Page 14 of Mail Order Malarkey

Mrs. Royal eyed Cassandra. “Do you want to take a basket and pick some of the wild berries? If you walk along the path past those trees, you’ll find blackberries and raspberries just growing happily on both sides of the walkway. It’s a bit of a walk, but I know you’d rather be out there than in here. I’ll make as many pies as you can bring me berries for.”

Cassandra smiled. “I would love to do that.”

Cameron walked into the kitchen then, and Mrs. Royal smiled. “Cameron, I was just sending Cassandra out to pick some of the berries along the side of the path. Would you mind showing her where they are?”

“I would love to,” he said, hoping it would be a good chance for the girl to see him for who he was, and not for the angry man she’d met the day before.

Cassandra wanted to refuse to go with him, but she was living in his home, and he’d paid for her train ticket to Montana. She couldn’t be so rude as to refuse to walk with him. “Where can I find a basket, Mrs. Royal?”

“Put a towel in the egg basket you used this morning. It’s easier than anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cassandra took the basket and did as she was told, and then went outside, Cameron right behind her.

“This should be fun,” he said, smiling at her.

“You may think so, but I reserve the right to form my own opinion of our time together.”

He shrugged. “Would it help if I got down on my knees and apologized?”

“No, it wouldn’t. Now if you could go back to yesterday and change how you treated me, that would be wonderful.”

He led the way to the path without another word. He could tell she was attracted to him. There must be a way to convince her that he wasn’t the ogre she saw him as.

Walking along to the berries, he talked about different things along the way, and about nothing. “Ma makes the best blackberry pie you ever tasted,” he said. “I love when she takes the time to pick berries, but it doesn’t happen nearly often enough for my tastes.”

“Blackberry pie is a favorite of mine,” she admitted grudgingly. “Will she make raspberry pie as well?”

He nodded. “Sometimes she mixes them together. I have a sweet tooth, and my ma sure knows how to keep me happy.”

“She said she loves to cook. I prefer to be outside gardening or just exploring.”

“I’ll have to build you a pit where you can cook outside. The pioneers who came here on the Oregon Trail cooked over a campfire, but if I make a big firepit, you’ll be able to cook outside as much as you want.”

“Don’t bother. I don’t plan on being around long enough to use a firepit,” she said softly.

“Would you give me a chance?” he asked. “I know I messed up, and I know Wade wants to court you, but would you let me court you as well? You can choose between us. Maybe we each have until August first, and whoever you think will make the best husband then will be the winner.”

“I refuse to be anyone’s prize!” But if Cassandra were honest with herself, she liked the idea. She wanted to touch Cameron as they walked along together. There was no desire to touch Wade. But perhaps that was because Cameron had kissed her first?

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he said. “I meant you could choose between us, so I guess you’d be choosing your own prize, and you’d win either way.”

She laughed. “You sure do know how to make me think, don’t you?”

“I seem to be better at making you angry,” he responded.

Stopping to start filling the basket, she was aware that Cameron was beside her, helping her pick the berries. “Perhaps we should put the blackberries in the basket, and I can put the raspberries in my apron,” she said.

“Nah. Ma will just have us separate them when we get back.” He put a hand on her arm. “Give me a chance?”

Finally, she nodded. “All right. You may court me, but you must agree to abide by my decision when August first comes.”

“Of course. And I’ll talk to Wade and get him to agree as well.”

“Thank you.” She felt her stomach flutter at the idea of him courting her. His kiss had made her want to swoon, and now he was telling her he wanted to court her and marry her. Sure, he’d said horrible things the day before, but… Maybe that really wasn’t who he was.

His arm kept brushing hers as they put berries into the basket, and as soon as there were enough berries for it to be a little bit heavy, he took the basket from her, hooking it over his arm. “How many should we pick?” she finally asked. She wanted to stand there with him forever, not talking, but instead just feeling him beside her. If the man would talk less, she knew she’d like him a great deal more.

When the basket was full, he offered her his free arm, and she took it, her hand wanting to dwell on the wiry muscles there. It was obvious he was more than just a boss to his men. He worked right alongside them, and he worked hard.

---