“My pleasure.” He grinned when her laughter mocked the idea. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“No, it couldn’t have been a pleasure, and you’re a liar to say so.”
He chuckled under his breath.
Their silence was easy. Remington gave the swing a small push every once in a while and let it sway until it stopped on its own. He removed his hat, dropped it beside him on the porch, and pushed a hand through his hair. Heturned so that he was angled in the corner of the swing and thought about closing his eyes until he realized she was watching him. He merely lifted an eyebrow.
Phoebe shrugged and looked away.
“Oh, no,” he said. “Tell me. I don’t like the niggles either.”
That made her smile. “If you must know, I was thinking that you aren’t without your hat often. There was the train, of course, after you were knocked senseless, but I couldn’t truly pay attention then. Tonight, though, you weren’t wearing your hat at dinner, and it was the first I’ve seen you without it for longer than it takes you to plow furrows in your hair. Until now.”
Remington’s hand went straight to his head, only this time he didn’t rake his hair. Instead he feigned a deeply thoughtful expression as he rubbed behind his ear. “Yes, well, Ellie won’t cuff you for wearing a hat at the table.”
“That explains dinner. What explains now?”
He dropped his hand to the arm of the swing. “End of the day, I suppose. I don’t sleep in it.”
“I wondered.” Her gaze drifted past him as she tried to get a look at the hat.
“You want to try it on?” he asked.
“I do. Could I?”
In answer, Remington scooped it up and presented it to her.
Phoebe did not put it on immediately. Holding the brim in both hands, she turned it slowly, studying it. “Shoulders wore a black hat like this. So did the others.”
“A hat like that is common around here.”
“This isn’t.” She fingered the silver band. “I don’t remember anything like this on their hats.”
“That’s a good observation. I’ll take it off if I decide to rob a train.”
She smirked and lifted the hat above her head. “Are you certain you don’t mind?”
“I wouldn’t give it to another man to put on, but you’re not going to stretch it.”
“God forbid.”
He looked pointedly at her feet. “Would you allow Fiona to put on your shoes?”
“Not if I wanted to wear them comfortably again.”
“Exactly. Go. Put it on.”
Phoebe lowered the hat carefully. It would have slipped to her eyebrows if not for the thick twist of hair at the back of her head. She did not try to force it past the combs. “Well?” she asked, raising her head as carefully as if she were balancing a stack of books.
“Fetching.” He leaned over. “Here. Let me.” He adjusted the tilt and reshaped the brim then sat back and critically regarded his work. “I stand corrected.Veryfetching.”
“Fool.” But that pronouncement did not keep her from leaving the swing to go to the front room window. She angled her head from side to side trying to catch her reflection in the glass. “I believe you are right. Itisvery fetching.” She turned to him. “Oh, you needn’t be smug about it. I’m sure you’ve been right before.”
“Once. Maybe twice.”
Shaking her head, amused, Phoebe returned his hat on her way back to the swing. When she sat this time, she swiveled sideways and rested her back against the arm. She lifted her feet onto the seat, hugged her knees to her chest, and made certain her skirt remained a modest cover.
Remington set the hat in his lap, fingered the brim. “Do you think you’d like one?”
