To Win Her Heart

by Karen Witemeyer

  The girl must have been frightened out of her wits. No wonder the standoff in the bank had spooked her so badly. Levi hunkered down beside Eden and tried to meet her gaze, but she was too lost in her memories to notice.

  “The man finally rolled off and I sat up, gasping and sputtering. I could hear Daddy calling my name. He pushed his way through the mob and was nearly to me when another gun went off. I couldn’t even scream. All I could do was watch Daddy grab his head and fall to his knees.

  “I crawled over to him. Blood covered the side of his face and stained the shirt Mother had given him for Christmas.”

  Levi reached for her hand. When he touched her, she startled and returned to the present. Offering him a small smile, she tugged her hand free and got to her feet. Levi rose, too, standing quietly as she brushed the dust off her skirts.

  “He was fine, of course,” Eden continued, with a tone that tried to convey that everything else was fine, too, but Levi wasn’t fooled. “The bullet had just grazed him.”

  “I’m glad.”

  The faraway look came over her again, but after a second or two she blinked it away. “My goodness. Here I am rambling about something that happened ages ago when the sheriff is waiting for you.” She scurried up to the door and laid her palm on the handle, clicking the latch open. “Thank you for seeing me home, but you better hurry back to the bank. The sheriff’s not known for his patience.”

  “Pratt will keep.” He wasn’t going anywhere until he was sure she was going to be all right.

  Eden dipped her chin, but when her eyes lifted to meet his, they held an intensity that made his chest ache. “You’re one of the few men I’ve met who has found a way to keep his life free of aggression, even when provoked. This world needs more men like you, Levi.”

  Then she turned and went into the house, leaving him staring at the closed door while his stomach churned over the lie he was letting her believe. Maybe he’d been believing a lie, as well. Thinking he could walk away from his past. Eden might respect Levi the blacksmith, but she’d never forgive Levi the prizefighter.

  Chapter Twelve

  After all the unpleasant excitement involving the attack at the smithy and the standoff at the bank, Eden found the routine of the following week a blessed relief. She doubted her pulse had accelerated past a steady plod during the last ten days. Well . . . except for when Levi stopped in for his daily read.

  As he was doing now.

  Eden forced her gaze to remain on the letter she was writing to her father instead of allowing it to wander in the direction of the man sitting in the corner of her reading room. Her self-discipline proved ineffectual, though. Just knowing he was there prompted that annoying little flutter in her abdomen that had been getting worse of late.

  The two-week waiting period she had imposed on Levi’s library privileges had expired last Friday, and each day since, she’d held her breath as he pushed up out of her father’s chair and then exhaled when he slid his book back onto the shelf instead of bringing it to her desk with the request to borrow it. She had become rather accustomed to his visits, and though they still said no more than a handful of words to each other during the daily encounters, there was something comfortable about sharing the room with him.

  Afraid she’d actually miss the hulking fellow should he decide to read at home, Eden had yet to remind him of their agreement. However, her rising curiosity about another matter prodded her to broach the subject. She wished to conduct an experiment.

  Eden finally glanced up from the letter and snuck a peek at the blacksmith. She nibbled on the end of her penholder as she contemplated him.

  Ever since the day she went to the smithy to solicit a donation, she’d been cataloguing the unexpected words that emerged from Levi Grant’s mouth. With his halting speech and preference for minimizing conversations, she had initially assumed he was a bit, well . . . uneducated. Not that she had ever thought him lacking in wit or practical knowledge, per se, but he hadn’t exactly struck her as an intellectual sort—the type who could analyze Melville’s symbolism or comprehend the depths of Thoreau’s reflections. Yet as the list secreted in her desk drawer grew ever longer, she began questioning her first impression.

  Levi turned a page in his book, the movement sending Eden’s gaze scurrying back to her desktop. Perhaps the best choice would be to leave things as they were. He’d probably not take kindly to her snooping, no matter how cleverly she disguised it. They’d developed an agreeable acquaintanceship over the past weeks. In fact, she considered herself more at ease in his company than any other man outside of Harvey or her father. So why risk losing that ease just to assuage her curiosity?

  Eden set the pen aside and smothered a sigh. Because she was no longer content with easy and comfortable when it came to Levi Grant. It was like skimming through a novel without fully engaging with the story until a well-turned phrase or powerful bit of imagery snagged her attention, hinting at depths previously unnoticed. How could she continue skimming when a richer experience awaited?

  Casting a quick glance at Levi to ensure he was still absorbed in his reading, Eden inched her desk drawer open and lifted her library ledger away to retrieve her list. The paper rattled slightly as she pulled it free, the sound echoing loudly in her ears. She darted a nervous look across the room, but Levi’s attention never wavered from his copy of Verne’s A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. He had moved on from Around the World in Eighty Days the middle of last week.

  Eden’s heart rate slowed, and she turned back to her list. She’d been careful not to label the page in case someone should stumble upon it. To anyone else it probably seemed an odd collection of words that had no bearing on one another, but to her it represented a mystery—one she was eager to pursue. She had added many words to the list since the day of the fund drive. Words like virulent, devotee, and identifying aroma.

  At church last Sunday, she overheard him compliment Mr. Cranford’s sermon as being a “compelling pontification.” He could have just as easily called it a speech or message, but he’d chosen pontification, and the word rolled off his tongue without the slightest bobble. Then today when he arrived, she’d made some comment about the weather, how the sun had cleared away the clouds, and he’d answered by saying that the firmament exhibited fine form indeed. Firmament? Most people would refer to it as the sky or possibly the heavens if they were in a poetical mood. But firmament? The only time she ever used that term was when singing Joseph Addison’s hymn in church.

  Levi Grant was a blacksmith by trade, not a schoolmaster or lawyer or gentleman of privilege. Yet every once in a while, he spat out a chunk of vocabulary so above his station, it signaled to her like a flare. The man might be an ironworker, but his mind seemed to be filled with more than a simple farrier’s knowledge. Eden ran a finger down the length of her list. Dare she test the depths?

  She bit her lip for a moment in indecision, then snatched up a fresh piece of writing paper, determined to take action before she lost her nerve.

  Levi reached the end of chapter ten, where the impatient professor and his level-headed nephew had just secured a guide for their subterranean adventure. Tempted to turn the page to see how they got on, Levi forced himself to close the cover instead. He could check in with them tomorrow. Today he had chain links to repair, a garden cultivator to weld, and a pair of axes to reface. Not as exciting as descending into a volcano shaft, but with the heat of the forge, the smithy might be almost as hot.

  He smiled to himself and rose to his feet. Several years ago, he would have chafed at having to put aside a pleasurable activity for the drudgery of work. But that boy no longer existed. He’d been replaced by a man who’d grown to appreciate honest labor. It gave him purpose and even a bit of pride when a customer nodded approval to a job well done—not the fierce bolt of gratification that used to shoot into him when he knocked an opponent to his knees, but a quieter satisfaction that meandered through him like a clear stream, nourishing and sustaining hi
m from within.

  Surprisingly, Levi found he preferred the steady stream to the scorching bolt. Except when that bolt originated from a more feminine source.

  Levi’s gaze sought out Miss Spencer. Eden. All she had to do was smile to release those little frissons of lightning in him.

  As that thought crossed his mind, she glanced up, and Levi realized he was wrong. She didn’t have to smile. All she had to do was look at him.

  Heaven help him. He was in a bad way.

  And over a woman he couldn’t be more wrong for. Eden deserved a man who could provide for her in the same manner her father did, a man who wouldn’t tarnish her with his past, one who could carry on long, genteel conversations with her as they sat by the fire on a cold winter night. Levi was none of those things. So he hid his growing feelings and tried to talk himself out of them. But it did no good.

  Yep. He was in a bad way.

  Levi drew a corner of his mouth upward, thinking the smile more than actually shaping it. However, Eden must have noticed, for she answered with a tiny curve of her lips that suggested a similar mindset. Levi’s chest tightened. Twenty feet or more separated them, yet in that moment, it seemed he could feel her breathe. Then Eden dropped her gaze back to the desk. As if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred, she dipped her pen into the inkwell beside her arm and returned to the letter she’d been writing.

  Digging his fingers into the binding of his book, Levi made his way to the shelves. He stared at the slot where the title belonged, yet his hand refused to move. Maybe he should stop visiting the library so often. He’d waited his allotted two weeks. He could take the book with him and read it by lamplight in his room. By himself. With no distractions.

  But he craved those distractions.

  “Mr. Grant?”

  Levi spun to face his hostess, a disconcerted knot in his belly. Had she guessed his thoughts? Praying his features portrayed nothing deeper than friendly interest, he raised a brow, inviting her to continue.

  “It occurred to me today while you were reading that I have been remiss in my duty.” Eden straightened from her seat in a graceful motion, her deep blue skirts cascading into place to brush against the floor. As she came around the corner of the desk, her fingers trailed along the edge of the wood, the white lace at her wrist drawing his gaze to the delicate appendages. “You have proved yourself a stable member of this community; however, I have yet to loan you a book outside these walls.”

  The formality of her tone and the way she didn’t quite look him in the eye wrenched his stomach further. Maybe she had guessed his thoughts and was politely trying to discourage his interest. It was probably for the best. Hurt like a punch to the gut, though.

  Glad he still had the book in his hand, Levi summoned a smile and closed the distance between them. He couldn’t blame her for having discriminating taste. What he could do was make things easy on her. No point prolonging the awkwardness for either of them.

  He held out the book to her. “I’d . . . enjoy . . . reading in the evening. And I won’t have to bother you every day, either.”

  “You’ve not been a bother, Levi.” She dipped her chin, her voice soft, and Levi found himself wanting to believe that more than simple courtesy lay behind her words. Eden stroked the cover of the book and then raised her face to look at him. A shyness lingered in her eyes, but there was warmth, too—a warmth that quickly penetrated his chest and enlivened his hope.

  “Your chair will remain in its place so that you may visit as often as you like. Some patrons prefer the atmosphere here.” She turned from him to survey the room. “I myself find the shelves of books soothing. I often come here after hours with a quilt and a cup of tea to relax with a story or a bit of poetry before retiring for the night.”

  The picture forming in his mind was so vivid Levi couldn’t dispel it. Eden, her hair down, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders, stockinged feet peeking out from beneath her hem. Would she recline on the settee or curl up in a chair? Levi shot a glance at the stuffed leather chair across the room. Did she use his chair?

  Another image flashed through his mind. He in the leather chair, a book in hand. Eden coming to join him. He’d stretch his arms wide, and she’d sit on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder as she opened a volume of Browning or Keats. His arms would close around her as he turned his attention back to his own book, so accustomed to her presence that words wouldn’t even be necessary. . . .

  “Forgive me. I’m rambling.” Eden blushed and moved past him to reclaim her seat behind the desk.

  Levi blinked and quickly refocused, afraid his inattention had embarrassed her. But what could he say? That he hadn’t been listening because he was too busy imagining what it would be like to hold her? The ache of it still filled his chest.

  “Anyway,” she was saying, “you can keep the book for up to two weeks.” Eden jotted a note in her ledger, listing the date, the name of the book, and his name. “After that, I’ll send the hounds after you.” She favored him with a grin as she handed the book into his keeping.

  Levi chuckled, thankful for her easy forgiveness of his rudeness. “I’ll guard it with my life, dear lady.”

  “See that you do.”

  On his way back to the shop, Levi met up with Ornery. The dog trailed his heels from the library to the smithy. Apparently Eden had won over his hound so convincingly that the fellow was doing her bidding even before she asked.

  “I’ll take care of the book, boy. Don’t worry.” Levi grinned and bent to rub the dog’s head. When they entered the shop, Levi made his way to the back and was about to slide Mr. Verne’s story onto his tall shelf next to his money box when he noticed something jutting out from among the pages. Something that hadn’t been there when he’d been reading it earlier. He was sure of it.

  Levi lowered the volume and fanned the pages. A folded piece of stationery stood up from the center of the book, the edges slightly apart. He tipped the book toward him for a better look and found his name staring up at him from the top of the page.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Levi reached for the paper, his pulse suddenly throbbing in his veins. Just as his fingers brushed the nearest corner, however, Ornery set in to growling. The dog jerked his head toward the shop entrance and barked a warning. Sure enough, a wagon rumbled past the wide double doors and pulled to a stop.

  The note would have to wait.

  Levi spared a second to caress the side of the paper with one knuckle, then snapped the book shut. Taking care not to scratch the cover, he set it up on the shelf, wishing he could shelve his thoughts of Eden as easily. Moving quickly, he stripped out of his good shirt and hung it on the peg by his washstand. He slid his work shirt over his head and did up the buttons. The cotton, still slightly damp from his morning labors, chilled his skin as he stuffed the tails into his waistband and stretched his suspenders over his shoulders.

  A solid-looking fellow hopped down from the driver’s bench and ambled in Levi’s direction. Ornery’s growl thickened in his throat.

  “Enough, boy.” Levi rubbed the animal behind the ears with one hand while retrieving his leather apron with the other. He strode forward to meet his customer, tying the apron around his waist as he went.

  “Afternoon.” Levi nodded to the man and held out his hand.

  The fellow pulled off his tweed flatcap, revealing a shock of orange-red hair and youthful features. His palm met Levi’s. The kid wasn’t more than nineteen or twenty in Levi’s estimation, but his tanned face and strong grip testified to his workman status.

  “Good day to ye.” He spoke with a touch of brogue, his sentence lilting up at the end. “I be Duncan McPherson.”

  “Levi Grant. What can I do for you, Duncan?”

  The lad grinned as if the expression was a habitual part of his countenance. “I bring work if ye’ve the time for it.” He slapped his cap back on his head and tucked his thumbs into the shallow pockets of his black flannel vest. “I’m a driller out at
Fieldman’s Quarry, and our smith has all he can handle keepin’ our chisels and bits sharpened. The boss wants two dozen new jumpers made to his specifications by next week, and Wally ain’t got time to fill the order. Some of the gents heard of ye openin’ shop and thought ye might be up for the job. I got a couple o’ jumpers in the wagon in case ye’re nae familiar with the tool.”

  “I’m familiar.” Too familiar. Acid climbed up from Levi’s stomach to burn the back of his throat. He swallowed it down and cleared the passage with a rumbled cough. “I’d like to . . . ah . . . take a gander at them, though. Judge the length, diameter, preferred weight.”

  “Aye. So ye do ken the tools. The boss man’ll be pleased.” Duncan’s grin widened even farther. “I’ll go fetch the jumpers.” He spun around and loped off. Levi stared after him, but his mind refused to follow.

  A quarry? He’d no idea there was a quarry so close to Spencer. Not that the knowledge would have changed his decision. He had no place else to go. But a quarry? The ridges on his back that told the tale of his time in the labor camp at Granite Mountain seemed to suddenly grow nerve endings. His shirt rubbed against them, and vivid memories of the whippings the sergeants doled out crashed through his brain.

  Due to his strength and skill with a hammer, Levi consistently met his rock-breaking quota, and since he kept his head down and his mouth shut, he usually escaped the guards’ notice. Until they decided to enlist his aid.

  When the guards chose to mete out punishment, they ordered prisoners to hold their fellow convicts down as a way to further demoralize the group. Levi became a favored choice for this duty. At first he refused, thinking to take the licks himself rather than aid the sergeants. He had enough blood on his hands from his fighting days, and his conscience was not eager for more. As expected, the guards awarded him with twenty lashes for his disobedience. The whipping tore up his back, but what the sergeants did next tore up his soul. The man he’d originally been asked to restrain received a second beating on top of his already bloodied flesh in order to teach Levi a lesson. He never refused again.