Kit lay a hand on his cheek, the skin tingling against his fingers. His sister had known him his entire life, Rudy for the better part of seven years before he’d lit out. They’d harped and harped at him for his unconventional ways.

  Why was it Ciara O’Rourke could know him three days and see something even he had missed?

  Chapter Ten

  Ciara braced her back against the cabin door, face so hot she might have fried a griddle cake on it. What was she doing, kissing him like that? It had only been in thanks for his help. Truly. But she’d already fended off Harry’s attentions, and through him, Jesse’s. Would Kit think she was setting her cap at him instead?

  She stayed mostly in the kitchen Friday morning after serving a breakfast of biscuits and gravy. She thought she heard a grumble that her biscuits weren’t as light as Levi’s. Whose were? But at least she’d nudged them off the subject of courting.

  She stopped by the parsonage as soon as the breakfast dishes were washed and the bread baked for the day. It was a little ways from the big cabin, up on a promontory overlooking the lake. Callie was out on the porch on a bench, dressed in her usual trousers. Her sewing basket sat beside her as she worked at darning a sock.

  She smiled as Ciara approached. “Good morning! Come to beg watercress?”

  Ciara paused in the act of lifting her green gingham skirts to climb the wooden stairs. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “Frisco said he saw Kit Weatherly this morning, and he mentioned you might be looking for local food to cook. Don’t be surprised if my brothers flood you with offers. They can’t get enough of your cinnamon rolls.”

  Ciara laughed as she sat beside her friend. The youngest of the Wallin brides, Callie was only a few years older than Ciara, and she too had traveled to reach Seattle, having followed her prospector father through gold camps from California in the south to the British Territories in the north.

  “Well, they are welcome to stop by any time,” she said.

  Callie lay her needle in her lap to bring her finger to her lips. “Shh! Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll be at the cabin every day.” She dropped her hand. “So what did bring you to the parsonage? I don’t imagine you have much time to visit.”

  “I don’t,” Ciara confessed. “I’m here to steal Levi’s biscuit recipe.”

  Callie huffed, reaching for the sock she’d been darning. “You and everyone who’s ever tasted them. I don’t know how he does it.”

  Ciara sat beside her on the bench built from two carved stumps and a slab of timber. “Nothing different in the dough?”

  “Not that I can see,” Callie said. “But I was more used to cooking over a fire than in an oven when I came here. You could have skipped my biscuits across Lake Union like stones.”

  “I’m baking over one of the best stoves in Washington Territory,” Ciara said. “And I understand I still can’t match him.”

  “Let me guess,” Callie said. “Harry said that.”

  “I can’t be sure because I was in the kitchen,” Ciara admitted, “But I think so.”

  “Probably sour grapes,” Callie said, giving the sock a good jab with her darning needle. “I heard you decided against him courting you.”

  Ciara stared at her. “That’s going around already?”

  Callie shrugged. “It’s Wallin Landing. Everything that goes around comes around. So, is it Kit or Jesse?”

  Once more, Kit’s face came to mind, eyes wide and awed as she’d drawn back from kissing his cheek last night.

  “Neither,” Ciara said firmly. “I have a restaurant to establish.”

  “A lady can do both,” Callie offered. “Cook and court.”

  “Not this lady,” Ciara insisted. “Aside from my brother-in-law, Michael, I don’t know many men who would allow a woman to work unless it was for them.”

  “The men of Wallin Landing might surprise you,” Callie told her. “Catherine runs the dispensary. I don’t hear Drew complaining. Rina teaches. James couldn’t be prouder. Nora takes care of the little ones with Simon’s gratitude. I teach music. Levi knows what it means to me. About the only one who doesn’t have an extra job is Dottie, and she helps John with the library. Besides, she has Peter and soon a baby to tend to herself.”

  “You just accounted for the Wallin men,” Ciara pointed out. “That doesn’t mean the other fellows in the area think the same way.”

  “And it doesn’t mean they don’t.”

  She decided not to argue. Instead, she rose. “Tell Levi I want him to show me how he makes biscuits, first chance he gets. I’ll send home cake or cinnamon rolls in exchange.”

  Callie laughed. “One word about that, and Frisco and Sutter will have him there in minutes, even if they have to truss him up like a Christmas goose.”

  “Whatever it takes,” Ciara said with a grin. “And I look forward to what your brothers can find that I can use in the kitchen—watercress, fresh trout, berries.”

  “You may get more than you bargained for,” Callie warned.

  “If they bring more than I can use, I can share it with others,” Ciara reasoned. With a wave, she headed down the road to where John and Dottie Wallin had their farm.

  The trees closed in around her, walls on either side, nearly touching above. Something set the ferns to rustling, and she tried not to tense. Kit said the forest held more wonders than danger. She ought to look for it.

  Weren’t those mushrooms growing along the fallen log, like white cottages on the green of the moss? And there, blackcaps, a patch of bushes thick with the little deep-purple berries! She could just envision the preserves, pies, and sauces she could make with them. She should bring her basket back this afternoon. She hastened her steps.

  John and Dottie had a house of planed wood with a big attic overhead. It sat on a sweep of lawn that ran down nearly to the road. Goats were contentedly cropping the grass as Ciara came up the drive. Several raised their heads and bleated, as if in greeting.

  The couple was also out on the porch, enjoying the cool morning air, while Peter ran back and forth, galloping a stick horse his father must have made. John and Dottie both listened as Ciara explained her goal.

  “I can bring you any extra meat I hunt,” John said. The fourth Wallin brother, he was the only one to have inherited both their mother’s reddish-brown hair and green eyes. “And I’ll talk to Simon about any extra produce from the farm. His is a lot bigger than ours.”

  Dottie slid her hand into his. “Because he can devote all his time to it. You have the library.”

  He smiled down at her. “Which is only well organized because of you.”

  Something tugged at her heart. For all she’d foresworn courting, she had to admit it would be nice to have someone who encouraged her, who appreciated her accomplishments. Someone who thought she was valued, important.

  More important even than the famous Maddie O’Rourke Haggerty.

  ***

  Drew let his crew off a little early that afternoon. “We all have the theatrical to attend,” he said, his dark blue gaze spearing each of his crew in turn.

  “I can’t mind,” Jesse said, ax up on his shoulder as they trudged for home. “Even if I don’t have children in the play.”

  “And not likely to at this rate,” Harry grumbled. “Just once, I’d like to meet a gal as interested in me as I am in her.”

  Jesse nodded.

  Kit’s fingers went to his cheek, and he hastily dropped his arm. It was probably best if neither of his friends knew that Ciara had kissed him. The fact still amazed him. He kept telling himself it had only been in thanks, but the memory brought a smile to his lips every time he thought of it. Harry likely wouldn’t take kindly to Ciara giving Kit any kind of attention.

  He came into the cabin to find the table set and Ciara in the rocking chair with Grace. The ax slipped from his fingers to thud against the floor.

  “Is she all right?” he asked, rushing forward. “Did she fall? Get sick?”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Grace sang out, waving happy fingers.

  “She’s fine,” Ciara assured him. “Nora had her hands full helping the other children into their costumes, so she asked if I would mind taking her for a bit. Grace and I were having a lovely conversation.” She peered down at the little girl, whose pale pink muslin gown barely covered her stockinged toes. “Grace, do you think lace is going to be in fashion for trim this year?”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Grace said obligingly.

  “Ah, what about pearls? Perhaps around the neck?” Ciara traced her collarbone with the fingers of her free hand.

  Grace considered her a moment with a frown. “No?” she asked.

  “I’m doubtful as well.” Ciara grinned up at Kit. “You try.”

  “Grace, is it time for dinner?” Kit asked.

  The baby looked straight at Ciara expectantly.

  She laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Jesse came up to them and held out his arms. “Grace, want to play horsey?”

  Grace reached for him eagerly.

  The logger went to perch on a chair and start their favorite game. “Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross…”

  Kit followed Ciara into the kitchen to wash up for dinner. One sniff of the air, and his grin widened.

  “Is that trout frying?”

  “Courtesy of Frisco and Sutter,” she told him, laying another fillet on the frying pan with a sizzle of butter and herbs. “Mashed potatoes are ready, and there’s a nice mushroom gravy to go with them.” She winked at him. “You were right. Wallin Landing has its own wealth when it comes to food.”

  He could hardly wait. He splashed water on his hands, toweled them off, and hurried to take his place at the table. Jesse handed him Grace before going to do the same.

  “Are you all home early because of the theatrical?” Ciara asked, bringing in the bowl of potatoes.

  “Drew expects everyone to attend,” Harry warned her.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she told him before going back for the gravy and trout.

  Kit glanced down at the baby in his lap. Grace’s gaze had fastened on the potatoes. “What do you think, Grace? Should we go to the theatrical tonight?”

  Grace wiggled her fingers at the potatoes.

  “Ha!” Harry barked. “You better feed her before you ask her any more questions. Even I can interpret that.”

  Kit laughed.

  It was a merry meal. The conversation flowed, and the food was so good. Harry and Jesse even offered to clear the table and wash the dishes so Ciara could change for the evening. Kit took a moment to change Grace as well. The baby still tried to wiggle off the bed, but he worked fast enough that she didn’t have too much of an opportunity. She pouted as he carried her back down.

  Harry must have dunked his head in the kitchen sink, for the waves in his dark hair were more pronounced, and drops of water speckled his shirt. Jesse had donned a fresh shirt. Kit ran his fingers through his hair and decided that would have to be sufficient.

  Ciara popped back inside. “Good enough for the theatrical?”

  Harry gaped. Jesse visibly swallowed. Kit hadn’t paid all that much attention to what she’d been wearing previously. Most of the ladies in Seattle favored the practical gingham or cotton print gowns cinched in at the waist with an apron that covered them from neckline to hem. Tonight, her gown was fitted down the front with jet buttons, and black piping adorned the caped sleeves and cuffs. The green leafy pattern offset her dark coloring, as if she were the queen of the forest.

  “Good enough for the territorial governor,” Kit told her. He offered her an arm. “Grace and I would be glad to escort you.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Grace said enthusiastically.

  Ciara offered him a smile, then directed it at the other two loggers as well. “Why don’t we all go together?”

  Harry and Jesse crowded forward even more enthusiastically than Grace.

  Disappointment nipped at him. Why? It was the sensible thing to do. She was making sure none of them felt singled out. He understood.

  He just couldn’t convince himself he liked it.

  ***

  Ciara sat in the church hall with Kit and Grace on one side and Harry and Jesse on the other. All three of the men kept casting each other glances, as if trying to see whom she favored more. Apparently, her talk with Harry hadn’t taken root. But she wasn’t about to change her dress or hide her dreams just to please them.

  The hall was crowded. A long building with windows that looked out onto the forest, the table that usually ran down the middle had been moved against the opposite wall and chairs and benches set up on either side of a center aisle. At the head of the room, a makeshift stage stood ready for its young thespians. Voices murmured all round, and the warmth of so many bodies was rising. So were the scents—lavender and rose, likely from the ladies, vied with leather and cedar shavings.

  This was the first time she’d seen all of Wallin Landing turn out in recent years. Besides the brothers and their families, she counted at least a dozen husbands and wives as well as another dozen bachelors. Not everyone would come for such an event, so she could assume more in the outlying areas. Plenty of people to patronize a restaurant.

  She could also see why Rina was looking forward to a second teacher. The Wallin Landing School had grown from three students to more than thirty, ranging from six to sixteen, and the number of babies, like Grace, in the audience attested to the fact that more students were on the way.

  Rina and Catherine stood in the wings at either side of the stage. A tall boy in an old-fashioned blue coat with big brass buttons, strode to the front.

  “Welcome,” he called. His voice cracked, and he coughed into his fist before squaring his shoulders, cheeks pinking.

  “Welcome to the Wallin Landing School summer theatrical,” he said, earnest voice carrying to all corners of the hall. “In this, our country’s centennial year, we bring you the story of its founding. Picture the moment, Boston harbor, December 1773.” He bowed and backed toward the rear, avoiding several crates that had been stacked in the middle of the stage.

  Frisco climbed up past Rina, and several other children followed like beads on a string. They lined up on either side of the crates.

  “King George wants us to pay taxes, but he won’t give us a voice in government,” Frisco said. He looked pointedly at the boy next to him.

  “We’ll show him,” he piped up.

  They seized the crates and tipped them off the stage with a crash that made Grace jump.

  “That’s for your tea!” one of the girls in the group cried.

  “Down with tyranny!” another shouted.

  One of the boys moved to the edge of the stage, hands wringing in front of his coat. “It’s not really tea, Ma. I wouldn’t waste it like that.”

  “Clever lad!” an older man called from the crowd. Ciara couldn’t help thinking it must be the boy’s father.

  More scenes followed—the first Continental Congress argued over language for the Resolves; Patrick Henry, played by Sutter, passionately declared, “Give me liberty, or give me death!” Paul Revere rode on Peter’s stick horse to alert the minutemen the redcoats were coming.

  She was almost afraid of the ensuing battle between the students and James and Drew, who were dressed in red coats, so fierce were the children’s faces. But they managed to drive the British off the stage with no real bloodshed and quite a bit of impromptu celebration from both the cast and the audience. Finally, the Continental Congress met again to sign the Declaration of Independence.

  Once more their host stepped to the front of the stage. “And so we, in the words of President Abraham Lincoln, brought forth a new nation, conceived in liberty. Will you stand and join us in singing America?”

  Ciara stood. So did Kit. His voice blended with hers.

  “My country, ’tis of thee,

  Sweet land of liberty,

  Of thee I sing;

  Land where my fathers died,

  Land of the pilgrims’ pride,

  From ev’ry mountainside

  Let freedom ring!”

  Freedom. Wars had been fought for it. Every breast yearned for it. She would finally feel she had achieved it when she opened her restaurant.

  But she could start contributing now.

  “Next time you plan to hold one of these,” she told Rina after the children had taken their bows to great applause, “let me know a month in advance. I’ll sponsor a pie feed afterward.”

  “Excellent idea,” Rina agreed. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Ciara countered. “The more folks who know about the restaurant, the better.”

  “We may have other ways for you to partner with the school,” Rina said, eyes narrowing. “Let me think on it.”

  Harry and Jesse insisted on walking her home. She thought Kit looked resigned as he carried off a drowsy Grace. She should probably demur, but dark had fallen, and in truth she didn’t mind a strapping fellow on either side, between her and the forest.

  “I can come fetch you in the morning,” Harry offered as they all stopped at her cabin.

  “I get up pretty early,” Ciara told him. “But thank you anyway, Harry.”

  “What about church on Sunday?” Jesse put in. “I can walk with you.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Jesse,” Ciara said. “But I’ll need to freshen up after cooking breakfast. I wouldn’t want to make you late. Good night, gentlemen.”

  She ran into the house and shut the door soundly. And she could only hope she could continue to deter them come morning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Saturday, the men only worked a half day. Ciara had a feeling that might mean she’d find them underfoot. She did not want to give Harry or Jesse the option of claiming a moment of her time. So, when she had finished cleaning up from breakfast, she gathered her basket and left to go pick berries.

  After days of sunny skies, clouds hung heavy over the treetops, and the road out toward Dottie and John’s was a tunnel of cool shadows. Catherine, sweeping the steps of the dispensary, stopped long enough to wave and call a greeting. Ciara waved back.