Phoebe arched a brow. “I need to be clear, then, that never once during our ride did I think about a dress or a cake.”
“Probably because you were trying so hard to stay in the saddle.” He threw up his hands to ward off her glare. “That’s not me saying that. That’s what they’d say.”
She balled up the shirt she had taken such pains to smooth and threw it at his head. He caught it easily and pitched it back underhand. “That was not at all as satisfactory as I’d hoped,” she said, unfolding the shirt again. She placed it carefully over the line. “That has to be the last of it.”
“Not quite. It would be accepted as fact that a gal who is fussin’ with her fella’s wet clothes is already hitched in her own mind, whether or not there’s been a proper exchange of vows.”
Phoebe snorted. “Now that is plain ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But that’s the customary thinking. You asked.”
“So I did.” She finished straightening the clothes and looked back to see if he intended to give her his pants. “Are you going to take those off?”
“They’re not so wet. They’ll dry quickly once I’m sitting in front of the stove again.” He looked her over, head to toe. “Do you have anything you can put on over what you’re wearing?”
Phoebe looked down at herself. She was modestly covered in her camisole and knickers, and was still wearing her socks. It occurred to her that Remington had never seen her toes. For some reason that made her grin. She wiggled them. “This is no more revealing than a bathing costume,” she said. “They are all the rage at Gravesend.”
Remington’s mouth took on a wry twist. “I’ve been to Coney Island. Just once, but it was only a year ago in July. No woman on the beach or in the water was wearing anything comparable to what you have on.”
She plucked at her camisole until it hung more loosely. “The costumes have sleeves,” she said. “I’ll give you that. And some have a skirt, but you must have observed that many women leave off the skirt and swim in bloomers.”
“Bloomers. Yes. I saw those. Bladders attached to a woman’s hips.”
Phoebe laughed. He wasn’t entirely wrong, although she might have called them balloons.
“Those women also wore stockings,” he said. “Dark stockings.”
She wiggled her toes again, drawing his attention to her feet.
“Very nice,” he said, “but I’m noticing a fair amount of bare skin between the ruffle at your knees and the top of your socks.”
“Then don’t look there.”
“You would not say that if you knew how difficult it is to look anywhere else.”
“Surely not a Herculean task.”
“Just about.” Remington tore his eyes away from her finely curved calves and met her amused gaze. “Have pity, Phoebe. Wrap yourself in that blanket.”
She shrugged. “All right. But what do folks say about courtship when the gal’s closing the barn door after she’s let the horse out?”
“Nothing about courtship, I can tell you. They’d say the gal’s feeding that horse from a bucketful of sass.” He pointed to the blanket on the mattress. “Go.”
Phoebe picked up the blanket and wrapped herself in it. It had absorbed heat from the stove and was pleasantly warm around her shoulders. She settled in, facing the fire, then drew up her knees and hugged them.
Remington added two logs to the stove then took up the other blanket and joined her. Neither of them spoke. He did not know what she was thinking as they slipped into silence, but he doubted her thoughts were very different from his. He let her dwell on them, while he came to terms with his.
An ember popped, startling them both. Remington resisted the urge to use the break in the quiet as an excuse to talk. He waited for a more propitious sign and had it when Phoebe leaned into him and set her head on his shoulder.
“We should talk,” he said. He did not add that it would be a serious discussion. She would know that.
“Yes.” Her temple rubbed his shoulder as she nodded. “Will you begin, or shall I?”
“In almost any other circumstance, I would defer to you, but I want to go first this time.”
“All right. If you’re sure.”
Remington plunged in. “I didn’t plan on sleeping with you, Phoebe, but it would be a damn lie if I told you I hadn’t thought about it. A lot. But coming out here with you today was never about more than what I thought you might remember and what I thought I might find. Do you believe that?”
