“I’ll be fine as soon as I finish my coffee.”
“It was the kids, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t her fault—she’s sick.”
“Tell me.” When it appeared Cassie would try to put him off, he gave her a stern look. “I’m not wanting to cast blame, but I am Pru’s uncle. I need to know how she’s doing so I can better help.”
Cassie nodded. “Of course. Pru’s symptoms have moved deep into the itchy phase, and she was miserable.” Cassie took a small sip from her cup. “I finally sent Noah to my room and spent the night on his bed, so I could read to her and try to take her mind off her misery.”
“I’m sorry. That should have been me watching over her.”
Cassie lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Don’t worry,” she said with a lopsided smile. “I have a feeling there’ll be enough of these episodes to go around over the next few days.”
He smiled at her attempt at humor. But when she went to get up, he captured her hand with his. “Wait.”
She stilled as if frozen. Her gaze went to their joined hands and then shot to his own. Something passed between them, something warm that he definitely needed to explore more deeply.
He released her hand and leaned back, clearing his throat. “I think it’s my turn to apologize. You go do whatever it is you need to do to get Mrs. Flanagan ready to face the day, then send Noah back to his own bed, and get some rest yourself. I can handle cooking breakfast this morning. And I’ll slip down to the livery to let Mr. Humphries know I need the morning off.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, but I—”
“I insist. I only agreed to this arrangement on the condition you allow me to pull my weight in taking care of them, remember? Besides, as you said, there’s going to be a lot of these episodes to go around the next few days. You won’t do Pru or anyone else any good if you wear yourself out.”
Cassie was silent for a moment and he could almost see her mind processing what he’d just said. Then she nodded. “Very well. But I’m only going to take a short nap, so there’s no need for you to tell Mr. Humphries anything.”
Riley made a noncommittal sound as he stood and moved around the table to help her stand.
She smiled with a raised brow. “Thank you, but I’m merely tired, not infirm.”
He waved his hands in a shooing motion. “Then get on with you—take care of whatever you need to with Mrs. Flanagan and then be off to bed.”
She gave a little curtsy. “Yes, sir.” And with a saucy smile, she headed out the door.
Smiling at her playful exit, Riley stoked the stove, then grabbed the egg basket and stepped outside. He’d have to make certain they shared the overnight duties tonight. He might not be as good at tending to sick kids as she was, but if it was just a matter of trying to soothe Pru, and read or otherwise distract her from her discomfort, he could manage that well enough.
* * *
Cassie opened her eyes and was confused by the bright sunlight streaming into the room. Then she remembered—she’d agreed to take a nap.
How long had she been asleep? She glanced at the small porcelain clock on her bedside table and saw that she had indeed slept for nearly two hours. Oh dear, she was going to be late making her deliveries.
She’d lain down fully dressed, so had only to pull her shoes back on and put her hair up again. She took care of that quickly, then hurried to the kitchen.
She entered the room to find it empty, but almost immediately the back door opened and Riley stepped inside.
“Oh, hello,” he said, sounding inordinately pleased with himself. “Up already?”
“Already? I should have gotten up an hour ago.” Then she looked around. “Where are my baked goods?”
“Delivered. I just got back.”
“Oh.” Realizing that had sounded less than grateful, she conjured up a smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Care for some breakfast?”
She reached for one of the two biscuits on a plate in the middle of the table. “I’ll just have these and a cup of coffee.”
Before either of them could say anything else, Mrs. Flanagan appeared in the doorway, with Noah proudly pushing the wheelchair.
“Well, hello there,” the woman said. “Thought I heard you in here.”
“Where’s Pru?” Riley asked with a frown.
The widow waved a hand. “Back in bed.”
“Good.” Cassie set her biscuit down as she reached for the cup of coffee Riley had poured for her. “She didn’t sleep well and needs to get all the rest she can.”
“Speaking of sleep,” Riley said, turning to Mrs. Flanagan. “I have a favor to ask you.”
The widow sat up straighter, as if happy to be asked. “And just what might that be?”
“There’s a tree right outside my window with a limb hanging over the house. When the wind blows, it scratches and bumps against the roof, and that makes it hard to sleep. I was wondering if you’d mind if I trimmed it off.”
Mrs. Flanagan nodded. “I suppose that would be all right. In fact, I was planning to take care of that myself before I had my accident.”
“Then if you’ll just tell me where to find a ladder and a saw, I’ll get it all taken care of before I turn in tonight.”
While her employer gave Riley the directions he needed, and some he didn’t, Cassie smiled. She was impressed with how smoothly he’d handled that, getting the widow’s permission to do one of the maintenance chores by making it sound as if she was doing him a favor.
And Cassie had noticed he’d been doing other chores, too, all without fanfare. The pantry door no longer squeaked, the cabinet door that had been sagging on its hinges was now tight, the broken slat on the porch rail had been fixed. He’d even replaced the rotten board on the old swing in the backyard with a new one.
Yep, Riley was one handy man to have around.
He glanced up and met her gaze for just a moment, and she let her smile tell him how much she appreciated his approach.
Chapter Twelve
Pru wasn’t a very demanding patient. The biggest problem Cassie encountered that morning was trying to keep her from scratching at her blisters. She applied the calamine lotion Dr. Pratt had prescribed, which did seem to provide some relief, but not enough to sooth her completely. Cassie also trimmed the girl’s fingernails short enough to minimize any damage she might do if she gave in to the urge to scratch.
When delivering a bowl of broth midmorning, Cassie nodded toward Pru’s doll. “What a pretty little lady. Is that Bitsy?”
The girl nodded as she clutched the doll protectively against her chest.
Cassie could see the cloth doll had been lovely at one time. But one of the button eyes was hanging by a mere thread and the other seemed loose, as well. The yarn hair was frayed and tangled. The gingham dress was soiled and worn, but it was obvious the doll was well-loved.
“Bitsy is a perfectly lovely name for a lovely little lady.”
Pru stroked the doll’s hair. “My momma made it for me.”
“Then that means she’s an extra special doll, because she was made with lots of love.”
The little girl moved the doll to her lap, where she studied her forlornly. “Her eye is messed up.”
“I see that. Would you like me to fix it for you?”
Pru’s expression was wary but hopeful. “Can you really?”
“I certainly can. It’ll take just a few minutes with a needle and thread and it’ll be good as new.”
“I have something Ma made for me, too,” Noah interjected.
Giving Pru time to decide if she would entrust her precious doll’s well-being to her, Cassie turned to the boy. “And what might that be?”
He scrambled off the bed and moved to the trun
k. After a moment of rummaging around, he pulled out a soft leather pouch and held it up proudly for Cassie to see. “Ma made it from a deer hide. And she stitched my name on it in blue thread. See?”
“I do. It looks like a very well-made pouch, and the stitching is exquisite.”
“She said it was a special bag to hold all my treasures in.”
“And what sorts of treasures do you keep in it?”
Noah opened the bag and poured the contents out on the bed. “This rock comes from the creek where I used to go fishing with Uncle Riley. And this is the brass hook that used to hang on the front porch to hold a lantern. And this is a blue jay feather I found once when Ma took us blackberry picking.”
“What splendid treasures.” Cassie noticed he hadn’t mentioned his father. Was there a story there? She was tempted to ask, but decided not to. No point putting the boy on the spot if it was a sensitive topic.
She put a finger to her chin. “You know,” she said slowly, “I imagine Mrs. Flanagan would enjoy getting a look at these fine treasures of yours.”
Noah started tucking his things back into the pouch. “I’ll go show her right now.” And with that, he sprinted out of the room.
Cassie turned back to Pru. “So, shall I see about fixing Miss Bitsy’s eyes for you?”
After another moment’s hesitation, the little girl nodded. “Yes, please.”
Cassie stood. “Then why don’t I draw you a nice warm bath and add some baking soda to it? That ought to give you at least a small bit of relief from all that itching. Would you like that?”
Pru nodded, but her expression was uncertain.
Ignoring her reservations, Cassie smiled. “Very well. You stay here while I go draw your bath, and I’ll fetch you once it’s ready. Then, while you’re soaking in the tub, I’ll work on getting Bitsy fixed up.”
Twenty minutes later, Cassie entered the parlor with the doll and her sewing box in hand.
Mrs. Flanagan sat near the sofa, an open book in her hands. Noah sat on the floor playing with a half-dozen tin soldiers, while Dapple watched him with lazily slitted eyes.
The widow glanced up and frowned. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
Cassie explained the situation as she sat on the sofa. “Anyway, I could tell this doll means a lot to Pru and I thought it might cheer her up to have it fixed up.”
She went to work immediately, reattaching Bitsy’s left eye and securing the right one more firmly for good measure. Not satisfied leaving it at that, Cassie studied the doll critically. “Her dress could do with a good washing. I just wish I had something to fashion another garment from while this one dries.”
Mrs. Flanagan straightened in her wheelchair. “I have just the thing.” Turning adroitly, she exited the room and then returned a few moments later with a colorful scarf that she held out to Cassie. “Use this.”
Cassie studied the bright yellow, flower-bedecked fabric and glanced up uncertainly. “Are you sure? I’ll have to cut it.”
The widow waved a hand dismissively. “Go right ahead. I never wear the thing—yellow is not a good color for me.”
As Cassie washed the doll’s original dress in the kitchen basin, she took note of the small, evenly spaced stitching. Pru’s mother had taken a great deal of care when she’d stitched this for her daughter.
To fashion the new doll-sized garment, Cassie cut the scarf to a suitable length, then simply folded it in half and cut a hole at the fold large enough to fit the doll’s head through. She quickly basted the sides together and then used one of her own ribbons to serve as a belt.
Then, for good measure, she worked on cleaning the doll’s face and smoothing out her yarn hair.
She was quite pleased with the result and even Mrs. Flanagan called it a job well done.
Once Cassie was finished, she helped Pru dry off and dress, and then brought Bitsy to her. Pru was delighted with her changed appearance.
“Don’t worry,” Cassie assured her, “as soon as the dress your mother made for Bitsy is dry, you can change her right back into it. And then you can keep this one as a spare so she doesn’t have to wear the same clothes all the time.”
“Thank you.” Pru held up the doll. “And Bitsy says thank you, too. She likes having two dresses.”
Cassie was touched by the girl’s simple gratitude. Perhaps, if she had some spare time, she would make the doll another proper dress.
* * *
When Riley retuned to Mrs. Flanagan’s home that afternoon, he found the widow and Noah in the kitchen with Cassie. Cassie was at the table pouring a custard-like substance into a dough-lined pie dish.
He set a small sack of apples he’d picked up at the mercantile on the counter. “I had a hankering for an apple this afternoon and figured it would be rude to eat one in front of you all, so I bought enough for everyone.” He picked one up and polished it on his shirt. Then he held it out. “Any takers?”
Mrs. Flanagan and Noah each accepted one, but Cassie shook her head.
“Maybe later,” she said with a smile.
“Working on another pie, I see. Will this one be an experiment, as well?”
Mrs. Flanagan replied for Cassie. “Every dessert she makes these days is an experiment of one sort or another.”
“She said I could help if I wanted to,” Noah declared, his chest puffing out in self-importance.
“Helping is good,” Riley said mildly. Then he remarked, to no one in particular, “You folks sure do have some fine weather in these parts.”
“Better than where you came from?” Cassie asked curiously.
“It was raining there the day we left.” Then he turned back to Mrs. Flanagan. “I imagine a lady as independent as you obviously are has a hard time being confined to the house.”
The widow nodded. “I sure do miss being able to come and go as I please.”
“Then how would you like to go for a bit of a stroll this afternoon?”
She glared at him. “That is not amusing.”
“I didn’t intend for it to be. In fact, I was quite serious.”
“Then you must be addled. As you can see, I’m not in any condition to be doing any strolling.”
“Perhaps I should have said how would you like to accompany Miss Vickers on a stroll.”
Mrs. Flanagan’s lips pinched even tighter. “Again, given the steps, I’m confined to the house and porch.”
“Ah, but that’s not strictly true. You need to use your imagination to see the possibilities.”
Her frown took on a tinge of curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” Riley pushed the wheeled chair out onto the porch, inviting Cassie and Noah to follow.
Once they were all gathered there, Riley bent down and lifted the startled woman from her chair, cradling her carefully in his arms. Holding her as if she weighed nothing at all, he turned to the younger woman. “Miss Vickers, if you don’t mind.”
She quickly maneuvered the chair down the stairs and settled it on the walkway.
Riley followed with his surprised-speechless burden and settled her in the chair once again. “How’s that?”
Mrs. Flanagan finally found her tongue. “That, young man, was highly impertinent. I will thank you not to ever take such liberties with my person again, at least not without my permission.”
Riley schooled his expression in some semblance of contrition. “Yes, ma’am. I surely will not.”
She shifted in her chair, her back straight as a fence post and her chin tilted up imperiously. “But now that I’m down here, I might as well take advantage of it. Cassie Lynn, I have a hankering to take a turn down Main Street.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cassie’s tone was bland, but Riley noticed the amused glint in her eye as she moved behind her employe
r and grasped the chair’s handles.
Riley caught her gaze and gave her a quick wink. Cassie had a sudden coughing fit, no doubt to cover the laugh he saw threatening to spill out of her.
Then he stepped back. “Enjoy your stroll, ladies. And don’t worry, Mrs. Flanagan, I’ll be here to carry you back up the steps when you return.”
With that, he nonchalantly stuck his hands in his pockets and went back inside. The fact that he’d made Cassie smile at him more favorably again had brightened his day more than it should have.
* * *
Cassie couldn’t hide her smile as she began pushing the chair down the sidewalk. Who would have guessed Riley would be so good at charming her employer?
“Slow down,” Mrs. Flanagan said. “We’re not running a race here.”
“Of course.” She slowed her pace. “Just let me know if there’s somewhere you want to stop, or when you’re ready to turn around and head back for home.”
“Of course I will,” Mrs. Flanagan said acerbically. “You know I’m not one to be afraid to speak up.”
It was nearly forty minutes later before they returned to the house. Noah was sitting on the porch, and as soon as he spotted them he sprinted inside. A few minutes later Riley stepped out, ready to carry Mrs. Flanagan up the stairs. This time, before he lifted her from her chair, he asked permission with exaggerated formality.
He was rewarded for his efforts with a glare. “Don’t think you’re fooling me, young man. I know impertinence when I see it.” Then she gave a regal nod. “But yes, you may carry me back up the stairs. ”
* * *
Later that afternoon, after Riley had taken care of the wayward tree branch, he paused at the back door. Looking into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised to see Cassie at the stove.
He watched as she stirred a pot, and listened to her soft humming. The domesticity of the scene tugged at him, stirred a longing in him he hadn’t realized was there.
A moment later she lifted her cook spoon and took a taste of whatever was in the pot. Her gaze met his just as she swallowed. Her eyes widened and her cheeks colored prettily, as if she were embarrassed to have been caught in the act.
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