Authors: Winnie Griggs
Texas Cinderella (23 page)
Epilogue
R
iley gave the nail one final thwack, then stood back to study his work. It was coming along nicely. Within the next two days, he should have half the roomy attic walled off into two bedchambers, one for Pru and one for Noah.
It had been nearly a month since Guy had been arrested and just yesterday they'd learned that he'd been sentenced to life in prison. At last the children were safe and they could begin to set down roots again. Even Pru's nightmares had faded and she and Noah were thriving the way children were intended to.
The two were looking forward to having their own rooms. In fact, if they hadn't been in school right now they would probably be up here helping him. That the rooms were up in the attic was seen by them as an added bonus. Apparently the kids were looking at this as the tower from one of those fairy-tale stories Mrs. Flanagan liked to read to them.
The woman had become a surrogate grandmother to the two kids, and the affection ran both ways. As soon as Mrs. Flanagan had heard he and Cassie were getting married, she had insisted that they move in permanently with her. Riley had tried to protest, then tried to insist on paying rent, but the feisty widow was having none of it.
“I've realized over these past few weeks how empty this house has been since all my menfolk left me,” she'd said. “And I've gotten used to having young people around me again. Not only used to it, but fond of it. In fact, I'd consider it just plain cruelty if you were to take those two children away from me.”
The only thing she would allow was that they help with the groceries and the chores, which was fine by him.
“You look like you could use a glass of lemonade, Mr. Walker.”
He turned to see that his lovely bride of two weeks had joined him. She was carrying a glass in one hand and what looked like a document of some sort in the other. “Why, thank you, Mrs. Walker, I don't mind if I do.”
She smiled. “I don't think I'll ever grow tired of being called Mrs. Walker. ”
“I sincerely hope not.” Riley took the glass from her, then pulled her close, giving her a quick but oh-so-sweet kiss before releasing her.
She looked up at him with shining eyes. “That's something else I'll never tire of.”
He tapped her nose affectionately, then indicated the paper she held. “What's that you have?”
“I stopped by Reggie's studio while I was out. Our wedding picture is ready.”
He'd learned that Regina Barr was the town photographer, and he'd hired her to memorialize their special day.
Cassie handed the photograph to him and then nestled against him as he studied it.
Riley gazed at the photograph, a feeling of contentment settling in his chest. They were all pictured thereâhe and Cassie in the center, Noah and Pru on the left and Mrs. Flanagan and Cassie's father on the right.
Riley had found a place to belong, and settling down had been no sacrifice at all.
In fact, with Cassie at his side, he was right where he wanted to be.
* * *
Cassie looked at the picture Riley held and couldn't believe what a beautiful life the Good Lord had planned for her. Two beautiful children, a wonderful, loving, God-fearing husband, a father she was now reconciled with and a woman who was as precious as a mother to her.
There was no richer life she could imagine. Like the Cinderella in the children's favorite story, she'd found her prince and her treasure, and she planned to live her very own happily ever after.
* * * * *
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THE NANNY'S LITTLE MATCHMAKERS
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Dear Reader,
I hope you've enjoyed Cassie Lynn and Riley's story. I knew as soon as Cassie Lynn popped up as a secondary character in
The Holiday Courtship
that she needed to have a story of her own. She arrived on the scene and suddenly she was such a fully realized character in my mind. There was so much I knew about her that I couldn't show in that book. It took me a while to figure out who her hero would be, but I think Riley worked out perfectly to be her forever match.
Both of these characters had some tough issues to work through, issues where it wasn't easy to see what the “right” choice would be, issues that ultimately required them to take a hard stand, a stand they couldn't have made without this journey they took together.
And if you enjoyed this book, I hope you'll be on the lookout for the next in the series. For more information on this and other books set in Turnabout, please visit my website at
winniegriggs.com
or follow me on facebook at
Facebook.com/WinnieGriggs.Author
.
And as always, I love to hear from readers. Feel free to contact me at
[email protected]
with your thoughts on this or any other of my books.
Wishing you a life abounding with love and grace,
Winnie Griggs
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The Nanny's Little Matchmakers
by Danica Favorite
Chapter One
Leadville, Colorado, 1882
T
he door to the Mercantile jangled and Mitch Taylor looked up from the books. Before he could greet the customers, his sister-in-law, Iris, had already stepped into action. A good thing, since the customers appeared to be a pretty young lady and her father. The lady seemed to be a proper miss, in a pale blue gown edged with lace, ribbons and all the fripperies that went with the latest style. Her strawberry blond hair arranged in a similar fashion to those he'd seen back in Denver, the young woman could have graced any parlor with ease. She laughed at something Iris said, a soft musical tone escaping her pink lips and a pretty smile lighting her face.
Mitch turned away. Not only was the young lady youngâtoo youngâbut he had no business admiring ladies of any sort at this point in his life. He'd never imagined that he'd end up crawling back here.
Here
not being precisely the correct term, as the Leadville store hadn't opened yet when he'd made the decision to remain in Denver and run his own store while his brother worked to expand the family mercantile empire. Besides, he hadn't crawled. He'd run.
Hattie was dead.
The words rolled in his mind as he considered them. Hattie was dead. Some days those words still didn't seem real.
But the ensuing scandal was real enough. He could only hope that it would be a while longer before talk reached Leadville and he would have enough time toâ
A crash and a screech from the back of the store made him set his pen down. Mitch took a deep breath, then casually turned in the direction of the noise.
As seemed to constantly be the case, before he could even get to the other side of the counter, one of his children, this time it was Clara, ran toward him. Mrs. Abernathy, their nanny, followed behind.
“You get back here!”
Clara darted behind him and clung to the back of his shirt. “I won't!”
Even the glowering look on Mrs. Abernathy's face would not be enough to convince Clara. Experience had taught him that while all of his children were stubborn, when this particular daughter refused to do something, walking to China would be easier than getting her to change her mind.
“What seems to be the problem?” Mitch asked, offering Mrs. Abernathy a smile.
“Everything is the problem.” Mrs. Abernathy's face had turned an unmistakable shade of red. He'd seen it on a number of nannies, all shortly before they'd quit.
Mitch pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Could he find a way to convince her to stay?
The young lady he'd been admiring came into view, covered in flour.
No. Even before Mrs. Abernathy opened her mouth to utter the fateful words, Mitch knew nothing would keep her. He supposed he should make the effort, but with this being the second nanny in the space of a month, he'd need all of his energy to convince another woman to come work for him.
“I see,” he said instead.
“Those children are out of control.” Mrs. Abernathy gave him a sharp look as the flour-coated woman approached.
“I know,” he said quietly. He could feel Clara relax behind him. She, too, knew that their nanny was a few words from giving notice. For Clara, as well as the other children, this would be another victory.
The flour-coated woman smiled at him. “You must be the father of the little darling who welcomed me to the store.”
Iris rushed over. “Polly, I am so sorry. You seeâ”
Polly held up a hand. “It's not your fault, Mrs. Taylor. But I think there's a young lady who owes me an apology.”
She looked at Mitch firmly, but not unkindly. Not like the many people who'd been terrorized by his children. He'd liked to have said that such occurrences were rare, but in truth, they'd left Denver not just to escape the scandal of his wife's death. He also needed respite from talk of the antics of the Taylor Terrors, as his children had been dubbed by society.
Most people, when they saw his children coming, ran the other way. Perhaps people running away was a small exaggeration, but not by much.
Polly squatted down in front of him. “Come on out now, young lady. I realize that you're new in town, but in Leadville, we don't go throwing flour at strangers. That might be what you did where you used to live, but here, that's not our custom.”
She spoke gently, sweetly. Without the rage of so many of the others who'd insisted that Mitch do something about his out-of-control children. Even her eyes. A bright blue that matched her dress, they looked almost...nice.
Clara didn't budge.
Polly rose and looked him in the eye, then stuck out a hand, which he shook. “Polly MacDonald. I can see why your daughter might be a bit shy, but she does owe me an apology.”
Then her blue eyes twinkled as she pointed to a figure peering around a barrel. “Although we could say that our little mishap with the flour was my own fault, since I was so inconsiderate as to be paying too much attention to the dried fruit and not realizing I was stepping into a battle between these two.”
Rory. Mitch sighed again. Of course it was Rory and Clara. The two of them hadn't stopped bickering since Rory had the misfortune of being born seven minutes after his sister. A fact she wielded like a weapon in establishing superiority to her younger brother.
“You see! They are positively out of control,” Mrs. Abernathy said with the kind of self-righteousness Mitch had resigned himself to hearing from everyone who met his children. “I'm sorry, Mr. Taylor, I really am. But your children are too wild for the likes of me. I never thought I'd say that about any child, but there is clearly something wrong with them. They belong in an institution.”
Had he not heard it dozens of times before, he might have been insulted. Instead, he smiled politely and nodded. “Thank you for your service, Mrs. Abernathy.”
“I beg your pardon!”
Mitch turned toward Polly, the woman his children had just doused in flour. The kindness had melted from her face, replaced with a level of fury he'd expected from the flour incident.
“There is nothing wrong with those children. I cannot fathom why you would make such a horrible suggestion as to put them in an institution. I hope Mr. Taylor docks whatever wages you have coming to you. Whatever is wrong with these children, it's not a deficiency in them, but in the kind of care they are receiving. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Then Polly squatted down again. “Please come talk to me, little one,” she said in a much gentler tone. “I won't hurt you, I promise.”
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Abernathy stomped away. Mitch wasn't sure if he was glad to see her go or not. He'd have liked to have thought there was truth in Polly's words, that had he had a better nanny, his children wouldn't behave so terribly.
But he had been through an awful lot of nannies.
Clara came forward. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn't mean to hit you. I was trying to get Rory back.”
“Rory,” Mitch said, indicating his son should join them. “I believe you also owe Miss MacDonald an apology.”
Which is when it occurred to him. Clara had actually apologized. Never in all of his life had he heard his children apologize. At least not without threats of bodily harm, missing supper and the like.
Mitch looked over at the young lady. “It is Miss, isn't it?”
She gave him the kind of dazzling smile that would have struck him in the heart were it not firmly encased in stone. It had been a long time since he'd allowed himself to be swayed by a pretty face.
“Indeed it is.”
“I'm Mitch Taylor. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I was caught up in the situation.”
He placed his hand on Clara's shoulder. “This is my daughter Clara, who is ten, and that's her twin, Rory.” Then he looked around. “Where are the others?”
Dutifully, his other children stepped out from behind the shelves. “This is Louisa, my eldest, who is twelve, and there's Thomas, who is seven.” Mitch looked around. “Where is Isabella?”
The children all looked at each other like they'd assumed the other had been in charge of the child.
“I'm sorry,” he told Polly. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
She smiled at him. “Let me help. How old of a child am I looking for?”
“Right.” Mitch tried to smile back, but he found he lacked the energy. “Isabella is three, and she has dark curls and is wearing a...”
He looked at the other children. He'd gone out early this morning, before any of them were up. “What is she wearing?”
“A pink dress,” Louisa volunteered.
Everyone stood there, staring at him. “Well, let's find her!”
Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity in the store as everyone went off in search of Isabella. Mitch paused at the counter for a moment.
“It's all right,” Polly said kindly, her hand resting on his arm. “I'm sure we'll find her.”
Mitch nodded. Like all of the other difficult emotions he had to suppress in life, this one should be no different. After all, Isabella disappeared all the time. She liked to hide in small spaces, where she'd curl up and take a nap. The rational part of his brain told him that Isabella was most likely somewhere doing just that. But the ache in his heart...the one that had already borne too much for any man to bear...
“Thank you,” he said simply. Then he turned to look for his daughter.
* * *
Mitch Taylor was not a cold man, Polly had decided upon meeting him. The simple way he spoke, seemingly unattached, gave an air of coldness that would have driven most people off. But there'd been a catch in his voice whenever he spoke of his children that gave him away. He might want people to think him detached, but Polly could tell by the love in his eyes that he cared deeply for his children.
She paused at a pile of blankets tossed casually on the floor. Mrs. Taylor would never tolerate such disarray in the store. Though she only spoke to the other woman briefly on her visits, Polly knew the pride Mrs. Taylor took in keeping everything in order.
Polly knelt down and moved the blankets. She spied a mass of curly black hair.
She gently touched the child. “Isabella?”
The little girl sighed and pulled the blankets back closer to her.
“I've found her!” Polly stood and waved Mitch over.
The relief spreading across the man's face reaffirmed her belief that there was more to Mitch than he let on. He ran to them and immediately scooped up the little girl into his arms.
“Isabella!” He cradled her against him. Then she lifted her head, yawned and looked around.
Which is when Polly noticed that Isabella was completely unlike any of Mitch's other children in appearance. Her mass of curls was much darker than the straight brown hair of her other four siblings. But it was the deep rich brown of Isabella's skin that struck her the most. Especially as it contrasted with Mitch's fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes.
Her friend Emma Jane had adopted a child, and Polly had always admired her for the ferocity with which she and her husband, Jasper, loved little Moses. But to see this strange man, who wore such a veneer of ice, loving a child so clearly not his own, it made Polly's heart tumble in a funny manner she hadn't expected.
“Yes, she's mine,” Mitch said curtly, still cradling the little girl as he moved past her.
“Of course she is,” Polly said, knowing how Emma Jane and Jasper often had to correct others who made unkind remarks about Moses not being theirs. “I can see you love her very much.”
Mitch relaxed slightly, then peered down at his daughter. “You gave us quite a scare, Isabella. You mustn't hide like that.”
“I was sweepy,” the little girl mumbled, then rested her head back on her father's shoulder.
“Mrs. Abernathy's lessons were too long today,” the eldest girl, Louisa, said as she joined them. “She wasn't paying the slightest attention to Isabella and was more worried about Clara's spelling. Rory told her that Clara cheated on her lessons, so Mrs. Abernathy rapped her knuckles. If I hadn't been forced to work on penmanship, I might have been able to look after Isabella myself.”
Louisa gave him a haughty glare. “I'm twelve years old. I don't see why I need lessons anymore. I can watch the younger children, and then you won't need to hire any more dreadful nannies like Mrs. Abernathy. I'm practically a grown woman. I can do it.”
Polly fought the urge to laugh. At twelve, she'd thought herself quite the grown woman. And, in truth, she'd taken on much of those responsibilities. Her mother had been busy taking in the washing from other miners and their families, her father had been busy working in the mines. That is, when her father hadn't been too drunk to work. It had fallen on Polly's shoulders to keep an eye on both her younger siblings and any of the other young children in the various mining camps they'd bounced between.
But it was not a life she'd wish on any twelve-year-old child. If a girl had a choice, anything was better than the drudgery of running a household that wasn't hers to run.
“We won't be having this argument again,” Mitch said, shifting Isabella in his arms. “You need an education so you can have a good life for yourself.”
“I do have a good life,” Louisa declared hotly, “at least when I don't have a horrible nanny forcing me to do useless things.”
“Your education is not useless.” Mitch's voice held the same calmness she'd observed when she first met him. “You have no idea the doors it will open up for you.”
Louisa looked like she was going to speak, but then closed her mouth as she nodded grudgingly. Her expression was anything but accepting, but at least she appeared to be listening to her father.
Polly would have given anything to have her only responsibility be her lessons at that age. Instead, she changed diaper after diaper, wishing things could be different. It was only the Lassiters' influence that had allowed her to have an education in the first place.
