A Touch of Frost Read online

  “Do women wear them?”

  “Sure. Some. If a woman’s working the ranch, she’ll wear one.” He saw her clear skepticism. “I’ll introduce you to Willa Pancake. Willa McKenna now. She and her husband go to the same horse auctions I do. This will pin back your ears.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in. “She wears trousers, too.”

  Phoebe touched one of her ears. “I do believe it’s pinned back.” She resumed hugging her knees. “Trousers. Really?”

  “Hmm.”

  “I suppose it’s a practical choice. Like the hat.”

  “That’s right.”

  She nodded, thoughtful. “Why don’t you and Fiona get along?”

  Remington blinked. “What?”

  “Practical,” she said. “As soon as I heard myself say it, I remembered something I said to your father this afternoon, that Fiona is nothing if not practical, and then I recalled that he told me you and Fiona are like oil and water, though he didn’t say who is water and who is oil. I’m wondering what makes you that way.”

  “Your thoughts do that often? Hop like a frog from lily pad to lily pad?”

  “They do. You have to learn to follow because I generally don’t take time to explain. I made an exception.” Before he could comment, she said, “So what is the answer?”

  He shrugged. “Oil and water, like my father said.”

  “That is not an answer.”

  “It is, but I can appreciate that from where you’re sitting, it’s not a satisfactory one.”

  “Is there somewhere else I should be sitting?”

  Had she posed that question with any hint of flirtation, he would have lifted his hat and invited her onto his lap. Flippancy had no place here because the bent of her mind was serious. “Beside Fiona,” he said. “You should be sitting beside Fiona. Opposite might be better.”

  “So I can see her face when I ask her? I can understand why you’d think that, but Fiona’s had years of practice schooling her features. If you believe you know what she’s thinking or feeling, it’s because she wants you to know.”

  Remington thought that was probably true. “Just the same, you’ll have to put your question to her.” He thought that would end it, but Phoebe immediately reminded him that she did not give up the bone easily when it was between her teeth.

  “You said I was like her.”

  “Did I?”

  “You did. I remember because I don’t favor the comparison and it’s rare that I favor the person who says it.”

  “Another exception for me? I am encouraged.”

  “Don’t make me regret it. My point is—”

  He held up a hand, cutting her off. “I know your point. You’re going to say that we get along and ask me why that is.”

  “I was going to say we get along reasonably well and ask you to identify the particulars that make the difference.”

  He gave her a long, steady look. Dusk was a deeper shade of gray now, cloaking her in shadow, making her features more difficult to read. Still, the lack of inflection in her voice and that butter-wouldn’t-melt tone told him all he needed to know. “You weren’t going to say that. Nobody would say that.”

  Phoebe was not entirely successful swallowing her laughter.

  “There’s a difference,” he said. “You think I’m amusing.”

  “I think you’re a fool, but all right, I’ll allow that a fool can be amusing.”

  “And there’s another. You give it right back.”

  “You must not know Fiona very well if you think we are different there. I’ve never known her not to give it back.”

  “Not the same. Not the same at all.”

  She was quiet, then, “Sometimes Fiona can be a bit mean-spirited.”

  “A bit? Mean-spirited?” Remington drew back, took a moment to modulate his response. “She’s your sister, which is why I did not want to have this conversation, but you pushed and here we are.” He wasn’t sure Phoebe was breathing any longer so he said it quick and matter-of-fact. “Fiona is cruel.”

  Phoebe’s lips parted. She stared him. “Not always,” she said on a thread of sound. “Not even very often.”

  “I hope you are trying to convince yourself because I’m unlikely to change my mind.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “What did she do to you?”

  Remington returned his hat to his head and adjusted the brim. “Well, she didn’t hurt my feelings, if that’s what you’re thinking. As for what she did, what she continues to do, you’ll have to hear it from her.”

  “We are not talking about oil and water any longer, are we?”

  “No. And we are not only talking about me.” Because he’d said more than he meant to, Remington started to rise. He was halfway to his feet when he saw her put out a hand. He stopped. “What is it?”

  “Don’t go. It was nice. Before.”

  He sat down slowly. “It was nice.” He caught her opening her mouth to speak. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll never know for sure if you’re apologizing for her or for poking the bear.”

  “Oh.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  They were quiet then. Occasionally the swing creaked. A horse whinnied. A cow lowed. But they did not speak. It was deep into that silence that Phoebe stopped hugging her knees and straightened her legs. She used the toe of one of her soft leather ankle boots to poke him gently in the thigh.

  Remington gave a small start, looked down at her foot, and then at her. He had no difficulty making out her absurdly wide smile in the deepening shadows. “Full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Half full.” She poked him with the other toe. “All full now.” She laughed, trying to pull back when he made a grab for her foot.

  “Not so fast,” he said, circling her ankle with his hand. He didn’t try to pull her close, didn’t try to make the moment into something neither of them was ready for. Instead, he lifted her foot and placed it on his thigh and then did the same with the other. “Just leave them there,” he said, resting his hand over both. “Like that.”

  So she did. And fell asleep while he slowly rocked the swing.

  Not long after that, the bear returned to hibernation.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Fiona. “If you won’t choose a proper hat, then we are going to leave here without one.”

  “That’s fine.” Phoebe’s tone held no rancor. “Haven’t I been saying we should?” She looked to the milliner, inviting her into the argument, but saw she’d get no help from that quarter. And why should Mrs. Palmer support her? The woman not only wanted to make a sale, but also wanted to keep Fiona Frost as a satisfied customer. Seeing that she had little choice, Phoebe pointed to the red velvet cocked hat that was perched at a roguish angle on a faceless head. The underside was lined in black velvet, and bunches of osprey feathers spilled over the brim. “I like that one.”

  Fiona followed the direction of Phoebe’s finger. “That hat? I hope you are not serious. You would look like a pirate.” She turned to Mrs. Palmer. “Don’t you agree?”

  Phoebe smiled apologetically at Mrs. Palmer, whose doorknob of a chin was already quivering. The poor woman looked as if she might begin wringing her hands. “She did not mean that the way it must have sounded. It was no slight against your talent, which is considerable. She means that she could carry it off and look quite stunning in it, but if I wore it, someone would try to run me through.” She extended her arm as if she were holding a sword and slashed the air in a large X. “Arrgh.”

  “Phoebe! Whatever has gotten into you?” Fiona forcibly lowered Phoebe’s arm as she addressed the milliner. “I hope you will excuse us, Mrs. Palmer, and not judge my sister too harshly. I fear she is not yet rec
overed.” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper meant not only for Mrs. Palmer but also for the two women loitering in the corner who were hanging on every word. “The abduction, you understand.”

  “The Pirates of Penzance,” Phoebe said, adopting Fiona’s whispered aside.

  Fiona grasped Phoebe firmly by the arm. “We are leaving.” She hustled Phoebe toward the door but paused just before they exited. “I’ll have that darling red hat for myself, Mrs. Palmer, and trust you to choose something appropriate for my sister.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Frost. Yes, of course.”

  Afraid Mrs. Palmer might actually bow and scrape, Phoebe pulled away from Fiona and hurried out the door on her own steam. She waited on the boardwalk for Fiona to catch up to her.

  “You embarrassed me in there,” said Fiona. “Did you even notice we had an audience?”

  “The two women in the corner fussing over the fancy straw hat? Yes, I noticed them. I believe they will find no fault with your performance. You handled me admirably. And purchasing two hats from Mrs. Palmer before you left? You have a particular genius for improvisation.”

  “I will not be flattered into forgetting I am put out with you, but just the same, I happen to agree.”

  Phoebe laughed because she could not help herself. “Oh, Fiona, I do love you, you know.” She took three more steps before she realized Fiona was no longer walking with her. She stopped, turned, and was confronted by Fiona’s unreadable stare and colorless face. “What is it? Are you all right?” She stepped in, took her hand. “Fiona?”

  Fiona blinked. “Did you mean it?”

  Phoebe frowned. “Mean what?”

  “Hmm. I thought so.” She removed her hand from Phoebe’s. “Sometimes you can be so cruel.”

  Now it was Phoebe who blinked. Fiona’s stare was no longer unreadable. It was implacable. Phoebe quickly stepped aside when Fiona made to brush past her. “Fiona! Wait!” Her words had the opposite effect. Fiona increased her pace so that Phoebe was forced to lengthen her stride to catch up.

  They passed the feed store, the mercantile, and the land office without exchanging a word. Their kid boots lay down a soft and steady tattoo on the boardwalk. Fiona stared straight ahead, her chin bobbing occasionally to acknowledge the greeting of a passerby, while Phoebe cast her eyes all around. It did not escape her notice that no one seemed to be in expectation of engaging Fiona in conversation; they simply nodded and moved on. What Phoebe could not divine was whether this was the usual course of things, or whether it was a consequence of Fiona’s high dudgeon.

  “That was the apothecary that we just walked by,” said Phoebe. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go there?”

  “I’m not talking to you yet.”

  “I understand. I still don’t know why.”

  “And you are accounted to be so clever.” She stopped without warning and looked up and down the wide dusty street. “Where is Remington? I don’t see him, his horse, or the buggy. I don’t understand why Ben could not have accompanied us. In fact, I don’t understand why we needed anyone along.” The considering look she gave Phoebe was not a complimentary one. “It must be because of you. You draw trouble, Phoebe. You know you do.”

  “Would you prefer that I walk on the other side of the street?”

  “Hah! That is precisely what you want, isn’t it? To cut loose from me so you can meet up with Remington. I’m sure you know exactly where he is.”

  “I think he’s at the wheelwright,” Phoebe said with credible calm. “Something about one of the buggy wheels wobbling.”

  “Well, you would know that. You hang on his every word. There is something I have noticed. And I’m not the only one. Ellie’s remarked on it. So has Thaddeus. If I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, I would not be allowed that luxury.”

  “Maybe you would like to say these things when we’re alone?” When Fiona drew a breath as if she meant to continue, Phoebe suggested, “Or at least say them while we’re walking?”

  Fiona nodded stiffly, stepped down to the street from the sidewalk, and indicated Phoebe should follow. “How could you, Phoebe? How could you let yourself be seduced by him?”

  Phoebe might have stopped in her tracks if it was not for the buckboard bearing down on her.

  “Lord, watch where you’re going,” Fiona said. “And step lively. One would think you had no experience crossing Fifth Avenue at midday.”

  Phoebe was still trying to get her bearings so she did not mind when Fiona took her by the sleeve and pulled her across the street as if she were a child. When they were once again safely on the boardwalk, Phoebe hissed, “He has not seduced me.”

  “Then it’s because you went willingly. Really, Phoebe, what possessed you to share the swing with him and put your feet on his lap? As if that behavior was not egregious enough, you made it worse by falling asleep. Falling asleep!”

  “Fiona. By my calculation, that occurred nearly four weeks ago.”

  “It occurred on the second night you were here.”

  “I understand, and I do not disagree with your estimation of my behavior, but why are you only calling it to my attention now?”

  “Because I had no words before. None. But now I want to throttle you so I’m speaking my mind instead.”

  Phoebe thought she would prefer being throttled. “Nothing’s happened. Nothing. As for hanging on his words, he’s instructive, Fiona. When he has the time, which is not often in spite of what you think, he is teaching me about Twin Star, about the land, about the business of ranching. I am going to learn to ride.”

  “Thaddeus can teach you all of that.”

  “Yes, he can, and I’ve asked, but he’s the one who pointed me to Remington. First, there is the matter of his time. He wants to spend it with you. Also, he believes that his son is the better teacher.”

  “Hogwash.”

  Phoebe chuckled. “I’ve noticed you’ve acquired the local vernacular.”

  Fiona sniffed. “Here’s a word from the old neighborhood: yenta.”

  Phoebe spared a fond thought for Mrs. Jacob C. Tyler. “You’re saying he’s a busybody?”

  “Meddler,” said Fiona. “He’s meddling.”

  “Remington?”

  “No. Really, Phoebe, could you be more obtuse? I’m talking about my husband. Thaddeus is the meddler. Do you remember Mrs. Meir?”

  “The diamond merchant’s wife?”

  “The shadkhnte,” said Fiona. “The matchmaker. She brokered seventeen marriages before she died. I think Thaddeus would be happy to broker one.” Her mouth flattened as she shook her head. “The shadkhn.”

  Phoebe did not try not to laugh. She pictured Thaddeus Frost wearing Mrs. Meir’s black woolen shawl, eating kosher, and kibitzing with the other yentas. Alternatively, she saw Mrs. Meir in a Stetson and chaps. She had to stop walking to catch her breath.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m not going to even try to explain,” she said. She opened her beaded reticule, which Thaddeus had returned to her, and took out a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “Anyway, there really isn’t time.” She lifted her chin to indicate a point farther down the sidewalk. “You asked about Remington. There he is.”

  “I see him. He came out of the leather goods store. He has packages, Phoebe, and we are empty-handed.” She sighed. “Topsy-turvy.”

  “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “So say you.”

  “Why don’t we help with his packages?” Phoebe suggested. “And no one who sees us will be the wiser. Besides, we have hats waiting for us at Mrs. Palmer’s.”

  Fiona brightened. “That’s right. We do.”

  Together, they barred Remington’s path and plucked the parcels from his arms. He offered a few protests, but they would have their way, and he finally gave up everything save for the box with the carrying string.
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  Phoebe was only interested in the contents of the box he would not surrender. “What’s in there?”

  “Something I’ve been set on buying for a while now.”

  “And that would be . . .”

  “None of your business.”

  Fiona said, “Don’t wheedle him.”

  Phoebe looked askance at Remington. He was grinning. Phoebe couldn’t really blame him. It must be a relief for him to be out of Fiona’s sights. There had been quite a few barbs directed his way as they rode to town, and she doubted that he had been able to deflect all of them.

  “I want to go to the apothecary,” Fiona said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Phoebe, you should have said something. You know I wanted scented bath salts. And it occurs to me now that I am in need of headache powders.”

  Phoebe smiled weakly. She could use a packet of the powder herself. “Are we having lunch at the Butterworth?”

  “After we visit the dressmaker’s. You should have at least two new day dresses. I swear I recognize castoffs from the theater among your things. That cuirass bodice, that mossy thing I’ve seen you in, I believe I wore that when I played Nora in The Doll House.”

  “I told you that you chose the pattern, the color, and the trim. I added the tie and took it in, of course.”

  Full comprehension struck Fiona as she was preparing to step down to the street. She faltered on the lip of the walk and would have fallen if Remington had not caught her by the elbow and steadied her.

  “Are you all right, Fiona?” he asked. “Here. Let me take those parcels back.”

  Except to wave Remington away, she ignored him and turned her narrowed eyes on Phoebe. “Why, you little cat.”

  Phoebe stared back. Her green eyes, very much like a cat’s with their flecks of gold, projected only innocence in the face of Fiona’s heat. It was then that Phoebe thought Remington truly saved her, saved them both really. He stepped between them.

  “Here’s how we will proceed, ladies. Fiona, you will go to the apothecary while I escort Phoebe to the dressmaker’s. I’m assuming you’re using Mrs. Fish. Is that right?” When Fiona nodded shortly, he said, “We will meet at the Butterworth for lunch and neither of you will put a paw in the cream or claws in each other. Understood?” He waited for them to nod in turn before he blew out a long breath. “All right, then.” He assisted Fiona’s step to the street, turned, and held out a hand to Phoebe.