“Yes. Fiona and Thaddeus can tug on it, but we will be able to see them coming.”
“It would be our home?”
“Mm-hmm. I drew plans. I’m better at that than lists. Right now we can easily accommodate four young ruffians and add on if we have to.”
“Four?”
He nodded. “It seemed right, give or take a ruffian.”
“All boys?”
He chuckled. “You surprise me, Phoebe Apple. Little girls can be ruffians, too. I had it in my mind that ours would be.”
She dug one of her heels into his thigh because she couldn’t quite kick him. “Stop it.” She swiped impatiently at her eyes. “You are going to make me cry. I swear I am not a weeper. At least I never used to be.”
He lifted her foot so it was no longer pressing into him and continued massaging. “We’ll find someone to help you once we’ve moved in. Someone who can live there and keep you company when I have to travel.”
“Then we will have to find someone to keep her company because I will be with you.”
“Oh.”
“See? This is why we should have discussions.”
“What about the young ruffians?”
“Thaddeus will just have to find someone else to send on trips. You will want to stay close. I willwantyou to stay close.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve given this some thought.”
“I have names picked out.”
“And still haven’t thought about your wedding dress. You continue to put the cart before the horse.”
She nodded. Her smile was vaguely sly. “Don’t you see? If we go on as we have been...” Here she glanced toward the bedroom. “There is every chance a child will present itself sooner rather than later. I was thinking we might continue a Frost tradition.”
A crease appeared between Remington’s eyebrows. “And what tradition is that?”
“Why, naming our child after the shotgun at our wedding, of course. Colt. Winchester. Henry. Sharp. Spencer. Springfield.”
Remington let her rattle on as he pulled her out of the chair and carried her back to bed. Really, she was very good with lists.
Chapter Thirty
Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler did not try to hide her disappointment when she clapped eyes on Caroline Carolina. The younger woman looked nothing like the vision of a bride of the multitude that Amanda Tyler had in her head.
First, there was the undeniable fact that Miss Carolina was not a recently plucked flower, which put her age somewhere north of Phoebe’s and well south of Amanda’s own. Second, there was the matter of her attire, all of which was perfectly suitable for traveling or a stroll in the park. She would hardly bring notice to herself for what she wearing except that she was wearing it very well. The walking dress was soft wool in a brightly colored plaid of a yellow, orange, red, and black. Under her skirt she wore the firmer, shelf-like bustle that added inches to her posterior and made her waist seem impossibly small. Her flat crown straw hat had a projecting brim that shaded her heart-shaped face. The hat was trimmed with roses the same shade of yellow as appeared in her dress, and a black lace frill enhanced the brim.
Mrs. Tyler and Phoebe were once again seated in an alcove in the Boxwood’s large dining room. This time, though, they were alone, as Remington was sitting with Junior at a round table closer to the kitchen. Both men rose as Miss Carolina approached their table on the arm of Deputy Blue Armstrong. Amanda leaned heavily toward Phoebe and whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Not what I was expecting, and I must say, I am a tad disappointed.”
Phoebe gave the woman a gentle push to center her backinto her chair. “Don’t stare. We don’t want to attract notice or put notice on them.”
Mrs. Tyler glanced around the dining room. The usual Sunday-after-church crowd was in attendance to partake in the hotel’s fine brunch. The gaming room was quiet and largely empty, but come two o’clock when the brunch was no longer being served, a fair number of men, most of them dedicated churchgoers, would leave their wives and sweethearts at the door and give in to the temptation of cards, dice, and drink.
“No one is paying us the least attention,” she said, raising her teacup to her lips. She continued to speak behind the delicately painted china cup. “Can you see if she is wearing a ring?”
Phoebe refused to look. “No, I can’t see. We will have our chance soon enough.” She broke a crisp strip of bacon in half, took a bite, and surveyed the dining room much as Mrs. Tyler had. “They are making introductions now,” she said. “And a girl has just approached their table to take their orders.” Her eyes moved on. “Where is your daughter-in-law this morning?”
Mrs. Tyler momentarily pursed her lips. “Molly is indisposed.”
