“It’s good,” Ciara promised.

  She ducked her head as she took the glass. “I believe you. I just don’t want to hurt the fancy glass.”

  Plain glass fancy? She’d seen crystal in Seattle. “Well, it’s a celebration when someone comes to see me, so I can use a fancy glass if I like,” Ciara said. “I’ll be the one having to wash it, after all.”

  Katie Jo’s sky-blue eyes flickered up, then focused on the cake, and she forked up a mouthful so fast she might have thought Ciara intended to pull back the plate.

  “I hear you’re getting married,” she said around the cake as Ciara slipped onto the bench.

  She grimaced. “Maybe. We’re still figuring that out.”

  Katie Jo eyed her. “Is it all that hard to figure?”

  “Sometimes,” Ciara said with a shrug. “He has a niece to raise. I’m trying to start a restaurant. The timing isn’t good.” Did Katie Jo hear those for excuses? Ciara did.

  “Oh, well. If you need anything, just holler.”

  “That is so kind of you,” Ciara said. “It’s nice to have a lady here abouts who isn’t married to talk to.”

  Katie Jo’s smile finally returned. “I never had a gal friend before. Mostly it’s just Zeke and me and Uncle Cole.”

  “My parents are gone too,” Ciara confided. “My sister raised me. And now I’m here on my own, though I was thinking today that I’m not really alone. There are lots of people here to help. Like you.”

  Katie Jo raised her glass. “Here’s to friends. I can’t wait to see your restaurant and your wedding.”

  Ciara raised her glass too, even though she knew at least the wedding wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

  ***

  Kit kept an eye out for the lynx the next couple of evenings. He knew the Wallins were doing the same, but no one reported seeing the soft-footed beast. On Thursday morning, when he was patrolling around the cabin, he surprised a rider, but the older man merely tipped his broad-brimmed black hat and rode off.

  “Is there someone new in the area?” he asked Drew as they were heading out to the work site, to the south of the main clearing this time. “Fellow with a dappled gray horse?”

  “If there was, James would have mentioned it,” Drew said. “Though a couple new homesteads were built at the tip of the lake. We should probably go down and say hello at some point, invite them to see the school and library.”

  If his boss, the acknowledged leader of Wallin Landing, couldn’t be concerned, Kit reasoned he shouldn’t be either. Besides, he had his hands full with Grace.

  He’d wanted to travel to Tacoma and check his brother-in-law’s will, for surely it might have been filed by now, but there simply hadn’t been time. Every day, his niece challenged him, from eating to dressing to trying to crawl. Ciara was a Godsend. Any question he had, she answered. She’d been the one to suggest pulling his sea chest into the doorway of the loft to keep Grace from the stairs. Now the little girl slept in the cradle next to his pallet, and he could actually close his eyes without worrying she was going to take a tumble while he slept.

  He’d also rigged a swing on the porch out of leftover pieces of board and twine. He could slip Grace into it, and she could move it just by kicking her legs. She delighted in it, and he had his hands free to chop wood or do other chores.

  “That looks like fun,” Frisco had said, leaning against one of the other porch supports and watching Grace bounce. “I wish I had something like that. For the little ones,” he hurried to add, as if he feared Kit would think him childish.

  Kit eyed the contraption, then the big cedar near the schoolyard. By this morning, with Rina’s permission, he had set up two swings from the branches, and the children were taking turns.

  He kept listening for gunshots calling them back from work, but none came except the call for dinner. Ciara seemed to have accustomed herself at last to her new home, even if she still asked his escort to walk her to her cabin in the evenings. Still, the closer they came to the restaurant opening, the more tense she seemed.

  “You’re worried,” he said the night before her opening.

  She glanced up from where she had been setting the table for dinner. “Is it that obvious?”

  Kit rose from playing with Grace on the rug and came to her side. That one lock of hair persisted in coming free from her bun whenever she had been working particularly hard. He tucked the strand behind her ear and tried not to glory in the soft silk or the soft look that crossed her face at his touch.

  “Yes,” he told her. “And only to be expected. Everything you’ve done will be tested tomorrow.”

  She closed her eyes. “Heaven help me.”

  “He will,” Kit said. “He promised.”

  She opened her eyes. “Thank you for the reminder. Please say you’re coming. Harry will probably make faces at me all night, and Jesse will hide. He already asked if he could take a plate up to the loft.”

  Kit chuckled. “Wise man. There’s going to be a crowd.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Hopefully.”

  He caught her hands, which were starting to rub together in front of her apron. “I’ll be there, Ciara. And so will most of your friends.”

  “I know.” She forced a smile. “One more dish to try tonight. Jugged hare with onions and garlic.”

  He released her. “I can hardly wait.”

  She hurried back to the kitchen then, apron swinging over her gingham skirts. Something hitched in his chest, a longing, a need. He wanted to comfort and encourage and cheer while she soared.

  Did that mean he was falling in love with his make-believe fiancée?

  Chapter Fifteen

  By Friday evening, Ciara was once more pacing, and she didn’t know why. Everything was ready. She was wearing a clean green gingham gown with puffy sleeves and a fresh white apron with ruffles at the yoke and hem. Her hair had so many pins keeping the braid wound around her head she felt the weight, but the effort would be worth it if her hair didn’t fall while she worked.

  The cabin was likewise ready. She’d set the long table to accommodate eight bachelors or a family or two and positioned along the back wall two smaller tables she’d brought from her cabin and the loft. Those would do for couples or families. Fresh flowers, courtesy of Frisco and Sutter, sat in vases on each table. Silverware gleamed. Gingham napkins, a gift from Nora, sat waiting to grace laps and necks.

  Kit had crafted a sign from a slice of timber to hang in the big window. One side said “Open.” The other said “Family Only.” She went to grab it, fingers stroking the painted wood. The last of the pork and apple pies were in the oven, the others cooling on the sideboard. Fish chowder simmered on a burner. Jesse and Harry had already taken their dinners and climbed the stairs to the loft. It was now or never.

  She flipped the sign to Open.

  Nothing happened.

  She shook herself. Well, of course nothing happened. What, did she think the sign was magic? That one flick and customers would appear? She stepped away from the window with a sigh and headed back to the kitchen to check her pies.

  As she closed the oven door, steam swirling about her, she heard the cabin door open. Heart starting to pound, she glanced out the archway.

  Kit stood with Grace in his arms, surveying the room and making it seem brighter by his very presence.

  “Welcome to dinner, Mr. Weatherly, Miss Virden,” she called. “Sit anywhere you’d like.”

  He transferred Grace to one hip. “I was thinking maybe Grace and I could help you.”

  Stepping to the opening, she spread her hands. “There’s no one to feed.”

  The door opened again, and Drew and Catherine walked in. His dark-blond hair had been slicked back, and he wore his Sunday best shirt. Catherine had a wide-skirted dress with daisies all over it, as if she were going to a fine tea rather than dinner in a log cabin.

  Drew nodded around, as if she’d decorated the place differently. “Very nice. Two for dinner?”

  “Right this way,” Ciara said, moving to show them to one of the smaller tables. Drew held out the chair for his wife, who sat with a smile.

  “We have two specials tonight,” Ciara said, trying not to rush through the words. Why was she nervous? She’d known these two most of her life. “Fish chowder with brown bread or pork and apple pie, and I have lemon pound cake and Spotted Pup for dessert. That’s a rice pudding with raisins, molasses, and cinnamon. Each of the dinner choices is fifty cents, including lemonade, with another ten cents if you want a dessert. What would you prefer?”

  “I’d like to try the chowder,” Catherine said.

  “Make that two,” Drew added. “We can figure out dessert later.”

  “Very good,” Ciara said, backing away.

  The door opened, and two men in rough denim and buckskin coats shuffled in, gazes darting about as if they thought a pack of wolves might be waiting. By the dirt under their fingers, Ciara guessed they were prospectors.

  “We heard you were serving dinner,” one said, rubbing his grizzled chin with the back of one hand.

  “We are indeed,” Ciara told them. “Take your seats at the long table, and I’ll be with you shortly.”

  She hurried into the kitchen. Kit was already there, pulling down plates and cups with one hand while he bounced Grace with the other.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then she was too busy to say anything else.

  They kept coming. A husband and wife from up the lake had ventured down to see what she might be offering. Three more prospectors showed up from across the lake. They had apparently paddled over in a canoe. When James and Rina arrived, she had to put them at one end of the long table, where James quickly had the other bachelors laughing at his wit. No sooner had the first two fellows finished and left, with belches and praise, then three more came to take their places.

  She cut and served and stirred as fast as she could. She ran out of Spotted Pup within an hour. Kit asked Jesse to take Grace so he could pitch in to clear place settings and start the dishes.

  Over the splash of water and the bubble of chowder, she heard the door again.

  “How many more?” she asked, wiping steam from her cheek with the edge of her apron.

  “Two more fellows at the long table,” Kit reported from his vantage point at the sink. “One’s got a claim next to Simon’s. I’ve seen him on the ridge. I don’t recognize the other.”

  Ciara dusted off her hands and bustled out to meet them.

  “Welcome to dinner, gentlemen,” she chanted before reeling off their choices.

  The thinner man nodded throughout her recitation. When she stopped, he just kept waiting.

  “That’s what we have tonight,” she said. “Which would you prefer?”

  “Can I have all of them?” He laid a gold coin on the table. “I can pay.”

  Ciara scooped up the coin. “Coming right up.” She turned to the other man, whose face was as seamed as old leather. “What can I get for you, sir?”

  He also laid a coin on the table, silver and shiny against the wood. “Information. I understand you’re going to marry Christopher Weatherly.”

  His gravelly voice made her feel as if someone had opened the door and let in a blast of winter wind. “Information isn’t on the menu,” she told him. “I can get you fish chowder, pork and apple pie, or lemon pound cake. Which would you prefer?”

  “Slice of cake,” he said. “And maybe I can convince you to change your mind.”

  “Doubtful,” she said. She didn’t pick up the coin.

  Instead, she went to the kitchen and positioned herself so that a stray glance wouldn’t betray Kit’s presence. “That stranger’s asking for information about you. You might want to slip out the back. Now.”

  ***

  Kit shook water off his hands, watching as she opened the oven and heat and the succulent scent of baking pie wafted into the kitchen.

  “Slip out the back?” he repeated. “What do you think I did, rob a bank?”

  “I don’t think you did anything wrong,” she informed him, taking out the last of her pies and reaching for a clean knife to slice it. “But someone is hoping you did, and I’m betting Mrs. Virden hired him. It might be better if you just disappeared until he finishes eating.”

  Kit shook his head. “And leave you with this horde? I’ll take my chances.”

  She frowned at him a moment, as if trying to see inside to what drove him. Then she pulled down a plate and began serving her pie.

  He leaned back to catch another glimpse of the two newcomers. The one he hadn’t recognized was sitting with his back to the wall, as if determined to remain aware of everything around him. Visible around the leg of the table, a holster sat heavy on one hip.

  He couldn’t be a lawman. Ciara was right. Kit hadn’t done anything wrong. And Hart McCormick would have sent word if another deputy sheriff or marshal had been heading this way.

  Ciara passed, balancing a plate on one hand and a bowl on the other.

  Kit reached for one. “Let me.”

  “No,” she said, swiveling fast enough she nearly swept the pie from the porcelain. “You stay in here.”

  She marched out of the kitchen.

  It took her two more loads, but she had everyone served. She returned to the kitchen and leaned against the back wall as if she needed its support.

  “Full house,” Kit commented.

  Her grin popped into view. “Better than I imagined.”

  Better than anyone had imagined, even with high expectations. Almost every diner left promising to return and bring friends and family. Several paid extra to take home slices of meat pie and cake. Others left additional coins in thanks. The stranger lingered for a while, then finally paid what he owed and departed. Ciara closed the door behind him and turned the sign to Family Only.

  Kit came out of the kitchen, drying the last of the dishes. “That was a good night.”

  She eyed him. “A great night. I may need to hire help.”

  He put on a sad face. “And here I thought I was applying for the job.”

  “You were a gift from the Lord,” she told him. “But I can’t expect you to work every night, especially when you work during the day.”

  “It’s only Friday and Saturday,” he protested as he followed her into the kitchen.

  “For now,” she said. “I’m hoping to be open six nights a week by harvest time.” She went to the stove and surveyed what little remained.

  “I can cut up the cake and make trifle tomorrow,” she said, hands on her hips. “I have enough strawberry preserves, and I can whip cream. That’s one dessert.”

  “They loved the Spotted Pup,” he said. “Grace even ate it.”

  “I told you to be careful with the sweets,” she warned him. “And I’m out of raisins, and so is James, so it will have to be something else tomorrow.” She sighed as she glanced at the kettle that had held the chowder. “And the fish chowder was too salty. Everyone who had it asked for extra lemonade.”

  “Maybe they just liked the lemonade,” Kit suggested.

  “I tasted it. Too salty. I’ll know better next time.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell in another sigh.

  Kit abandoned the dishes and came up beside her. “You must be worn out.” He didn’t know whether she would allow it, but he set his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t flinch. He began kneading muscles that were tight under his fingers.

  “That feels good,” she murmured, tipping her head to one side and threatening the braid that had stayed in place all evening. “I changed my mind. You’re hired.”

  He laughed. “And here I thought you liked how I washed dishes.”

  She turned to face him, and his hands fell. “I like a great deal about you, Kit Weatherly.”

  Her lips were inches away. He remembered how they’d tasted last time, sweeter than any pie she might bake. He leaned closer.

  “You done?” Jesse asked.

  Kit straightened to find the logger in the archway, Grace up in his burly arms.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Grace told Kit, face firm.

  “She missed you,” Jesse said.

  “I doubt that,” Kit said, but he went to take the baby from him.

  “How did it go?” Jesse asked Ciara. “Sounded like a lot of people.”

  “Quite a few customers,” she admitted. “More than I expected. It was a very good first night, Jesse. Thank you so much for watching Grace so Kit could help.”

  He glanced down at his feet, which were shuffling against the wood floor. “Wasn’t any trouble.”

  “We’ll think of an alternative for tomorrow,” she promised.

  He nodded and wandered back out.

  Grace yawned, tiny teeth showing white, before tucking her head into Kit’s shoulder.

  “I should get her to bed,” he told Ciara.

  “Of course. Thank you again, Kit. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  Her smile saw him out of the kitchen.

  The stranger was leaning in the open front door.

  Kit stopped, stiffening. “The restaurant is closed.”

  “I saw the sign.” The man strolled toward the table as if he owned the cabin. “Forgot to leave a little something for the cook. Best food I’ve had for a while.” He laid a silver coin down on the wood.

  Then he glanced at Kit. “Bit late for a little girl to be up, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” Kit said.

  He put two fingers on the brim of his hat. “My mistake. Just wanted to be of help. Must be hard for a bachelor to raise a baby.”

  “He’s not a bachelor.” Ciara’s voice rang from behind Kit, and she came up to link her arm in his. “At least, not for much longer. Thank you for the consideration. I need to close up for the night.”

  He touched his hat again. “Ma’am.” His spurs clinked as he walked to the door. It shut quietly behind him.

  She released Kit and flew to the window.

  “Dappled gray horse,” she reported. “I saw him in the woods the other day.”

  “I saw him too,” Kit said, cold crawling up his spine. “I think you’re right. Mrs. Virden is watching me, looking for any weakness. A shame she’s likely to find some.”