To Win Her Heart

  Eden’s chest tightened. “My book?” she said again, a note of pleading working its way into her tone. But it was no use. He’d already started fanning the pages.

  “What’s this?” He growled and pulled the folded sheets free. “You’re writing him letters?” Accusation dripped like acid from his tongue as he speared her with a glower and thrust the papers into her face.

  She seized the note and tried to yank it free, but he held fast. “Mr. Grant asked my opinion on a literary matter. These are just some of my thoughts. Nothing to concern you.” She pulled again, and this time he let go. Eden quickly hid the letter in the folds of her shawl.

  “Everything you do concerns me, Eden.” He spat the words at her out of the side of his mouth as he smiled and tipped his hat to a middle-aged woman several paces away who had turned to gawk. After a final curious look, the woman smiled and moved on.

  Eden frowned up at Conrad Pratt. His high-handedness was really getting out of hand. Perhaps it was time to get her father involved. A few well-placed words, maybe a threat or two from the town’s founder, and she’d be safe from any further unwanted advances. But then again, she wasn’t a little girl anymore, running to Daddy instead of solving her own problems. She could handle the sheriff. She just needed to hold her ground until he finally tired of the battle and turned his attentions elsewhere.

  “My book, please?”

  “I’ll not have you ruining your reputation before we say our vows,” he ground out. “Respectability is everything in my business.” He shoved the book at her chest.

  Eden teetered back a step as she secured an arm around the volume. “I thought protecting the citizens of Spencer was your business.”

  He glared daggers at her, clenching his jaw so tight she thought she heard a tooth chip. But having the letter and book safely in her possession again freed her to vent some spleen.

  “Despite your stubborn insistence, Sheriff, I’ll not be saying vows with you. So do me the honor of staying out of my affairs.” With that, she turned her back and swept out into the street, feeling good about the setdown she’d delivered.

  Until she reached the opposite side and glanced back.

  Sheriff Pratt leaned menacingly against the wall of the Hang Dog Saloon, his black coat tucked back behind the holster at his hip. As he stroked the handle of his Colt, he stared across the street. But not at Eden. No, the heat burning from his eyes was directed at the man who had just emerged from the smithy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Levi shouldered the last of the jumpers and carried them out to where Duncan was waiting with the wagon.

  “This be fine craftsmanship, Levi.” Duncan crouched in the wagon bed inspecting the weld on the weighted drill and the sharpness of its tip. “Aye. Ye ken what you’re about, for certain.”

  Bending forward, Levi let the rods slide down his shoulder and through the crook in his arm until the ends met the ground. The jumpers rattled together as he took them between his hands and angled them toward Duncan.

  “I’ve . . . hammered a drill or two . . . in my day.”

  “Have ye, now?” Duncan grinned at him as he levered the shafts to the rear of the wagon. He gave a nod and both men released their grips, letting the tools clatter against their counterparts. “Well, if ye’re ever in need o’ a job, I’ll put a word in for ye with the boss.”

  Levi raised an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow as well as to hide the wince he couldn’t quite contain. Work at a quarry? God forbid. It’d been hard enough to stomach making the drills. Walking through the pit again would be a living nightmare—shadows of the men he’d restrained lurking behind each slab, their agonizing cries echoing off the rocks. No. He wouldn’t take Duncan up on his offer. Not for all the gold in Texas.

  “I think I’ll keep on here for now,” he said, his tone dry.

  “As ye should.” Duncan brushed the dust from his hands and hopped over the side with a nimble ease that Levi envied. “Ye cannae waste the talent the Lord’s given ye, now, can ye?”

  The question pierced Levi’s soul, resurrecting his guilt for doing just that for so many years. “No. Not anymore.”

  Duncan’s jovial manner receded for a moment, replaced by a consideration that surprised Levi with its depth. But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished again behind the lad’s ready grin.

  “Well,” he said, “I suppose we should be settlin’ Fieldman’s account, then.” He reached beneath his vest, most likely to retrieve their agreed-upon sum, but Levi never saw the money. Something beyond the younger man’s shoulder captured Levi’s attention.

  Duncan turned his head and let out a low whistle. “Ach. Now, there be a lass with a bonny look to ’er. And I’m thinking it’s nae me she’s coming to see.”

  Levi dragged his gaze away from Eden to glare at the smiling Scotsman. It had little effect, though. Duncan lifted his eyebrows in a knowing manner and winked before schooling his features into a serious mien so false it elicited a reluctant smile from Levi.

  “Here’s your payment, Mr. Grant,” Duncan said in an absurdly formal tone. “Fieldman sends his thanks.”

  Levi stuffed the bank notes in his trouser pocket, his eyes again drifting to Eden. She lifted a hand in greeting from the other side of the wagon, hanging back to avoid interrupting his transaction.

  “I’ll be on me way, then,” Duncan said in an overloud voice, shooting Levi a final wink before gamboling up to the driver’s seat. “Ma’am.” He touched the brim of his cap and nodded to Eden, then took up the reins and maneuvered the wagon down to the street.

  Levi crossed behind him and ran a hand through his unruly hair. He hadn’t visited the barber since coming to Spencer, and now his hair curled more than a man’s should. He always made a point to comb it down before paying a call on Eden, but there wasn’t much he could do about it this time.

  “We’ve missed you at the library, Mr. Grant.” Her beautiful eyes were full of questions.

  He stepped closer, wanting to touch her arm, stroke her cheek, anything to convey his regret. But he was covered in perspiration from working the forge, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and did the best he could with words. “I’ve . . . uh . . .” Levi cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the dirt. “I’ve had to work late to . . . complete a job for the quarry.” He lifted his head. “I meant . . . to come by. . . .”

  “So it was just your work that kept you away?” She peered up at him, a shimmer of vulnerability in her eyes.

  “Of cour—” Levi bit down on his tongue at the last second. “I mean . . . You didn’t think I . . . ?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  But it did. He could tell by the way the lines around her mouth softened at his reassurance. She seemed to understand his intent even with his blundering speech.

  “I brought you a book.” She opened her arm a bit to reveal a cover that matched two others he’d perused recently. “If you’re still interested . . . in Mr. Irving’s writings.”

  Levi grinned, and the tension between them evaporated. “Lately I’ve become right fond of the fellow.”

  Her lips stretched wide in a smile that lit up her face. She ducked her head as she held out the book to him, but he caught her peeking up at him, and his heart swelled within his chest. He took the book from her hand, intentionally grasping it in such a way that his fingers brushed against hers. Even though she was wearing gloves, he knew she felt the contact by her tiny indrawn breath and the fact that she hesitated several seconds before pulling free.

  Could it really be possible that Eden Spencer felt something more than friendship toward him? He didn’t deserve such a gift. But he wasn’t about to shy away from it, either.

  “Will I see you in church tomorrow, Mr. Grant?”

  “Yep. I’ll be there.” He wanted to hear his given name on her lips again, but understood her need for formality. Though no one was around, they were still in public, and he suspected she used it to create a bit of distance between t
hem, as well. He would respect that and let her set the pace.

  “Good. I’ll look for you then.” She reached down to grasp her skirt, lifting the hem out of the dust. Her shawl slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. Levi stepped close and gathered the soft wool in his palm. Slowly, he dragged it up her arm and back over her shoulder. He smoothed it into place, enjoying the feel of her fine bones beneath his touch. A tremor passed through her as his thumb grazed the edge of her neck, and satisfaction surged inside him.

  She might be setting the pace, but he wasn’t above giving a little nudge every now and then.

  Levi turned his attention to her face. Her wide eyes stared back at him like a doe, wary and unsure. Yet there was a touch of longing in evidence, too. Finally, she blinked and broke free of her stillness.

  “I’ll be on my way, then. Have a pleasant evening.”

  “You too.”

  He watched her go, the dark green fabric of her dress acting like a magnet for his gaze. Seeing this shy side of her was new. Since the day they’d met, Eden always seemed to be charging forward—confident, independent, opinionated. And admittedly, those opinions had not always been too favorable where he was concerned. Yet the more she revealed of herself in her letters, and the more he learned to look past her oh-so-proper shell, the more he realized that a tender soul resided within her, one easily bruised, if he didn’t miss his guess. Hence her reluctance to expose it.

  His view of her faded until only an occasional flash of green caught his eye as she wove through the townspeople. Knowing he still had a pile of projects to organize after setting them aside for the quarry job, Levi sought out a final glimpse of green, then turned to head back into the shop. He didn’t take more than a step before his path was blocked. By a scowling lawman with loathing in his eyes.

  “Enjoying the scenery, Grant?”

  Levi ignored the bait. “You got . . . a bar in the jail needing work, Pratt? Or are you here to gab?”

  Moving sideways, Levi tried to step around him, but the sheriff cut him off and thrust his finger in Levi’s face. “Stay away from Eden. She’s mine.”

  Something hardened inside Levi at the claim, and it was all he could do not to grab the man’s finger and snap the bone in two. He balled his free hand into a fist as he struggled to control his fury. “I don’t recall her mentioning a beau.”

  Sheriff Pratt dropped his arm and shrugged. His mouth curved into a cocky grin that set Levi’s teeth on edge. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve made my position clear to her. It’s just a matter of time before she reconciles herself to the idea.”

  Reconcile herself to sharing a life with Pratt? The thought made Levi ill.

  “Spencer is my town, Grant. And I aim to keep it that way. Taking Eden to wife will solidify my standing in the community.”

  “Noble of you.” No doubt he expected such an alliance to put Eden’s father in his pocket as well as give him sway over the town council. Levi’s right bicep twitched as he slowly lowered his focus to the sheriff’s jaw.

  “What?” Pratt sneered. “You think you can offer her something better? As my wife, she’ll have acceptance and respect from everyone in town, something she’s lacked as a spinster. Something she’d certainly never have with a beggar like you.”

  Levi jerked his gaze back to the man’s eyes.

  “Oh yes.” The sheriff nodded, smugness coating his words. “I know about your measly account at the bank. You’re practically living off this town’s charity. Eden is accustomed to a life of means. She’d never consider marriage to a man like you. Any friendship she’s extended has been strictly out of pity. The woman always did have a soft spot for lost causes. That’s all you are—a cause, like those orphans down in Austin she’s always collecting things for. Add to that your secrets . . . and, well, I think we both know who Eden would be better off with.”

  Secrets? Levi’s chest ached. He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. What did Pratt know?

  As if he could smell Levi’s fear, the sheriff stepped closer, his face mere inches from Levi’s own. “I plan to do some serious looking into your past, Grant. Seems there’s a handful of years unaccounted for between the time you left your father’s shop in Caldwell and the day you started work here in Spencer.”

  Levi held his ground without so much as a blink. Yet all the while, his insides quivered.

  “I’m real good at ferreting out the truth. That’s my job, after all.”

  A snarl echoed, and for a moment, Levi thought Pratt had issued it. Then the snarl became a bark as Ornery stalked out of the smithy, teeth bared, eyes locked on the sheriff.

  Pratt lunged back and drew his Colt, the barrel aimed straight at the dog’s skull. “Call him off, Grant, or I swear I’ll do the town a favor and put a bullet between his eyes.”

  “Ornery. Down.” With effort, Levi uncurled his right fist and motioned with his palm for the dog to sit. Ornery complied but continued to growl and snap at the interloper.

  Pratt backed away, his eye on the dog, his finger on the trigger of his gun until he decided Ornery was no longer a threat. A couple yards away, he holstered his weapon and turned his attention to Levi once more.

  “Remember what I said, Grant. You’re no good for her, so keep your distance. I’d hate for her to get hurt. People caught in the middle often do.”

  When the man disappeared into the saloon across the street, Levi strode to the large smithy doors and jerked them closed. Rage and despair battled within him until he thought he might explode from trying to contain them.

  He set Eden’s book on the edge of a nearby sawhorse and braced his arms against the crosspiece. Clenching his jaw, he dug his fingers into the wood until the contraption started shaking against the ground from the force of his grip. With a growl, he released the sawhorse and turned toward the wall, hands fisted. A discarded branding iron lay on the floor a few feet away. Levi snatched it up, and with a yell deep enough to rival thunder, bashed it into the stone wall. Again. And again. And again. All his fury, all his fear that what Pratt had said was true were bludgeoned into that wall until the circular tip of the iron broke free and flew across the room to clatter somewhere behind him.

  The sound ricocheted through Levi and halted him midswing. Muscles trembling, he lowered his arm. The iron was bent and mangled. The stones in the wall were chipped and bore traces of the metal used to abuse them.

  A whine brought Levi’s head around. Ornery sat cowering behind his tool rack.

  Disgusted with himself, Levi dropped what was left of the branding iron and hunkered down with his hand out. “Forgive me, boy. I let him get the better of me for a minute there. I won’t hurt you. Come here.”

  Ornery’s watery eyes spoke of betrayal and distress, piercing Levi’s conscience. But the dog obeyed. Hesitantly at first, he padded up to Levi and licked his hand. Levi rubbed his ears and patted his side, then hugged the beast to him as his anger melted away to leave a heaviness that pressed in on his heart with unrelenting force.

  Conrad Pratt was right. His secret did have the power to wound Eden. But that didn’t mean he’d meekly step aside and let the sheriff manipulate the situation. No. He’d find a way to protect Eden from Pratt and—if the Lord was merciful—from himself, as well.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After supper with Claude and Georgia Barnes, Levi hiked back to town, needing to occupy his hands. Claude had given him permission to bed down at the livery on nights he chose to work late, and even though the repairs that had piled up while he completed the quarry job would probably keep until next week, Levi craved a distraction from the thoughts that had been spinning in his head since his encounter with the sheriff.

  As he worked the bellows to breathe life back into the forge’s coals, Levi grew steadily more despondent. Maybe Pratt’s words were the warning he’d asked the Lord to send. The sheriff seemed too full of himself to be a vessel for a divine message, but then again, God had been known to talk through donkeys before.

  Levi
grinned at the comparison.

  Then frowned at the ramifications.

  He raked new coals into the hot pocket at the center of the forge and stared at the mound as it slowly turned bright red. Eventually, the center grew white, ready for work, but Levi made no move to reach for the plowshare that waited to be reshaped.

  Had Pratt been right about Eden only extending friendship to him out of pity or some sense of community obligation? He’d discounted the idea at first, certain he’d detected interest in her demeanor as they’d exchanged letters. But what if his own desire was coloring his perception?

  And then there was the money issue. His father had always provided a dependable living for his family as a blacksmith, but even in his best years, he could never have supplied Levi’s mother with the type of finery Eden enjoyed every day. Would she be willing to give it all up? Would it be fair to ask her to?

  What about the library? It was her passion. Her life. He couldn’t imagine her being happy without it. Could he find a way to rent the space from her father or build her a separate building somewhere?

  He didn’t own a second pair of trousers, let alone property. And he likely wouldn’t own property for quite some time. What exactly did he hope to offer a woman like Eden?

  He couldn’t even provide an unsullied name. Prison records tended to leave blemishes.

  An urging from deep within prompted Levi to seek confirmation for his suspicions that the Lord was indeed telling him to steer clear of Eden. Yet too afraid the confirmation would come, he couldn’t bring himself to pray. He wasn’t ready to give her up.

  So he pounded out his frustrations on the anvil instead. For the next two hours, he hammered a preliminary weld on the plowshare, punched screw holes into a dozen butterfly hinges, and started repairs on a set of bench springs for a farm wagon.

  But the labor didn’t help. By the time he shut things down, his mood had only darkened.