Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The Mustang Gulch Hotel…
Christmas morning Braxton woke before the sun, not because he could sleep no longer, but because he couldn’t stop listening for any sound of Phoebe coming from the next room at the boardinghouse. He had a couple of things to do while in town, and could take care of them before they left.
Braxton grinned. Phoebe was here. She’d been sent as his mail-order bride. And now it was time to take her home. He’d let the town think what it wanted.
They enjoyed Christmas breakfast at the boarding house.
Mrs. Simmons the owner insisted. When it was time to leave, Phoebe stepped outside bundled in her cloak.
Her cheeks went pink from the cold, her eyes clear and unafraid.
Braxton’s chest tightened with a combination of gratitude and terror.
She was determined to make this work. But now, so was he.
He helped her mount, handed her the one valise she brought, then mounted up behind her. What folks there were in town waved to them, calling out congratulations. Word travelled fast in Mustang Gulch.
Phoebe didn’t pepper him with questions or demand reassurances as they rode. She looked around at the open land, the fence lines partially buried in the snow, and what few trees there were.
“It’s so quiet,” she said at last.
Braxton glanced at her. “Not quite the same as Chicago, is it?”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s… bigger. Like the world has room to breathe.”
He heaved a sigh, “It’s also work.”
Phoebe’s mouth curved. “I expect that.”
“Yes, but do you know how much?” he asked. The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Phoebe turned her head toward him. “Braxton,” she said gently, “I am not na?ve.”
He swallowed, feeling both chastened and oddly relieved.
They crested the last rise and the ranch appeared, smoke curling from the chimney, the house sturdy against the winter landscape.
Phoebe straightened in the saddle and stared.
Braxton did his best to look at her, searching for doubt or regret. Anything to indicate she realized she’d been foolish.
Instead, her eyes softened. “It’s beautiful.”
Braxton exhaled, slow.
Ma met them on the porch, a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. Her gaze sharp and assessing as she took them in. She stepped forward. “You must be Phoebe.”
Braxton dismounted and helped Phoebe down. As soon as her shoes sank into snow, she faced his mother. “Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’s mouth softened, and she reached for Phoebe’s hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Welcome,” she said.
Something in Braxton’s chest eased. Phoebe was a petite woman, and he wasn’t sure what Ma was going to think once she finally saw her.
Inside, the house was warm and bright. Christmas greenery was tucked along the mantel in the parlor, the Christmas tree nearby.
The scent of cinnamon bread and coffee lingering in the air.
Ophelia and Marcus sat on the settee, their expressions curious and a little guarded.
They warmed as soon as Ma started the introductions and Phoebe spoke to them with calm politeness.
Braxton knew she had to be nervous as a cat and found himself watching her in small moments.
The way she paused to admire the little carved ornament he’d made when he was young.
Or how she thanked Ma for hot cider she offered.
The way she stood near the window, looking out at the land as though she were trying to understand it, not judge it.
Later, when the morning bustle settled into a quieter rhythm, Braxton found Phoebe alone by the tree.
It was a modest pine decorated with a few candles, ribbons, and small ornaments.
But the room felt different with her in it, admiring the tree the way she was.
He didn’t know how, but the house felt even more like home.
As if she belonged here and had finally returned.
Phoebe smiled as he approached. “Your mother is kind.”
“She’s formidable,” he corrected.
Phoebe giggled. “That too.”
Braxton stopped a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets as if that could keep them from shaking. He didn’t think he’d be so nervous.
Phoebe studied him. “Braxton, are you all right?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
Phoebe waited as a gentle silence settled between them.
Braxton drew in a breath and pulled the velvet box from his pocket.
Phoebe’s gaze dropped to it, then lifted back to his face.
“I bought this in Chicago,” he said then rolled his eyes. “Before I lost my nerve.”
Phoebe’s eyes misted as she smiled. “Oh, Braxton…”
Braxton’s throat tightened. “I told myself I was letting you go for your own good,” he admitted. “That you wanted quiet, and I didn’t have the right to pull you into my life.”
Phoebe tilted her head. “And what was the truth?”
Braxton’s jaw clenched. “The truth was, I was afraid you’d say no if I asked you be with me.”
Phoebe’s eyes softened. “Well, it seems we’ve had some miscommunication.”
“I know,” he whispered. “But I need you to know I see it now. I see what I did. I took your choice away because I didn’t trust myself to survive disappointment.”
Phoebe looked down at the box again. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but steady. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you,” she admitted. “That I wouldn’t have what it takes to marry a man like you.”
Braxton flinched, shame sharp in his chest. “But you are. And I was wrong not to express my feelings. I’m sorry, Phoebe.”
Phoebe lifted her gaze. “You were… frightened.”
Braxton’s breath shook. “Phoebe…”
She stepped closer. “You were afraid of offering me this.” She gestured toward the parlor windows and the ranch beyond. “Afraid it would be too hard, too wild.”
Braxton nodded once, because denying it would be an insult.
Phoebe’s mouth softened. “I thought I wanted a quiet life. But maybe what I wanted was a life where I wasn’t always bracing for the next blow.”
Braxton stared at her.
Phoebe met his gaze. “And I don’t feel like I have to brace here,” she said.
His chest squeezed painfully. “You don’t know the hard parts yet.”
Phoebe’s eyes didn’t waver. “No,” she agreed. “But I know what it feels like to be alone in a crowded city and to work hard and still feel disposable. And I know what it feels like to be treated as though I should be grateful for scraps.”
She paused, and her voice softened further. “And now I know what it feels like when a man looks at me like I’m… worth choosing.”
Braxton’s throat closed.
Phoebe reached out and laid her hand lightly over his. “I didn’t come here because your life is easy. I came here because your life is honest.”
Braxton’s eyes burned. He looked down quickly, but it didn’t help.
Phoebe’s fingers tightened. “Ask me,” she whispered.
Braxton lowered himself to one knee before the tree.
The room grew quiet, as if the house had decided to listen to what he had to say. He opened the box. The ring gleamed softly in the candlelight. “Phoebe,” he began, voice rough. “I can’t promise you perfection. I can’t promise you a life without hard days.”
Phoebe’s lips parted as her eyes misted again.
Braxton swallowed. “But I can promise you I won’t run from you again. I won’t let fear do my choosing. I’ll choose you every day.” He drew a breath. “Phoebe, I love you. Will you…”
“Yes!” Phoebe blurted, before he could finish. She bit her lower lip as a tear cut a path down one cheek.
Braxton froze.
She laughed. “A thousand times yes.” She blinked back tears. “I love you too.”
Braxton laughed as he reached for her hand, careful and reverent, and slid the ring onto her finger.
Phoebe looked down at it, then back at him. “You’re going to have to stand up,” she murmured.
Braxton rose, and the moment he was upright she closed the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pressed her cheek against his chest like she belonged there.
He held her, careful at first, then tighter, as if his body finally understood what his heart had been trying to say.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Braxton blinked, startled. Phoebe pulled back a little, both turning as his mother cut across the foyer.
When she opened the door, Preacher Ewes stood there, hat in hand, cheeks red from the cold, his eyes bright with humor. “Well,” he said, catching sight of Braxton and Phoebe by the tree. “Looks like I arrived at the right time.”
Ma’s mouth quirked. “You did,” she said. “I was eavesdropping here in the hall and heard the whole thing. Come in before your ears freeze off.”
The preacher stepped inside, rubbing his hands. “Merry Christmas,” he said warmly. His gaze landed on the ring Phoebe now wore. His smile widened. “Did you get to witness the proposal too, Dorthea?”
“I sure did. They were so wrapped up with making calf eyes at each other, they didn’t even notice me.” Ma gave them a wide grin.
Phoebe’s cheeks colored as Braxton cleared his throat. “Preacher Ewes,” he said, voice still rough, “if you’re willing… we’d like to be married today.”
The preacher’s eyes crinkled. “That’s why I’m here, son” he said with a wink. “I take it she said yes.”
Phoebe smiled. “You knew to come?”
Preacher Ewes took off his hat and twisted it in his hands a few times. “Braxton got me up bright and early this morning and told me he wanted to be married for Christmas. How could I refuse. Though Mrs. Ewes would like me home in time for Christmas dinner.”
Ma clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! I’ll fetch everyone!”
Before Phoebe could blink, the parlor was full. Braxton’s family gathered close, while ranch hands crowded politely near the walls. All of them wearing the same expression, as though they’d just realized they were about to witness a wedding and had decided, collectively, to stay put.
There was no fuss, no spectacle. Just Phoebe, Braxton, and Preacher Ewes before the simple Christmas tree. And, of course, the warmth of a house that had already started making room for Phoebe without being asked.
Braxton took Phoebe’s hands in his and she saw the love in his eyes. How did he hide it so well before? Or had she been too caught up in thinking she was the wrong bride for him, that she didn’t see it?
The vows were plain. Honest. Spoken like promises men and women kept because they chose to, not because they were forced.
When the preacher finished, Phoebe’s eyes lifted to Braxton’s and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for a week.
“Braxton, you may kiss the bride,” Preacher Ewes said.
Braxton pulled her close and looked her over. “I’m sorry you don’t have a wedding dress…”
“I don’t need one.” She glanced at the Christmas tree, then at the dress he’d given her. She thought it fitting she wear it. “This is perfect.”
He smiled, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. She didn’t know if he realized this was her first kiss, and it wasn’t long before she didn’t care. His lips were warm, the kiss powerful enough to make her knees go weak. Then it became more gentle, reverent, like he was thanking God.
When he pulled back, Phoebe’s smile trembled. “Well,” she murmured, voice bright with emotion. “That was… decisive.”
Braxton huffed a breath. “If I hesitate again, you have permission to hit me with a Christmas ornament.”
Phoebe laughed and it spread throughout the room as everyone joined in. The men began slapping Braxton on the back, congratulating him, while others gave Phoebe a light kiss on the cheek, and welcomed her.
Outside, snow fell steadily, covering the land in white.
Inside, Phoebe realized she’d come home.
She’d made a choice, a good one. Yes, life wasn’t going to be easy here.
But she was loved, and cherished. “Thank you, Augusta, Margaret, and Josie,” she whispered.
“Thank you for helping me find my courage.”
“What was that?” Braxton whispered in her ear.
She smiled. “I was just thanking the sisters. If it weren’t for them, I might not be here.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “Then we’ll thank them proper and maybe send them a little gift, if not pay them a visit.”
“Oh, Braxton, could we?”
“Sure, darlin’, why not. And we’ll take Ma with us.”
She smiled at his mother who was on the other side of the parlor, speaking with Preacher Ewes. “They’d like that. I hope they’re getting along all right.”
“Of course they are,” Braxton said, holding her close. “Besides, Miss O’Malley will be returning in a couple of weeks. They’ll be fine.” He kissed her again, and all thoughts of the Sister’s Mail-Order Bride Company faded away as Phoebe’s heart filled with love.