To Win Her Heart (7 page)

Levi heard Ornery’s familiar growl behind him as he pocketed the fifty cents he’d just earned from replacing two shoes. He dropped his hammer and rasp into the toolbox at his feet and turned to address the mutt.

“Quiet, boy. You don’t want to frighten . . .” The sentence disintegrated as he took in the scene.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Eden offered in a plucky voice that quaked only a little. She made no move to face him, though. Ornery consumed her full attention.

“He won’t hurt you,” Levi said as he stretched out his stride to cover the distance between them in as quick and nonthreatening a manner as possible.

“That remains to be seen.”

Levi moved up behind her, so close they were nearly touching. Eden leaned backward ever so slightly until her shoulders brushed his chest. The soft sound of her exhale stirred the air as she pressed against him. In that moment, he felt more like offering the dog a treat than taking him to task for his inhospitable manner. But he’d be a cad to take advantage of her fear, so he cupped her shoulders for a brief second to fortify her, then stepped away.

“Quiet, Ornery.” Levi hunkered down and rubbed the dog’s ears. The growl gave way to a whine before Ornery surrendered to the pampering. With a small leap, he raised both front paws onto Levi’s raised knee, silently demanding that Levi scratch his belly, as well. “You big fraud.” As he reached down to bury his fingers in the fur on Ornery’s underside, Levi cast a reassuring glance in Eden’s direction.

“Come pet him. He might look mean, but only . . . on account of him being . . . hurt by . . . virulent men.” He stopped rubbing Ornery’s stomach long enough to wave her closer. “Come on. I won’t let him hurt you. Prove you’re a friend.”

Eden raised a skeptical eyebrow, but she inched forward. Levi grinned. The woman had gumption.

“Here. I’ll hold him.”

She bit her lip as she moved closer. Finally, she crouched beside him. “Should I pat his back or rub his belly?” Her hand hovered uncertainly.

“Belly,” Levi said. “He’ll be a faithful devotee if you do that.”

Eden tilted her head and gave him a curious look. It was the first time she had taken her gaze off the dog. Levi winked at her. Her cheeks flushed pink, making him feel like a young swain courting his first girl.

She turned back to the dog and tentatively stretched out her gloved hand.

“It might be better if you took off the glove. Let him . . . get to know your . . .”
Scent, fragrance, odor?
He was
not
going to use the word
odor
. But everything else had the dreaded
S
sound. “. . . your identifying aroma.”

Again with the quizzical glance. “My scent, you mean?”

Levi nodded.

“All right.” She unbuttoned the fastener at her wrist and pulled each finger free.

Levi blinked and refocused on the dog. When her slender hand crept back into his line of sight, he took hold of it and brought it close to Ornery’s nose. The dog sniffed and then ducked his head under their joined hands as if letting them know it was time to commence with the petting.

Eden giggled. “I guess he approves of me.”

“Yep.” The dog had good taste.

They stayed hunkered beside each other for another two or three minutes as they rubbed and scratched Ornery until his manner more closely resembled that of an overgrown pup than a trained killer. Levi’s fingers occasionally brushed against Eden’s in the forest of scraggly gray fur, but she didn’t seem to mind. So it was only natural for Levi to take her hand and help her stand when Ornery finally grew weary of the excessive attention and bounded away.

Her hand fit into the crease of his palm like a rivet in a customized hinge. It seemed a crime for her to slip it free. Nevertheless, he released his hold the moment she tugged. He stepped back to give her some space and leaned his back against the doorframe. As he watched her slide her glove back into place, he searched his mind for something intelligent to say.

“You need ironwork done?” Levi clamped his jaw shut over the inane question. Apparently, intelligent was too lofty a goal in his present distracted state. Fine ladies like Miss Eden Spencer didn’t frequent smithies during their shopping expeditions. They perused dry goods stores and milliners’ shops. If she’d needed blacksmithing done, she would have sent her man, Harvey, not trudged down here herself.

Yet here she stood, so she must require something of him.

“Actually, I came here in regard to another matter, but I . . . well . . . I’m not sure I should follow it through.” Her gaze flitted past him to his washstand, then fell to the dusty ground at her feet.

What did his washstand have to do with anything? And why was Eden back to acting so uncomfortable? A sudden dread knifed his gut.

“Did . . . an individual complain about my work?” Levi gripped the edge of the wall for support. He was supposed to have a month. It hadn’t even been a full week.

“No.” Eden’s head shot up and her green-eyed gaze melded with his. “Nothing like that. I assure you.”

“Good.” Levi let go of the wall and straightened, taking his hat from his head long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. Then he settled the hat back into place and contemplated the woman before him. “If not that, then what?”

“Well . . .” Eden blew out a breath. “All right. I’ll tell you, but don’t feel obligated to participate. You haven’t had time yet to solidify your business. I understand that. And so will the other ladies.”

Levi held up his hand to stop her, his head spinning. “Whoa, there. What are you talking about? What other lady—er—women?”

“I’m here as a representative of the Spencer Ladies Aid Society.” She drew back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Each year, we conduct a fund drive to collect monies for worthy causes. Last year, the donations we accumulated procured quilts, shoes, clothing, and school supplies for the children at the Seeds of Hope Orphanage in Austin. I had the honor of overseeing the delivery, and I’ll never forget the joy on those young faces when the children opened our crates.”

He could well imagine. Her face lit up even now as she talked about it, her love for the children as obvious as a footprint in newly turned soil. If ever a woman was meant to be a mother, it was Eden Spencer. A pity she’d never married.

“This year, the committee chose a different ministry to sponsor. We are garnering funds for prison Bibles.”

Levi sucked in a shocked breath. He felt as if he had just fallen into a vat of molasses. No matter how hard he tried to get his mind or body to move, everything seemed to be stuck on those two words. Prison Bibles. When she mentioned Jonathan Willis and Huntsville, however, he snapped out of his stupor.

Did someone suspect? It couldn’t be coincidence. The connection between this fund drive and his past was too uncanny to be explained away by chance. But what did it mean?

“Who . . . ah . . . came up with the idea?”

“Our preacher’s wife, Mrs. Cranford. She and her husband are acquainted with Mr. Willis, the chaplain who requested the Bibles.”

The vise around his heart loosened a notch. The Cranfords. Of course. Maybe it was innocent after all. Then again, he’d probably be wise to test the waters a bit.

Levi studied Eden’s face closely. “I know Jonathan. Good man.”

Eden’s brows bunched together. “You do?” Her surprise seemed genuine, not the expression of one gathering evidence to confirm a scandalous hypothesis.

“He put me in touch with the . . . with Dave and Emma. Recommended me for the job here.”

The creases in her forehead receded. “Oh, I see. I’m glad to hear you speak well of Mr. Willis. I trust the Cranfords, of course, but I’ll admit I was a little hesitant about this venture. It seemed wrong somehow to collect funds to help criminals.”

An ache throbbed in Levi’s gut, and he doubted it had anything to do with the bruise from Red’s hoof. This was why he kept his past a secret. Felons were a low class of society—despised, feared. And for good reason. Yet even they deserved the chance to hear the good news, the chance to turn their lives around. And when they did, shouldn’t the blood of Christ wash away their stigma as well as their sin?

It should, but it didn’t. Not in the eyes of most, anyway. Even Jesus warned of the lingering consequences. The father welcomed the Prodigal Son into his home with unwavering love and forgiveness. However, when the older brother looked at his sibling, all he saw was the greedy fool who had squandered half the estate. Irresponsible. Worthy of condemnation. Never to be trusted. Levi fully expected to be treated with similar attitudes should his past become known, but hearing a hint of what was to come from the lips of a woman whose good opinion he coveted sprinkled poison over the sprig of hope he’d cultivated over the last week.

He clenched his teeth as Eden rambled on about how he needn’t feel pressured to give. He was still establishing his business, after all. No one would expect him to make a donation. He could contribute to next year’s cause.

But next year’s cause wouldn’t stir his soul like this one. Next year’s wouldn’t be personal. Next year’s wouldn’t give him the chance to pay back the man who showed him the way home.

“Pardon me for a minute.” Levi interrupted Eden’s string of well-intentioned excuses. “I’ll be right back.”

It wasn’t a coincidence that God had laid this particular mission on the hearts of the Spencer ladies at the same time he brought Levi to their town. The Lord was offering Levi a choice—distance himself from his past by declining to help or fight for the souls of men he’d roamed the yard with. He hesitated only a second before reaching for the key in his trouser pocket.

Levi stretched his arm up to the high shelf he’d installed above the washstand. Taking down the metal box he sought, he slid the key into the lock and gave it a quarter turn. The lid released. He moved aside the small ledger where he tallied his daily profits and expenditures, and gathered up every bank note and coin in the box. He counted it out and made a note in the ledger. Fourteen dollars and sixty-two cents. The money he’d earned combined with the money he’d staked himself at the beginning of the week.

“What are you doing?”

He turned to find Eden less than a yard away. “Here.” He held the fistful out to her. “For the drive.”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I . . . I can’t. That’s all you have.” She tried to push his arm back, but Levi locked his elbow and refused to budge.

“Levi, please. It’s too much.” The plea in her voice touched his heart, but it was the sound of his name on her lips that spread warmth through him like hot coffee on a winter morning.

He smiled at her beautifully befuddled face. “Take it, Eden. For Jonathan and . . . the men.” Gently, he took her hands and placed the money in her palms. Then he pressed her fingers closed by wrapping his own hands around her smaller ones. “A Bible can change a life. I know.”

Eden gazed up at him, understanding finally dawning in her eyes. One corner of her mouth curved slowly upward. “All right. Thank—”

“Hey, shmith!”

Levi snatched his hands away from Eden, a guilty heat creeping up his neck. He spun toward the slurred voice bellowing at him from the front of his shop.

“Come out and fashe me, you murderin’ dog.”

“What in the world?” Eden stepped up beside him, craning her neck to see who was there.

Levi pushed her behind him, his heart as heavy as a stone. “Wait here. I’ll deal with it.”

The jig was up. As he navigated his way around the forge, he stole a glance back at Eden. At least he’d done one good deed before his past caught up with him. He just wished she wasn’t the one witnessing his fall.

“It’s your fault he’s dead!”

The minute Levi stepped into the doorway, the stranger lunged at him. Unprepared for the fist that flew at his face, Levi took a hard blow to the jaw and staggered back into a plow that had been brought in for repair. It clattered against the floor as he tripped over it.

“Levi!”

He heard Eden call his name, but it was little more than a dim buzz as his senses honed in on the man rushing toward him. For a moment, he was back on the fight circuit, his opponent charging. In a single fluid motion, he thrust his body up over his feet and closed his hands into fists. He narrowed his focus, zeroing in on the man’s chin. All else faded from his awareness. One sharp jab ought to send him sprawling.

As the man lumbered into range, Levi drew his arm back, his muscles tight and ready to lash out. But then the man’s face changed. No longer was he a stranger. His face became the one that had haunted his dreams for the last two years. The man he’d killed.

Eden rushed forward, intent on helping Levi. Although how, she wasn’t quite certain. She doubted a stern lecture on the ills of violent behavior would deter the man bearing down on him.

Before she reached his side, however, Levi sprang to his feet like some kind of wild jungle cat, his fists clenched. Eden stuttered to a halt. His eyes had gone so hard she almost didn’t recognize him. A chill passed through her, and suddenly she feared not for Levi but for the loud-mouthed drunk charging him. Nausea roiled in her stomach.

He was just like all the rest. Why had she expected anything different? He was a man. A strong, burly man. Of course he would answer violence with violence. It was the barbarian way.

Levi cocked his arm, and Eden raised her palm to block the view of what was to come. Yet in the instant before her hand fully shielded her face, Levi’s countenance changed. Peeking between her fingers, she watched his arm slacken. He wasn’t going to retaliate? Her heart leapt.

Then it plunged as she realized his change of heart left him unprotected. The other man fell on Levi, muttering vile curses and swinging sloppy punches.

“Stop it!” she screamed, but the man paid her no heed.

She had to help. Moving behind the aggressor, she reached for his suspenders, intending to yank him backward, but Levi caught sight of her.

“No, Eden! Back off. He’ll hurt you.”

And he nearly did. Sensing a threat from behind, the man whirled and clipped Eden’s shoulder. Not hard, but enough to toss her sideways and prove how ineffectual she was against him.

As she bumped against the shop wall, Levi growled and surged forward. The man shrank back, but when Levi still didn’t throw a punch, he stepped in and threw one of his own. Levi dodged to the left and at the same time slammed his palm into the man’s fist, absorbing the blow. Then he curled his fingers over the man’s hand, immobilizing him. His opponent struggled to pull free, but Levi held fast.

“Wilson! What in tarnation are you doing?”

Eden spun around to find Claude Barnes hustling across the yard separating his livery from the smithy. Never had she been more grateful for a nosy neighbor.

“He attacked Mr. Grant with absolutely no provocation,” she called out as Claude jogged past, but the man ignored her. Instead he hurried to aid the foul man he’d called Wilson. The name struck a chord of familiarity with her, but Eden failed to place it. All she knew was that this Wilson had shown Levi no mercy, even after the much larger blacksmith had exhibited the virtue first by restraining his own aggression. The fellow deserved to be brought up on charges.

When Mr. Barnes reached his side, Wilson stopped trying to wrench his arm free. His anger crumpled into childlike sobs. “He killed my boy, Claude. He killed him.”

Mr. Barnes wrapped his arms around the man and nodded to Levi to let go. He did, and Wilson slumped to the ground, causing Mr. Barnes to have to crouch down beside him to keep his hold.

“You been drinkin’ again, ain’tcha?” Mr. Barnes sniffed at Wilson’s clothes and scrunched his face in distaste. “You gotta lay off that whiskey, brother. It ain’t gonna bring John Junior back. It’s just gonna make you worthless to the rest of your kin. How’re you gonna plant your fields next month if you’re locked up for assaultin’ this here fella? How’re Betsy and the girls supposed to live if you’re too busy drownin’ your sorrows to take care of them, huh? Grief is a hard land to dwell in, but pouring liquor down your throat only makes it harder to find the path out.”

Eden edged closer, compassion for this man reluctantly stirring her heart. She drew abreast of Levi and glanced up at him. A small cut on the corner of his mouth oozed blood, but what struck her the most was his stillness. He didn’t turn at her approach. Didn’t smile or ask if she was all right after her tussle. All he did was stiffen slightly as he stared straight ahead, into nothing. She moved in front of him, but his gaze never wavered. It hovered above her as if tied like a clothesline to a high spot on the far wall. An air of doom surrounded him, sending a shiver through Eden’s shoulders.

“I miss him, Claude,” Wilson said, grabbing Mr. Barnes’s arm as he visibly fought to contain his sobs. “He shoulda been fourteen today. Woulda been if
he
had just fixed the axle rod right.”

Wilson pointed an accusing finger at Levi, and for one horrible moment, Eden wondered if Levi really was responsible for the boy’s death. But then a memory clicked in her mind. A broken axle. Young John Wilson being thrown from the buckboard seat and run over before the horses could stop. The churchyard funeral. She hadn’t known the family well, but she recalled how the mother had wept and how forlorn the two little girls had been.

“It was a year ago.” Eden softly voiced the thought aloud. “Mr. Grant was not even here then.”

“W-What?”

“The gal’s right, Wilson. Even if shoddy work led to the axle breaking, which we can’t know fer sure, Levi here ain’t the one responsible. You been punishing an innocent man.” Mr. Barnes pulled Wilson onto his feet and dusted the fellow off. “Just be glad he didn’t strike back. The way he’s built, he’d probably a-knocked all your teeth out with one tap. Come on. I’ll see you home.”

Mr. Barnes led the grieving father away. Wilson mumbled something that could have been an apology, but it was too quiet and slurred to be coherent.

Behind her, Levi’s boots scratched against the hard-packed earth. Eden turned to see him reach out for the wall as if in need of support. “Fourteen?” The whispered word fell from his lips, tinged with disbelief. “Not a man, grown?”

Eden stepped closer. “No. He was a boy. Thrown from a wagon.”

Levi’s eyes widened, and he blinked repeatedly. “Not a fighter?”

“A fighter?” Eden’s brows drew together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head fiercely, like a dog expelling water from its fur. It left his hair quite mussed, but his eyes cleared, and Eden felt as if he once again was truly aware of her presence.

“Are you all right?” she asked, cautiously touching his arm.

Levi’s gaze found her fingers, and his lips lifted at one corner in a tiny smile. “I’m fine. A bad memory caught up to me for a minute, but . . . it left.”

His eyes met hers, and she longed to ask him about that memory. Yet she swallowed her questions. She knew firsthand how painful it could be to have someone dredge up the past. It wouldn’t do their fledgling friendship any good to press Levi for answers he clearly didn’t want to give.

“I heard you had a scuffle,” a male voice announced in overloud tones.

Eden flinched and yanked her hand away from Levi’s arm. “Sheriff Pratt,” she said, willing her cheeks not to blush. “I’m afraid you missed all the excitement.”

The lawman’s gaze traveled meaningfully from Eden to Levi and back again. “Don’t know about that, darlin’. Seems to me I got here just in time.”

There was no stopping the warm flood that washed over her face at his insinuation. The sheriff glared at her in disapproval before turning narrowed eyes on Levi.

“I warned you about stirring up trouble, Grant. A customer from the Hang Dog told me a fellow at the bar claimed your poor workmanship cost a boy his life. And that the man aimed to take a piece of your hide in payment. Where is he?” The sheriff stepped into the shop, his neck stretching from side to side as he searched. “I figure a drunk ain’t no match for you. His friends carry him off already?”

Eden bristled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sheriff. Mr. Wilson is unharmed. Claude Barnes is seeing him home.”

Sheriff Pratt eyed Levi more closely. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the edge of his mouth, mirroring the location of Levi’s split lip. “Got in a lucky punch, did he?” The lawman smirked. “Guess you’re not as tough as I thought. Size ain’t everything, is it?”

Levi simply stood there, mute.

“Still, I want you out of my town. Can’t have kids dying because of your sloppy work.”

Eden gasped at the man’s audacity.

“Not my work,” Levi finally offered in his defense.

However, those three little words were far from sufficient to Eden’s way of thinking. She marched up to Conrad Pratt, indignation tearing at the seams of her control. “This is outrageous. You can’t oust a man from town on the word of some . . . some drunkard without even verifying the veracity of his story. What kind of lawman are you? The boy who died was young John Wilson, and the accident was over a year ago. Mr. Grant is innocent of any wrongdoing. It was all a misunderstanding.”

“That’s a mighty spirited defense,
Miss Spencer
.” The way he looked her up and down as he drawled her name made Eden cringe. “Seems odd, you takin’ up for a man you hardly know. Unless, of course, you
know
him far better than you’ve let on.”

“Watch it, Pratt.” Levi’s voice echoed behind her, steel lacing his tone.

The sheriff took a menacing step forward, anger mottling his cheeks as he shifted his gaze to Levi. “You’re the one who should watch it, Grant. The Spencer family is well respected in this town. I won’t stand for anyone besmirching Miss Eden’s reputation. She has no business being here alone with you, and I aim to see her home straightaway.” He grabbed Eden’s elbow and began yanking her toward the road.

“Of all the high-handed, rude behavior . . .” Eden muttered as she tripped along behind him. She longed to whack Sheriff Pratt across the side of his head with her handbag and snatch her arm free of his biting hold, yet she knew antagonizing the man would only make matters worse. So instead, she called out a parting word to Levi over her shoulder.

“Good day, Mr. Grant. Thank you again for your generous donation to the Ladies Aid Society fund drive. Your gift will be a blessing to many, I’m sure.”

“Glad to help, ma’am. Let me know if you encounter any other project I can help with.” The way he glowered at the sheriff’s back left little doubt as to what other project he was referring to.

“I will, sir. Thank you.” She tried to wave, to reassure him she was fine, but all of the twisting she’d been doing to glance behind finally tripped up her feet. Eden stumbled into the sheriff, who released her elbow in order to wrap his full arm about her.

“I got ya, darlin’.”

“I’m not your darling.” Eden planted her feet and turned accusing eyes on the man at her side. “How could you insult me like that? Insinuating that I had done something improper?”

“What was I supposed to think?” he hissed at her. “I stride in expecting to break up a brawl, and instead I find you cozying up to the smith, talkin’ all quiet-like, touchin’ his arm. Looked mighty intimate to me.”

He loosened his hold and Eden stepped free, ducking her head as she brushed a spot of dust from her skirt. “The man had just been attacked. I was simply ensuring that he was all right before I took my leave.”

Well, there might have been a bit more to it than that, but Conrad Pratt need not be privy to every detail. The man was far too intrusive as it was.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me?” She brought her gaze back up to meet his. “I believe I’ll see myself home.” Eden forged down the road, praying the sheriff wouldn’t cause a scene in front of the ladies who had gathered on the boardwalk by the general store. The three women made a good show of being absorbed in their chatter, but Eden caught the curious glances cast in her direction as she approached. The kind of glances that reminded her of whispers and scandal and pity—three things she’d spent the last five years trying to escape.

Thankfully, the sheriff let her go without another word. However, the thud of his footsteps followed her the short distance home, the sound filling her with an odd sense of foreboding.