“None that are going to stop you.”
“I’m taking Phoebe.”
Thaddeus whistled softly but said nothing.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering if you’re asking her or abducting her.”
“Something in between. I’m telling her.”
“Huh. Do you know anything about women?”
“I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately, and I’m convinced I know all the wrong things.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” he said dryly. “It’s widely accepted that telling a woman what she’s going to do is ill-advised.”
“We’ll see.”
“Oh, we certainly will. I’m pulling up a chair to watch.”
Remington looked over at Thaddeus to judge how real that threat was. He glimpsed a hint of humor in his father’s fading smile. “What is it?” he asked. “There’s something else.”
“Not that I think it will matter to you, but Fiona’s not going to like it.”
“You’re half right. It doesn’t matter and she’llhateit.”
Thaddeus’s sigh was inaudible. “I wish...” He did not finish his thought. “Never mind. We’ve been over that ground before.”
Relieved that they would not have to walk it again, Remington said, “Appreciate that, Thaddeus. I guess if you want to pull up a chair when I talk to Phoebe, I’ll let you.”
• • •
Phoebe unwrapped her two new dresses and placed them in the wardrobe before she went hunting for Remington. She was careful not to draw attention to her search by rushing. She kept her steps slow of a purpose, stopping to chat with Ellie and stealing a sand tart from the cooling rack before she went out the back door.
She found Remington in the barn rubbing down the mare everyone called Buttercup. The name suited the horse’s golden coat but not her temperament. Phoebe hung back.
“You have an apple on your head?” asked Remington. “I think she wants a bite of you.”
Since he hadn’t yet turned around, Phoebe asked, “How did you know I was here?”
He shrugged. “She told me.”
Phoebe did not ask him to explain that or even suppose it was true. She’d noticed before that Remington seemed possessed of eyes at the back of his head. His awareness of his surroundings was uncanny, and he’d caught her out more than once watching him when she meant to be unobtrusive. Her excuse on those occasions was that she was merely daydreaming, not observing him, and how like a narcissist he was to think that was where her interest lay. She didn’t think she was entirely convincing, but she liked him for pretending to be convinced.
It was hard not to watch him now, when his every crisp move drew her eye to the muscles bunching under his shirt, but she purposefully turned her head aside and began walking the length of the barn. Aware that Buttercup was watching her, Phoebe gave the animal a wide berth as she passed.
“What are you doing?” asked Remington. He swept a brush across Buttercup’s shoulder and back. “Not you, Miss B. I know you’re preening.” He rooted around in a sack on the bench behind him and found what he wanted. “Here,this is for you.” He held two dried apple slices in the flat of his palm. They disappeared at once.
Phoebe warily eyed the empty hand that he was still holding out to Buttercup. “Aren’t you afraid she’ll bite you?”
“No.” He stroked the mare’s nose. “So tell me what you’re doing.”
“In a moment.” She looked into the last four stalls. Horses only. She pointed to the loft, a question in her eyes that she did not have to voice.
Remington followed the direction of her finger and shook his head.
“All right,” she said, approaching cautiously. “I need to speak with you.”
