clothes they likely wore when logging.
She supposed she might have approached John. He was by all accounts studious and kind, even if he was a few years her junior. But Simon, she thought, held greater possibilities when it came to strengths. Surely that high forehead was testimony to intelligence. The long, lanky body certainly spoke of hard labor, and the firm fingers told of days wielding an ax and nights cradling his father’s violin. She’d heard him play at Catherine’s and Rina’s weddings. A man capable of bringing such joy must have the capacity to understand her hopes.
But there was another reason she’d chosen Simon. Maddie had confided that he was a man who could be utterly fixed on a course of action, and he was focused now on a goal to help his family. With two new brides and babies on the horizon, the Wallins needed more farmland.
And that was something Nora could offer.
She raised her head, determination stiffening her spine and forcing her feet across the room to his side as the other guests came forward to accept pieces of the wedding cake Maddie had created in her bakery. Nora felt Simon’s gaze shift to her and nearly wilted under the considering look. She reminded herself that whatever he thought of her, whatever he said, it could be no worse than what she would endure once Charles and Meredith arrived.
“Mr. Wallin,” she said, the sound of her thundering heart nearly eclipsing her voice in her ears. “I’m Nora Underhill, and I have a proposal for you.”
He frowned. His brows were a shade darker than his short, light brown hair. They made a firm slash across his tanned skin. Those green eyes were like chips of jade as he gazed down at her. “A proposal?”
“Yes,” she said, amazed at her own audacity. “An actual proposal. Simon Wallin, I want you to marry me.”
* * *
Simon blinked. Even in primitive Seattle, even at a reception where weddings were on everyone’s mind, a lady didn’t ask a gentleman to marry. She had no reason, for Seattle boasted ten men for every lady of marriageable age. Instead of offering, a lady generally had to fend off too many offers.
And it wasn’t as if he was well acquainted with the woman. He had met her only once or twice. He might not have remembered her name if she hadn’t reminded him now.
Besides, she certainly didn’t seem the forward type. He’d noticed her, standing against the far wall, one hand hugging her waist, her face first brightening in a smile, then darkening. Now her gray eyes were growing misty in her expressive face, and her generous lips were trembling.
He could not imagine what would have driven her to make such a bold request, but he wasn’t about to grant it.
“I think,” he said, keeping his voice kind and respectful, “that you are talking to the wrong man. Any number of fellows would no doubt be delighted to pay you court, Miss Underhill.”
She shook her head so strongly her hair flew out of the bun in which she’d attempted to bind it, thick black tendrils curling like smoke around her broad cheeks. “No. It must be you. You see, I don’t want a husband, and from what I gather, you don’t want a wife. We’d be perfect for each other.”
He could not follow her logic, but that was nothing new. He struggled to understand even his brothers’ choices.
Drew was myopic, so focused on raising their brothers and sister after their father’s logging accident that his oldest brother sometimes forgot most of them were grown now and able to make their own way. His younger brother James was too spontaneous, leaping into action without considering the consequences. John had his head in the clouds, always dreaming, and Levi was young enough that he tended to think only of himself. They all saw the world as they wanted it to be. He saw what it could be. Was it any wonder none of them realized the problems looming over the farm?
“I appreciate your faith in me,” Simon told the woman in front of him as the rest of his family headed to accept a piece of Maddie’s no-doubt delicious spice cake. “But I must decline.”
He pushed off the wall to follow them, and she darted in front of him once more. She was short; the top of her head came below his collarbone. But her figure in the lavender gown was sturdy, solid.
“Please,” she said, her gaze turned up to his and her face pinched. “Hear me out. You need land. As your wife, I can bring you one hundred and sixty acres.”
About to brush past her again, Simon paused. She was right, of course. He’d already tried to convince Drew and James to file for their wives, to no avail. With Catherine four months pregnant, Drew didn’t want to chance making her travel to Olympia to claim the land the law allowed her as his wife. And James, the only other one of them besides Drew and Simon to have earned his patent, was determined to claim the bluff overlooking the lake for the town site they had planned to honor their father’s memory. That land was no good for farming.
So it was all up to Simon to find a way to gain the much-needed farmland, even if the family budget would not extend that far. He had even identified the property—a good stretch of flat acreage running above his claim, his mother’s and Drew’s. He’d prayed for guidance, but as usual, he’d heard no answer.
But to marry a stranger? He’d never planned to marry, despite the fact that he’d threatened Drew with courting Catherine when his brother had proven reticent to add the pretty nurse to the family. Simon tended to bump heads with anyone close to him, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps that was why God so often remained silent. It seemed Simon’s role in life to spot the flaw in any plan, to point out the error in misconceived ideas. Love, and faith, did not grow in that environment.
Yet here stood Nora Underhill, biting her lower lip, gazing up at him as if he alone had the capacity to make her dreams come true. If it had been one of his brothers or Beth suggesting that he marry for the land, he would have told them they were being idiotic. But she had obviously taken a risk by approaching him, and he could only respect her for that.
“I’m not the most patient and tolerant of fellows,” he admitted instead. “You might call me a cynic. I doubt I’d make a good husband. I like things just so, and I can’t abide senseless frivolity.”
“I am not the least bit frivolous,” she assured him, waving both hands so that he caught a glimpse of the entirely frivolous hearts embroidered along her equally frivolous scalloped cuffs. “This would be a simple bargain. You would continue to live as you always have. I intend to stay in my room at the boardinghouse in Seattle. I’m a seamstress, and I should like to keep working.”
A practical consideration, he’d give her that. But any number of things troubled him about this bride bargain, the largest being her motivation. Why would a woman surrounded by bachelors need to approach him?
“And what do you gain from this marriage?” he challenged.
She drew in a breath as if for fortification. “Protection.”
Simon stiffened. “Protection? If someone is threatening you, Miss Underhill, tell me his name, and I’ll put a stop to it. And if you don’t wish to confide in me, I know a dozen men in Seattle who would be happy to oblige. You have no need to sell yourself in marriage to escape unwanted attentions.”
Color sprang to her cheeks, making them as red and round as the apples on the tree Ma had planted their first spring at Wallin Landing. He had to fist his hands to keep from reaching out to touch the no-doubt warm skin.
“That
