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  “Your mother did what she did because she loved you and wanted you to have a better life. If she hadn’t taken your place, and it had been you who died of a snakebite, how do you think she would have felt?”

  Cassie waved her hand again, dismissing his argument. “I told you all of that so you would know why I need to take this step. Because unless I find a husband, something that allows me to turn down Pa’s request with a reason he’ll accept, then I will have no choice but to return home as he asks. And I need to do this before my work for Mrs. Flanagan is complete.”

  Riley raked a hand through his hair, not at all comfortable with where this conversation was headed.

  “Well, will you help me or not?”

  “Help you how?”

  “Figure out how to go about this.”

  He couldn’t believe he was in this situation. “Let me make sure I understand. What you’re asking is if I can tell you the best way for you to propose to a man?”

  She beamed at him. “Exactly.”

  “Any man in particular?” he asked, trying desperately to stall in giving her an answer.

  “Actually, I have a list of men who meet the qualities I’m looking for.”

  She’d come up with a list of both requirements and men who fit them? That seemed to be a very...practical approach to finding a husband. “And what might those qualities be?”

  She listed her three criteria, then leaned back. “So you see, I’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”

  “How well do you know these men?”

  She picked at a piece of lint on her skirt. “Not well at all.”

  “Mind if I ask how many are on your list?”

  “Three.”

  She said that proudly, as if it were a major accomplishment.

  “And I’ve prioritized them. That way, if the first one turns me down, I have some backups.”

  “Very practical.”

  The look she shot him let him know she’d caught the hint of sarcasm in his tone. But she apparently decided to let it pass. “The first name on the list is Mr. Edmondson, the blacksmith, if that makes a difference.”

  Riley immediately pulled up a mental image of the man. Edmondson had to be more than twice her age. He was a big, burly fellow with hands the size of dinner plates, and who seemed to wear a perpetual scowl. The idea of him being married to young, sunny-tempered, idealistic Cassie was totally appalling.

  But she hadn’t asked for Riley’s opinion on her choice. She’d asked for his help in executing her plan. And he owed it to her to give it his best shot. “However you approach Edmondson, he’s going to be taken by surprise. Has he always been a bachelor or is he a widower?”

  “Widower.”

  “How long ago did his wife pass?”

  “About five years ago, I believe.”

  “Then his loss isn’t so recent that your proposition would be unseemly.”

  “At least not on that account.” Her wry tone told him she hadn’t lost her sense of humor.

  “Right. If this were me you were proposing to, I guess your best approach would be to explain, without any histrionics, what the situation is and what you are proposing. And if you could come up with any benefits to me in the arrangement, you should stress those, as well.”

  She hugged her knees with clasped hands. “That’s the same thing I thought.” Her lips curled in a crooked smile. “And don’t worry, I never was one for histrionics.” She cut him a sideways glance. “Mrs. Flanagan suggested I practice before I actually approach anyone.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “So, do you mind if I practice with you?”

  He was afraid she’d ask that. But he saw the pink climbing up her neck and into her face. It hadn’t been easy for her to ask this, so how could he refuse? “All right.” Then he stood and reached down a hand to her. “But this will probably be a more effective practice if we stand face-to-face.”

  With a nod, Cassie took his hand and allowed him to help her up. She brushed her skirt for a few moments, not meeting his gaze.

  Then she squared her shoulders and looked Riley in the eye. “Mr. Edmondson, may I have a moment of your time?”

  Okay, so she was ready to move right into this. Riley crossed his arms over his chest and pasted on the kind of puzzled frown he expected the blacksmith to give her. “Is there something I can do for you—Miss Vickers, is it?”

  “Yes, sir, Cassie Lynn Vickers, Alvin Vickers’s daughter. I have a proposal for you, one I hope you will see as mutually beneficial.”

  He held on to his serious, slightly disapproving demeanor. “And what might that be?”

  “I want to build a bakery business here in town, but my father wants me to move back home to be his housekeeper. The only thing that would please him more than that is for me to get married. So I’m looking for a husband.”

  Well, that was direct. “Now wait a minute, if you’re suggesting—”

  “Please hear me out, sir.”

  He was surprised by her tone. Somehow she managed to be both firm and polite.

  “I’m not looking for romantic entanglements,” she continued, managing to keep her voice mostly steady, “so you don’t have to worry about that. And I’m a good cook and housekeeper. I would make sure you had hot, tasty meals every day and that your house was clean and neat and your laundry got done.”

  She moistened her lips as if they’d gone dry. “I would also provide as much or as little companionship as you wish. All I ask is that you give me your name and your word that I will be free to operate my bakery business.”

  Her gaze resolutely held Riley’s as she stood there waiting for his answer. There was an earnestness about her, along with a touch of vulnerability in her eyes, that gave her an endearing, hard-to-say-no-to air. For a moment he was tempted to tell her yes, not as her stand-in practice partner, but as himself.

  What would it be like to have a woman like Cassie at his side? A sweet, caring, giving companion to share his worries and burdens, joys and triumphs? The thought of that kind of life filled him with an aching yearning that was almost too strong to resist.

  He almost reached out to her, but at the last minute regained control.

  Still, the target of her proposal would have to be hard-hearted indeed to tell her no.

  Riley cleared his throat. “You did well. I think if you approach Mr. Edmondson in just that manner, then you will be giving yourself your best shot. It’ll come down to how interested he is in acquiring a wife.” The man would be a fool to turn her down.

  Her relieved smile was Riley’s payment.

  “When do you plan to tender this proposal?” he asked, trying to come to terms with the idea that she would soon belong to another.

  “I haven’t quite decided, but soon.”

  “And what if Edmondson says no?” Not that Riley believed that would happen.

  “There are those two other names on the list. And if all three turn me down—” she lifted her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug “—then perhaps that’s my sign that I should just give in to my father’s demand.”

  Riley had a feeling she didn’t need to worry about that. There was no way three separate men would turn her down.

  Determined to ignore the stab of jealousy that realization brought with it, he quickly changed the subject. “I think it’s time to start packing up to head back. Much as I’ve enjoyed our outing, I do have to get back to the livery this afternoon, and then figure out when and what I’ll tell Noah and Pru about being gone overnight tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Cassie immediately turned and began putting everything back in the basket.

  Why wouldn’t she look at him? Had he handled this wrong, not given her the kind of help she was looking for?

  Or had she sensed something
of his mood, his longing to be that man, the one who would stand by her side and care for her as she deserved?

  Because, much as he hated to admit it, he really did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cassie wasn’t sure what Riley was feeling right now. Strange how it had been both very easy and very difficult to practice that proposal with him.

  He’d been so good about listening to her story without judging her, and then allowing her to practice with him. Much as she’d tried to picture herself speaking to the blacksmith while she talked, it was Riley’s face she focused on, his answer she waited anxiously for.

  Deep down—so deep that she hadn’t acknowledged it even to herself before this very moment—she’d hoped he might step up when she explained her situation and told him she needed a husband. And for just a moment, when she’d spoken those potentially life-changing words, she’d seen his eyes darken and his jaw clench, as if he’d been taken by some strong emotion. Or had it only been her imagination, a fantasy conjured by a wishful heart?

  A small part of her had hoped that he might...

  Might what? Declare himself in love with her?

  Which was totally ninny-witted of her. How many ways did he need to tell her he wasn’t interested in settling down, before she accepted it as the absolute truth?

  As she lifted the picnic basket, Riley took it from her and moved toward the wagon with it. She shook out the blanket and followed.

  It was probably just as well he was leaving tomorrow for that meeting.

  A day apart would allow her to get her bearings again, to figure out where she really wanted to go from here.

  * * *

  “Noah woke with a fever this morning. I’m afraid he’s taking his turn with the illness.” Cassie bustled around the kitchen, trying to get her biscuit dough ready to go in the oven.

  Riley groaned. “I know Dr. Pratt said to expect this, but I was hoping Noah would somehow miss it this time.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s worrisome, but try not to let it make you overly anxious. You see how Pru is getting better now, and Noah will, too. At least they didn’t both go through the worst of it at the same time.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about. It doesn’t feel right, me leaving you to bear the brunt of his care alone. Maybe I should—”

  She quickly cut Riley off. “Don’t even say it. It won’t get really bad for a day or two, and by then you’ll be back. If you look at it right, if it had to happen this is really the best time for it.”

  He leaned back. “How do you do that?”

  “What?”

  “No matter how much is thrown at you, you always seem to find a silver lining.”

  She smiled self-consciously. “I’ve found that looking only at the dark cloud serves no purpose but to make you feel sad, angry or helpless.” She absently tucked a tendril behind her ear. “There is a Bible verse I took to heart many years ago. It states ‘whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.’”

  He smiled. “I can see the influence it’s had on your life.”

  She returned his smile, then grew serious. “With your permission, I’d like to give Mrs. Flanagan at least part of the story you told me about your stepbrother.”

  Riley seemed to consider that for a moment, then nodded. “If you think that’s best and that it won’t rattle her too much.”

  “She’s a lot stronger than you think. And you told me the story because you wanted me to be prepared if Guy came around and tried to get to the children. I think it only fair that we do the same for her. You can trust her to keep your secret, and to protect Noah and Pru with all that’s in her.”

  Riley rubbed the back of his neck. “Speaking of secrets, it’s probably time I tell the kids I’ll be heading out of town today and won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  “Do you want help?”

  “Thank you, but I can do this on my own. They’re good kids and they’ve gotten comfortable being here with you ladies. All things considered, I think they’ll be fine.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, as Cassie watched Riley head for the train station, she felt strangely bereft, as if it was a longtime friend walking away. Funny how quickly Riley had become familiar and comfortable.

  How would it be when he and the children left for good?

  She turned back to her work, not wanting to dwell on that very unhappy thought.

  Instead she kept busy, experimenting with new pie recipes and doing her best to keep the children entertained and unconcerned about Riley’s absence. And she sent up more than one prayer for the success of his quest.

  When she finally heard the afternoon train whistle on Wednesday, it was all she could do not to hurry out to the depot to meet him.

  Had he and the detective gotten the information they needed from the informant?

  Would he stop at the livery before he came to the house, maybe take River out for a run? Or was he anxious about the children’s safety, so would rush back to check on them first?

  Ten minutes later her question was answered when Riley walked into the house. Funny how her first instinct was to run into his arms and give him a welcome-home hug.

  “How did your meeting go?” she asked instead.

  “It went quite well. Mr. Claypool now has some significant leads, and if things pan out the way we think they will, we may finally be able to put Guy away for quite some time.”

  “That is good news. Is it something that you think will happen soon?”

  “Perhaps. Claypool is very hopeful.” Riley moved toward the hall. “How are the kids?”

  “Pru is getting stronger every day, but Noah is getting worse, as was to be expected.” Cassie smiled. “They’ll be glad to have you back.”

  With a nod he disappeared in the direction of their room.

  Cassie went back to work in the kitchen. While supper simmered on the stove, she planned her baked goods for the next day and checked that she had all the necessary ingredients on hand. But she found herself listening for the sound of Riley’s footsteps.

  He returned about ten minutes later, a smile on his face. “It appears they are doing well under your care. I hope they didn’t cause you too much extra work.”

  “We managed quite well.”

  * * *

  Riley watched her a moment, liking the efficiency of her movements and the gentle smile she seemed to always wear when busy. “And how is your husband hunting going? Did you approach Mr. Edmondson yet?” Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished them back. He’d promised himself he’d stay out of her business, would not torture himself asking about the progress of her scheme.

  But it was too late to undo it now.

  For her part, she didn’t quite meet his gaze. “Not yet,” she admitted. Then she changed the subject, asking him abut his trip and whether or not he’d stopped in to see River.

  Riley got the message—she didn’t want to discuss her husband hunt. Was it just that she didn’t want to discuss it with him? Or was she having second thoughts?

  He hated himself for wishing it was the latter, especially since he didn’t have anything to offer her in its place.

  * * *

  That evening, as had become routine with them, Riley joined Cassie in the kitchen once the kids were put to bed. “Noah is finally asleep,” he said, helping himself to one of her pecans.

  She swatted at his hand. “Good. Let’s hope he sleeps straight through the night.”

  Feeling not one whit remorseful for the theft, Riley crossed his arms. “So what delicacies are you
preparing tonight?”

  “Two pecan pies and a buttermilk pie for Daisy, four cherry tarts and two peach tarts for Eve, and two apple pies for Mrs. Ortolon over at the boardinghouse.”

  “Ah, so you have a new customer.”

  “I do.” Cassie’s smile had a satisfied edge. “And she sought me out rather than the other way around.”

  “Good for you.” He glanced about. “What can I do to help?”

  She cut him a skeptical look. “You know anything about pie making?”

  “I know how to follow directions.”

  Cassie studied him a moment, then tilted her head toward the door. “There’s an extra apron you can use, on that peg over there.”

  He hesitated, not at all interested in wearing one of those ruffled aprons. But she raised a brow as if to say I thought as much and he couldn’t leave the challenge unmet. With a shrug, he grabbed the apron and tied it around his waist.

  “Now what?”

  “I’ve already taken care of the apple pies, and am going to work on the fruit tarts next. While I’m doing that, you can shell those pecans in that bowl on the table for me.”

  He reached for the bowl. “And for this you thought I needed to wear an apron?”

  She grinned. “Kitchen work is kitchen work.” Then she touched her chin. “You do know how to shell pecans, don’t you?”

  “I’ve shelled my share.”

  “Good. If you can clean ’em up and try to give me large pieces, that would be appreciated.”

  Nodding, he reached for a pecan. They worked in silence for a while until she had the tarts in the oven. When she’d shut the stove door, she returned to the table and peered into the bowl where he was putting the shelled nuts. “Nice job.”

  For some reason, those simple words gave him a feeling of pride.

  A feeling she deflated with her next words. “How did you manage to get flour on your shirtsleeve?”

  The amused light dancing in her eyes drew an answering grin from him. “You didn’t come through this unscathed, either,” he said with mock severity. “There’s a large smudge of flour on your cheek.”