To Win Her Heart (12 page)

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 them, 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.

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.

Levi locked up the smithy and trudged toward the livery. Halfway there, music from the saloon called to him. He looked over toward the building. Light glowed from within. Voices carried across the street. The Hang Dog offered companionship, distraction. The chance to forget for a while.

Levi adjusted his course.

No one showed up to stop him. Not even Ornery. The mutt was probably off cavorting with a pretty little female somewhere. No sympathy at all for his master’s troubles.

He lengthened his stride.

Thirst struck him—a thirst so deep he started salivating. How well he remembered the taste and the way it made him feel. The rounds of beer and whiskey shots in celebration of his latest prizefighting victory. The hurrahs from his cohorts. The respect in men’s eyes. The way the sporting girls would flash him hungry looks and find a way to stroke his chest or arm as they passed by, serving drinks. He didn’t even have to watch his speech. Everyone slurred and stumbled over their words.

It was freedom.

The door stood open, promising camaraderie. Promising acceptance.

The bank notes from the quarry job burned so hot in his pocket that heat seeped into his leg. He reached down and curled his fingers around the cash, then climbed the steps to the entrance.

Something in his gut told him to stop, but the lively piano music drowned out the quiet voice whispering to his heart. Levi hesitated for a moment, but a burst of laughter from inside the Hang Dog urged him forward.

Then a man staggered through the opening and caught Levi’s arm to steady himself. The sour smell of alcohol wafted up from his mouth as he spat out an apology.

“Betsy begged me not to come. Said she’d leave if I didn’t quit. I tried. I really did. But the memories keep coming back.” The man turned up rheumy eyes, and the light from inside the saloon fell across his face. A jolt of recognition flashed through Levi. It was the man who’d attacked him at his shop, the man who’d lost his boy.

“Don’t go in there, feller. It won’t help.” He pushed off of Levi and wobbled down the walk. He reached for the wall to steady himself and looked back over his shoulder. “It never helps.”

Like a two-edged sword, truth sliced through Levi and nearly stole his breath. The relief he’d hoped to find in this place had nothing to do with freedom. It was slavery.

What am I doing?

A rush of nausea hit him, and Levi dashed around the corner into the alley. He stood hunched over, hands braced against his knees, panting. Like a dog. A dog who’d run away from his master in order to rummage in the garbage of his own will.

Lord, I’m sorry.

Levi straightened and pressed his back to the wall, the muted piano music fading out of his consciousness. He pulled his hat off and tipped his chin up toward heaven. Black filled his vision. No stars, no moon, just darkness.

I’m weak, God. So weak. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it anyway. Change my heart. Make me new.

His eyes slid closed as the familiar weight of guilt bore down on him. Hadn’t he made vows to avoid the trappings of his old life? He’d been in Spencer a month and never been tempted in this way before. Why now?

Eden’s face swam before him.

He’d been walking in faith. Until tonight. He’d let his desire for Eden outweigh his desire to follow the Lord’s path. He’d refused to seek God’s will because he feared it wouldn’t coincide with his own. And in the process he’d left himself open to attack—attack from an opponent who never pulled his punches.

The words of the Prodigal Son came back to haunt him.
“I am no more worthy to be called thy son.”
Levi bent his head, unable to look in heaven’s direction. Why did he even try to change? He’d never be good enough.

As the thought formed in his head, a barrage of Scripture hit him as if some unseen angel had reached into his seed bag, grabbed a handful, and flung it at him.

“For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; being justified freely by his grace . . .”

“A man is not justified by the works of the law, but by the faith of Jesus Christ . . .”

“For I will be merciful . . . and their iniquities will I remember no more.”

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful . . . to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

“There is therefore now no condemnation . . .”

Levi trembled as those seeds took root in his soul. Grace. Cleansing. Forgiveness. No condemnation.

No condemnation—with all he had done? The prison chaplain had made him memorize these verses, but never before had they penetrated his heart to such an extent. They were meant for other Christians, those who didn’t have blood on their hands, those who hadn’t betrayed their families and their God with such flagrant selfishness. No, he was the unworthy prodigal, hanging his head in shame, trying to make up for all his past mistakes to earn back his Father’s love.

“But you don’t want me to earn it, do you?” Levi whispered as his gaze climbed back up to the night sky, truth resonating in his soul. “I
can’t
earn it. I can only accept it. Your gift.”

Levi raised a shaking hand to his face and scrubbed away the moisture that pooled in his eyes.

I understand now. Thank you.

Pushing away from the wall, Levi straightened, ran his hand through his curls, and repositioned his hat on his head. He felt taller. A grin tugged at his mouth. Taller. Imagine that.

Guilt no longer weighed on him. Regret? Yes. Repentance? Assuredly. But guilt? It had finally slid from his shoulders, and the relief he’d been seeking poured through Levi like a cleansing stream. Gone was the desperate drive to redeem himself. Christ had already done that job.

Laughter gurgled in his throat at the irony of his misplaced efforts. No, he couldn’t redeem himself, but he could demonstrate his thankfulness and love by extending God’s grace to others and living in a way that brought glory to his Lord. And that he vowed to do.

Starting now.

As if the angel who’d earlier showered him with Scripture had heard him, something new hurled from the heavens to slap against his head. But this time there was a definite physicality to the projectile. Levi grasped it with his hand. It was slender, a bit scratchy, and definitely still attached to something above him. He pivoted to face the wall, and scanned up to the second story.

Who would drop a rope into a saloon alley?