Remington held his breath as the front door opened. He was aware of silence rolling through the gathering as one by one people stopped talking and turned their attention to the porch. Standing at his side, Thaddeus whispered a caution. “You’re about to take the ride of your life.”
Remington was sure that was true.
She was something more than enchanting. When Phoebe stepped off the shaded porch and into the sunshine, she was very nearly ethereal. Light wreathed her hair; the seed pearls turned opalescent. A becoming blush colored her cheeks pink. Her lips were a darker shade of rose. Remington suspected she had been worrying them up until the moment she opened the door, and that she had found the courage to come out anyway, made him smile.
Her white silk dress fairly gleamed as she approached. In spite of everyone’s efforts, the carpet of grass the ranch hands had laid down had been trampled to virtually nothing, and the hem and train of the gown stirred puffs of dust where they dragged the ground. The cone-shaped skirt, supported by a rustling taffeta petticoat, flared wide and swung softly from side to side with each step.
The bodice fit her as closely as a kid glove, emphasizing the waist he could almost circle with his hands. From elbow to wrist, the sleeves were tight, but from shoulder to elbow they ballooned in the leg-o’-mutton style that was both fashionable and elegant.
There was an appliqué of beadwork in the bodice that extended into the skirt, a long curlicue that twisted and swirled until it disappeared into the folds of the gown. It teased the eye, winking and sparkling. It glittered, but no more than the flecks of gold in Phoebe’s green eyes. That’s where Remington’s real attention was drawn. The first chance he had, he promised he would lose himself in those eyes.
The opportunity presented itself sooner than he expected. She stepped into his circle, closer than arm’s length, and tilted her head upward. Her smile was shy, but her eyes were confident. He was prepared to drown in those unfathomable depths, but she took his hand and saved him from himself.
The ceremony was a civil one, performed by the Honorable Judge Richard Miner, the same judge who liked to play cards at the Boxwood, the one Phoebe failed to meet when he came to their table. He presided with a solemn, dignifiedair that he was rarely inclined to use from the bench, but then he was rarely as sober as a judge on those occasions.
He did right by them, articulating each word so they could repeat their vows clearly and with conviction. Some guests thought he sounded as if he were handing down a sentence, and some among them who were married, perhaps not as happily as others, thought a sentence described marriage exactly as it was.
Neither Phoebe nor Remington shared that view, at least not its undesirable connotations, and when it was time to give her the ring, Thaddeus had it at the ready. Remington took it from the heart of his father’s open palm at the same time he raised Phoebe’s hand. She held her gaze steady, her eyes awash with sudden tears. His own vision was a little misty. “My mother’s,” he whispered, slipping the gold band on her finger.
There were more words, then. Traditional words. Phoebe’s hand was warm in his, and only he knew there was a delicate tremble in her fingers. Only she knew how hard he had to swallow before he spoke.
Buggies and wagons were still arriving as Judge Miner called for the kiss in the manner of a man lowering his gavel. To the delight of everyone, Remington swung his bride back over one arm and made the moment a memory that would last. She gasped. He chuckled. The kiss began with a matched pair of smiles, a bit secretive, more than a bit wicked. There was whooping and hollering. Young girls blushed. Young boys stared open-mouthed and envious. Thaddeus caught Fiona by the waist and pulled her close, and when the kiss did not end in a timely manner, Johnny Sutton began a round of foot stomping and clapping that others quickly picked up.
It was like thunder in Phoebe’s ears, but Remington barely heard it above the pounding of his heart.
They were both laughing a little breathlessly when Remington ended the kiss and they were finally standing side by side. Judge Miner introduced the couple to another round of applause and, having completed his duties, called out for someone to tap a keg and be quick about it.
There was no formal receiving line, but it seemed toPhoebe that everyone, or nearly everyone, sought them out to wish them well. She glimpsed Ellie Madison several times, usually in a clutch of people that included Ben and at least one of the other hands. She understood why Ellie did not approach. With Fiona and Thaddeus standing close by, Ellie’s presence would have been, at the very least, awkward, and perhaps unwanted, and while all parties would have been on their best behavior, there was no good reason to tempt a drama.
Phoebe promised herself she would seek Ellie out later and make sure she was properly welcomed. Even Fiona had expressed feeling charitable toward Ellie of late; it was Thaddeus who, by his stony silence, communicated disapproval.
Remington inclined his head a few degrees toward Phoebe and whispered out of the side of his mouth. “If one more person congratulates me with a hearty clap on the back, I’m going to slug him.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when Jackson Brewer sidled up and did just that. Remington smiled through gritted teeth. “I am sorely tempted,” he said.
Only Phoebe understood what he meant and she ignored him in favor of greeting Addie Brewer, who she recalled was Remington’s first love when he was a student in her classroom. Those school days became fodder for some good-natured ribbing at Remington’s expense until Jackson swept his wife away.
Phoebe slipped her arm through her husband’s. “You bore that very well. And no one was slugged. I credit your deep well of patience.”
“Uh-huh.” He underscored his dry response with an even drier look.
Thaddeus closed in just then. “The dancing’s about to begin as long as you begin it. Les has his fiddle out. Hank Greely brought his and Bob Washburn has his banjo. I told them to set up on the porch.”
People parted around them as soon as Les Brownlee scratched out the first few notes tuning his instrument. When the playing began in earnest, Remington and Phoebe were ready.
It occurred to Phoebe that they had never danced together, but that did not seem to matter. Without knowing the steps or the tune or even if she would ever catch her breath again, she held him, held on, and followed his lead through a series of spins and dips and sashays that were unlike anything she had known. It was not long before Fiona and Thaddeus joined them, and then the sheriff and his wife, and soon the center of the front yard was filled with a kaleidoscope of color as men twirled their ladies and the ladies twirled their skirts. There was enough stomping to shake the ground and enough raucous laughter to wake the dead.
Phoebe changed partners frequently, beginning when Thaddeus caught her in his arms. At first she looked wildly around to make sure Fiona was not abandoned, but then she saw Remington stepping in with no hesitation and Fiona accepting in the same manner.
Thaddeus saw the direction of her glance. “They’ll be fine. Have you noticed? It is better every day.”
Phoebe nodded because speaking would have meant losing her rhythm. She was not as confident of Thaddeus’s lead as she had been of Remington’s.
“I am to be congratulated, of course,” he said. “Fiona called me ashadkhn. Am I saying that right?”
Phoebe nodded again.
“I thought she was cursing me at first, and perhaps she was. She didn’t think Remington was right for you, or you for him, but I knew. I knew from the first. And that was when I met you in New York, not when I saw the two of you together. Not bad, I think, for an old man.”
Before Phoebe could think of a response, let alone manage one, she found herself in the sheriff’s arms. And so it went from partner to partner until Remington caught her again and twirled her out of the center of the circle to the edge of it. Someone—she did not know who—put a glass of beer in her hand and she drank it with the gusto of a cowboy bellying up to the bar after months on the range.
