A Touch of Frost Page 13

  Phoebe saw Fiona raise her hand in what was surely going to be an imploring gesture followed by a plea for understanding or a denial of all that had preceded it. That script had been a cliché for a long time. “I think I will explore on my own,” she said quietly. Holding tight to the shredded remnants of her dignity, Phoebe turned on her heel and walked away.

  • • •

  So as not to engage Ellie in conversation when the housekeeper was preparing lunch and she herself was feeling particularly brittle, Phoebe left the house by the front door. She stood for a time on the lip of the porch, taking in the broad expanse of land before the distant mountains climbed the sky. She could see now that the road they had taken last night was hardly more than two tracks of dirt rutted by buckboard and buggy wheels. Long shafts of bright green grass were trampled by horses who were deliberately ridden clear of the road. Pink and purple and yellow wildflowers, none whose name she knew, dotted the grass and occasionally formed clusters that dipped and swayed when a breeze stirred close to the ground.

  She stepped lightly down the stairs and out from under the shadow of the porch roof and into the sunlight. The warmth on her face was lovely and she basked in it until the crick in her neck forced her to lower her head. She took a path of her own making away from the porch. When she judged she had walked far enough, she turned to face the house. Last night there had been no opportunity to take in more than its silhouette in the moonlight. Now she could see that the porch ran the formidable length of the house. There was a swing she had not noticed when she stood on the porch and two rockers on the left side of it. She would sit there later, she decided, probably on the swing, and read a book from Thaddeus’s collection, or then again, she might do nothing at all.

  The thought of doing nothing made her smile. It wasn’t possible. Doing nothing was hard work, and she didn’t have the constitution for it.

  Thaddeus came around the house on the swing side. She raised her arm and waved to him. He put up a hand to acknowledge her and then began striding toward her.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Fiona and Ellie didn’t know where you’d gone.” He took her hands, stood back, and looked her over. “Splendid, Phoebe. You look splendid. You’ll see that everything here will agree with you. The air. The sunshine. The . . . company.”

  “The cows, you mean. You are talking about the cows. I can smell them from here.”

  Chuckling, he gave her hands a shake before he dropped them. “That particular fragrance is coming from the barn, and we don’t keep cows in the barn. That’s horse manure and usually the wind’s blowing from the other direction and there’s no whiff of it here. Young Johnny is supposed to be mucking the stalls, but he’s harder to find when there’s work to be done than you are.”

  “Oh, you have work for me?”

  “Of a sort. It’s not what you think.” He turned, held out his elbow. “Will you allow me to show you around?”

  “I’d like that.” She slipped her arm in his and they started to walk. “I was going to explore on my own, but this is nicer.”

  “For me also. Ben volunteered early on, but I needed him to go back to town and bring the thoroughbred that Remington purchased in Chicago. There were two, but my son wants to keep Bullet. The horse is a good cutter, so I’ve decided I can forgive him.”

  “So the price of me being here was more than two thousand dollars. I cost you a thoroughbred.”

  Thaddeus stopped dead in his tracks. “Damn me for a clod. Is that what you heard? I wasn’t talking about the money. I was talking about my son. Fiona says my sense of humor is impoverished. That’s what she says. Impoverished. Always tickles me to hear her say so. She breaks it down to all its syllables. Might even add one that’s not supposed to be there.”

  That made Phoebe laugh. “Where is Remington?”

  “Probably trying to scare up Johnny Sutton. Could be anywhere.”

  “You gave him the photograph I gave you. Why did you do that?”

  “The way I remember it, he asked for it. Turns out it was a good thing because he might not have spotted you without it. You don’t mind that I wanted to provide you with an escort, do you?”

  “It’s hard to mind when it turned out to be a good thing as well.”

  Nodding, Thaddeus steered her around the back of the house, past where the chickens were scratching the ground and the rooster was strutting, past the smokehouse, the woodshed, the pump and troughs, and the pigpen, past the large rectangle of overturned earth and the furrows where tiny green shoots would rise soon and reveal the promise of a garden.

  He led her past the bunkhouse to the corral. The three horses inside wandered aimlessly until the smallest one spied them at the rail.

  “That’s the mare I rode,” Phoebe said. “At least I think it is.”

  “It is.”

  “Do you think she recognizes me?”

  “Maybe your smell.”

  Phoebe was quite sure that between Fiona’s bath salts and Ellie’s balm, she smelled nothing at all like she did when the mare was forced to accept her as a rider. She did not explain any of that. “You’re probably right,” she said.

  Thaddeus folded his forearms and placed them on the top rail of the corral and told her about the homestead, some of which she knew from conversations in New York, but had a better appreciation for now. He pointed out the distant grazing pastures in a pocket formed by verdant hillsides. The cattle were already beginning to move there, he told her, and by summer those that weren’t clustered around watering holes would spread like the wildflowers she’d been admiring earlier.

  Phoebe was loath to interrupt, but in good conscience, she could not allow him to go on as if there was nothing else they needed to discuss. She laid her hand on his forearm and squeezed gently. “Why am I here, Thaddeus? May I still call you that?”

  “Of course,” he said quietly.

  While he stared straight ahead, Phoebe studied his profile. She could not say it was troubled—a profile that stoic did not reveal troubled thoughts—but in the taut set of his bluntly carved features, Phoebe saw evidence of his grit and his reticence.

  “Do you want to know what I think?” she asked.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure. You scare me, Phoebe.”

  “I do not.”

  He glanced at her, an eyebrow cocked. “No? Believe that if you like.” He returned to staring straight ahead. “All right. Tell me. What do you think?”

  “It’s Fiona. I’m here because of Fiona. What has she done, Thaddeus? What is it that I’m expected to make right?”

  He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “No expectations. Just hoping.”

  “I see. Then what is it that you hope I’ll make right?”

  “She wants to leave. Me. Twin Star. It’s not one or the other. They’re one and the same.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think she understands that? Would it matter if she did?”

  “I can’t answer either of those things.” She watched him nod as if her answer did not surprise him. She said carefully, “What makes you think Fiona wants to leave? Did she tell you that?”

  “She wanted to go back to New York, allegedly—there’s a lawyer’s word for you—to bring you here.”

  “Remington told you this?”

  “Because he overheard Fiona practicing her lines.”

  Phoebe did not require an explanation. Fiona’s approach to managing or manipulating difficult situations was to compose the script in her head and find the right tone by engaging in a conversation with an imaginary partner. Sometimes she would speak in front of her vanity mirror to find complementary expressions, but just as often, she spoke aloud as she paced the floor or soaked in her bath.

  “You said ‘allegedly.’ Is that because you don’t believe her? The part about bringing me here, I mean.”

  “That
’s right. That’s my judgment, not my son’s. He encouraged me to confront her, hear it from her. It was one of the few times I did not take his advice. I chose to head her off at the pass, so to speak.”

  “I understand. You invited me and told her afterward.”

  “Yes. God help me, Phoebe, I couldn’t let her go and just pray that she’d come back. In the first place, I’m not much for praying. Haven’t been since my Mary died. In the second place, they say God helps those who help themselves.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? I can’t lose her, Phoebe. Sure, I know she’s a stick of dynamite, knew that right off. She has so many airs that it’s a wonder she doesn’t float herself back to New York. I knew that and plenty more about her when I proposed, and if I hadn’t figured it out for myself, you had a way of dropping hints that I couldn’t ignore.”

  “Breadcrumbs,” she said. “Apparently I drop breadcrumbs.” When she saw his confusion, she shook her head. “Not important. What is it you’d like me to do?”

  “Well, you being here is a good start. By accepting my invitation, you took away her excuse to go back to the city.”

  “You’re not keeping her prisoner, are you?”

  “Hell no.”

  Phoebe gave a start when he slapped the heel of his hand on the rail to emphasize his denial, but then she caught his sidelong glance and definitely saw guilt there. “Thaddeus?”

  “This is why you scare me, Phoebe. I have a feeling you’ve always seen too damn much, pardon the language.”

  “I don’t care about the language. Tell me what else you’ve done.”

  He pushed away from the rail, turned around, and settled his back against it. He crossed his arms. “I keep a tight rein on the household accounts. When I started getting an inkling that she was thinking in that particular way—and that was before Remington told me what he heard—I stopped giving her an allowance. I opened up store credit for her instead. Always had it at the mercantile, the feed store, leather goods, and such, but I set up credit at the dressmaker’s, the milliner’s, and the drugstore because Fiona does like her bath salts, soaps, and specially made fragrances. She has everything she needs but not the one thing she wants.”

  “And you think that’s a ticket in her hand?”

  “The money to buy a ticket. Yes.”

  Phoebe said, “Is there more?”

  “I don’t let her go to town alone any longer. There’s always a reason to send someone with her. Usually Ben goes along. She tolerates him better than the others.”

  “Really? I thought it would be Remington.”

  Thaddeus shrugged. “They’re a little like oil and water. They can be together for a while, but they prefer to be separate. It’s all right. Better than gun powder and a lighted match.”

  Phoebe supposed that was true enough. “She wanted to take me shopping today. Would you have permitted that?”

  “Of course. That’s even better.”

  “I have a little money. You’re not worried that I’ll buy her a ticket?”

  “I am depending on you to spend your money more wisely.”

  Phoebe said nothing.

  “You will, won’t you?”

  “I’m not answering, and if I discover my money’s missing and you are the culprit, you will not like what I will do to get it back. I will promise you, though, I will not tell Fiona that I have it, nor will I put it anywhere she’s likely to find it. You’ll have to be satisfied with that. Besides, I think you hold enough sway in Frost Falls that you could persuade the station agent not to sell her a ticket.”

  “Oh, I’ve already done that, but if she had the means, she could always get someone else to purchase one for her.”

  Phoebe regarded him steadily until he was the one who looked away.

  “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, or what I’m doing, but I am a proud man, and I love her, Phoebe. I love her.”

  “Do you think I never came to know that?” she asked. “But Fiona can be careless with a man’s heart, and I worried on your account because I liked you so well. She’s never said ‘yes’ before. Not to a proposal. Did you know that?”

  “She told me.”

  “You probably didn’t believe her but it’s the truth. You need to do more than remember that. You need to embrace it. She had reasons for saying ‘yes’ to you. There were practical considerations, I’m sure, because Fiona is nothing if not practical, but she is also a romantic and in your case I believe love did not merely rule her heart. It ruled her head.”

  Frowning, Thaddeus used his thumb and middle finger to smooth his eyebrows. He closed his eyes briefly. “What are you saying?”

  “Look at me, Thaddeus.” When he did, she lifted her chin and regarded him frankly. “I am saying, quite plainly I thought, that Fiona married for love, and if she wants to leave, it is because you have been careless with her heart.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “May I join you?” Remington stood beside the porch swing, one hand on the chain. Phoebe was either ignoring him or so deep in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear. He decided he’d go with the latter and put the question to her again. When her head came up suddenly, he knew he had chosen correctly.

  She inched closer to the far arm of the swing to give him plenty of room. The swing bounced a bit when he sat, but the movement stopped once he stretched his legs and used his boot heels to keep it steady.

  “Have I thanked you?” she asked without looking at him. It was late in the day and dusk was settling over the ranch, muting the colors that been so vibrant this afternoon. “I can’t remember if I thanked you.”

  “I don’t recall if you said it outright, but it’s never crossed my mind that you weren’t grateful. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “I’ve never been good at leaving a thing. It niggles.”

  “That doesn’t sound restful.”

  “It’s not, so thank you.”

  “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. He turned 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 li
ke 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. Very fetching.”

  “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. It is very 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?”