Remington was done, his gaze moved to Phoebe. “Mustering the herd? That’s all you?”
“I said it, but Remington’s the one who realized it could be important.”
Remington objected. “She’s being modest. So what do you think?”
“I think there’s more merit in it than any of the things I was considering on my way out. Frankly, I wasn’t sure where to begin. Have you spoken to Les?”
“No. Wasn’t sure if I should. I trust him, but family’s family, and the Brownlee clan has considerable sprawl.”
Phoebe said, “I’ll talk to him.”
“You?” asked Brewer. “Why?”
“Because nothing about the conversation I’ll have with him will make him suspicious. I regularly make a nuisance of myself asking questions. Mostly it’s about what the men are doing, how it’s done, why it’s done, what happens if it’s not done. But I’m interested in other things, too. Where they’ve lived. If they have a sweetheart. I’ve asked about family. Les Brownlee is shyer than the rest of them. Most of the time he ducks out of the way if he sees me coming, but I’ve talked to him on occasion. Never about family, though. It’d be a new conversation. I can do that.”
“And what about this reunion idea? Do you think you can get him interested in that?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to think on whether that’s the best approach. Don’t worry. Something will occur to me.
Brewer and Remington exchanged significant looks and then nodded in unison.
“All right,” said Remington. “You talk to Les and we’ll see what happens.”
Brewer said, “I reckon you’re clever enough to talk a bear out of his honeycomb. Les Brownlee should be no kind of problem for you.” He appreciated that Phoebe beamed at the compliment, but he couldn’t help noticing that Remington beamed a little brighter.
• • •
The door to Phoebe’s bedroom opened with a theatrical flourish. Phoebe wished the covers were still over her head, but her very fine dream had come to an abrupt end when she heard the light footfalls hurrying down the hallway toward her.
She pushed herself up on her elbows in time to see Fiona all but burst into the room. Oddly enough, the first thing she noticed was the change in Fiona’s shape. Gone were the fashionable and torturous curves that Fiona affected compliments of an S-shaped corset that emphasized breasts andbottom and a fourteen-inch waist. Fiona’s rush to greet her had left her slightly breathless, but at least she looked as if she could breathe.
Phoebe had never done it before, and she could not say why she did it now, except that it seemed that she should, and that it seemed that she always should. She pushed herself up the rest of the way and opened her arms. It was gratifying to see that Fiona didn’t hesitate to rush forward and fill them.
Phoebe’s head banged the headboard when Fiona bowled her over. She expelled a lungful of air, part groan, part laughter. “Wait. Fiona. Let me sit up.”
“Oh, yes. Do. Do sit up.” Fiona grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her up as she straightened. “Are you all right?” She searched Phoebe’s face. “You are. Of course you are. And do you know what? So am I. I told him, Phoebe. I told him everything.” She gave Phoebe’s shoulders a small shake. “That’s what he did to me. Shook me. A lot harder than I’m shaking you. Shook me loose of all of it.” She dropped her hands and put one in each of Phoebe’s. “He was so angry at first. So angry but so full of love that it hurt my heart to look at him. And my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. It’s hard to talk to a man when he’s like that, like he wants to throttle you and kiss you senseless at the same time. So he shook me and it all tumbled out like dice on a craps table, and it wasn’t any prettier than that sounds, but it needed to be said.”
Tears spilled past Fiona’s lashes in spite of her effort to blink them back. She did not try to brush them away. Instead, she squeezed Phoebe’s hands even tighter. “Thaddeus told me you knew that, and that it was your idea for him to take me away from here. We had a suite at the Boxwood. Plenty of room for pacing and carrying on and making up and carrying on some more. Did you suggest that, too?”
Phoebe opened her mouth to say she had not suggested an actual room, but Fiona was going on again. “And there was a young scoundrel there who had the temerity to lock us in our suite until, he said, we could conduct a conversationthat could not be overheard in the dining room. Naturally I explained to him that I had experience on the stage and knew how to project my voice, and that Thaddeus had a holler that could give rise to a stampede, but he was unmoved.”
“You didn’t say that.”
Fiona shrugged. “Very nearly did, but we were locked in by the time I thought of it and he was already walking away. And wasn’t he just whistling to himself?” She added in confidential tones, “I think Thaddeus might have paid him to do what he did, and something about it struck me as romantic.”
“I’m imagining it.” Phoebe slipped one hand out of Fiona’s clutch and used a corner of a sheet to erase her tears. “Your nose is red.”
“Is it?”
Phoebe thought she seemed unconcerned. “And your complexion is a tad blotchy.”
Fiona sniffed. There was nothing elegant or haughty about it. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.”
“I used to think differently.” Phoebe finished dabbing at Fiona’s face and dropped the sheet. “So Thaddeus didn’t leave you in Liberty Junction. He brought you back. Imagine that.”
Fiona nodded and sighed happily. “He did. Nothing’s changed and everything’s changed. He loves me. Best of all, he knows how to love me.”
Phoebe pointed to herself. “You told him about me?”
