To Win Her Heart (5 page)

“ ‘One night,’ ” she read, her voice subdued, “ ‘a few days after James had left, I had eaten my hay and was lying down in my straw—’ ” she paused to yawn and stretch with theatrical flair—“ ‘fast asleep, when I was suddenly roused by the stable bell ringing very loud.’ ” Her speech accelerated and she leaned forward. “Bong! Bong!” A couple of the children giggled at the face she made as she imitated the bells.

She went on to tell of a lad named John and his urgency in waking the horse, Black Beauty, and their desperate ride to fetch the doctor for his ill mistress. The poor horse gave his all, and in turn, fell ill himself, thanks to the faulty care of a young stable boy. A lung inflammation, they said. Yet Beauty’s ride had saved the mistress’s life, and despite his sickness, he did not regret his efforts.

“All right, children. That’s all for today.”

A collective moan rose from the group.

“But what happens to Beauty?” one young girl near the front asked, her eyes wide and a bit moist.

Miss Spencer reached out a hand to stroke the child’s cheek. “You’ll have to come back next Friday to find out, Anna.”

“But, Miss Spencer . . .”

A boy yanked on one of Anna’s pigtails, cutting her off. “He dies.”

Anna’s bottom lip started trembling. The boy snickered.

“Joseph. Stop teasing your sister.” Miss Spencer set the book aside and gathered Anna into her lap, wrapping her arms around her.

Before she could offer any comforting words, though, a stoic young lady spoke up from the back. “Beauty won’t die,” she stated with matter-of-fact assurance. “We’re not even halfway through the book yet. It wouldn’t be called
Black Beauty
if the horse died at the beginning.”

“Very astute reasoning, Gussie.” Miss Spencer turned back to the child in her lap. “That makes sense—don’t you think, Anna?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.” She gave Anna a hug and stood the child up on her feet. Apparently that signaled the end of the session, for the rest of the kids scrambled up, as well. “Don’t forget your school books and lunch buckets,” Miss Spencer called out to them. “And be careful walking home. I’ll see you next week.”

She leaned to the side to retrieve her book from the floor, then stood. The children filed past in a mass, but she reached out to touch the arm or shoulder or back of each youngster that moved within reach. It was almost as if she didn’t want to let them go.

They shouted their good-byes and she waved, standing still until the last child disappeared through the doorway.

Levi enjoyed the warm scene so much, he wasn’t prepared when she suddenly spun around.

Her gaze flew to his face and she jumped back, a gasp vibrating the air between them.

Like an idiot, he just stood there staring at her, the only thought running through his brain being that her pale green eyes reminded him of the lacy lichens that grew on the old oak tree behind his father’s house.

She clutched the book to her chest like a shield. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong.” Eden stared at her shoes for a minute before gathering enough courage to look the blacksmith in the eye again. He didn’t say anything, but the shock on his face softened into a hint of a smile. She hoped that signified forgiveness.

She hadn’t meant to be rude. It was just that Levi Grant was the last person she’d expected to see in her library. Male visitors were rare anyway, but seeing this particular one standing so large and so . . . well . . . close, must have disabled the part of her brain that usually kept her from blurting uncensored thoughts.

Stretching her lips into a polite curve, Eden attempted another greeting. “Is there something I can assist you with, Mr. Grant?”

“Wanted to . . . look at what you had here.” He nodded toward the shelves on the far side of the room. “You’ve got a good collection.”

A little thrill of pride shot through her, even though the fellow paying the compliment probably couldn’t distinguish Shakespeare from Sophocles. “Thank you. My father started gathering tomes for his personal use before I was born, and when I mentioned that I wanted to open a lending library here in Spencer, he generously donated many of the books you see on the north side of the room. My tastes run more toward literature and novels, so that is what you will find on this side.” She released one hand from
Black Beauty
’s cover long enough to gesture at the shelves along the wall on her left.

He nodded.

She fought to keep her eyes from rolling in the direction of the ceiling. Dipping his chin seemed to be his answer for everything.

When he remained silent, she held out her book and indicated with a raised brow that she needed him to step aside so that she might replace it on the shelf. “Excuse me, please.”

He moved out of the way, and she slipped Anna Sewell’s autobiographical horse story between Laura Howe Richards’s
The Joyous Story of Toto
and Robert Louis Stevenson’s
Treasure Island.
She straightened and caught him watching her.

Her breath got tangled up in her throat. What was it about this man that put her so on edge? Was it his size? She was sure his arms boasted a larger circumference than her head, yet she felt no threat of violence from him. No, it had something to do with his eyes. There was a hint of apology in them, as if he knew he wasn’t measuring up to her expectations. And the vulnerability she’d glimpsed on their first meeting was there, too—at least it had been until he shuttered it. The combination left her with the odd urge to reassure him. And that scared her.

Her judgment regarding the masculine gender had proven faulty in the past. How foolish would she prove to be if she developed soft feelings for a man who couldn’t even remember her name? Better to offer what assistance she could and hurry him along.

Eden stepped toward the shelves on the north wall. “Is there something in particular I can help you find?”

Most males of her acquaintance only visited the library when they needed a specific piece of information, usually a manual or reference book of some sort. However, when she glanced back at Mr. Grant, his attention was fixed on the south wall, not the north.

“Do you have Verne?” He crossed through the open corner where she conducted her readings and began perusing the fiction spines.

“Verne?” She could think of no book with that title.

He twisted his neck to peer at her over his shoulder. “Verne,” he repeated. “The author?”

“Oh. Jules Verne. Of course.” What a ninny he must think her. “Yes. I have several of his titles.” She bustled past the blacksmith to the last bookshelf and crouched down to reach the bottom row. “
Journey to the Centre of the Earth
.
From the Earth to the Moon. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
.” She withdrew each book as she called out the title, shifting it into the crook of her left arm. “
Around the World in Eighty Days. The
—”

“That one.”

“
Around the World in Eighty Days
?” Eden looked up at him.

He nodded.

Of course he nodded. The man hoarded words as if he were being charged a dollar for each one he uttered.

She handed the book up to him and returned the others to the shelf. As she reached for the edge of the bookcase to aid her balance in standing, a hand cupped her elbow. A large, warm hand that lifted her to her feet so easily she felt more like a puppet than a person with muscle and sinew of her own.

Her gaze melded with his, and an unexpected stirring meandered through her abdomen. She lowered her lashes at once and hid her discomfiture behind a mumbled thank-you.

As soon as she regained her full height, Mr. Grant removed his hand, and one completely irrational corner of her heart actually regretted the loss. Just because a man was strong didn’t mean his commitments were, she reminded herself. Eden had felt secure with Stephen, too, right up until the day he accepted her father’s money and left her behind with a wedding dress that would never be worn.

She shook out her skirts, ignoring the fact that they were perfectly tidy, and cleared her throat. “Well, feel free to have a seat as you look over your book.” She motioned to a nearby armchair that cozied up to a library table and lamp.

He gave it a glance, then looked down at himself. “I think I’ll . . . go over there.” He tipped his head in the direction of the reading corner.

“All right.” Too late, Eden realized he’d have a difficult time squeezing himself into the chair she had offered. It obviously hadn’t been crafted for a man of his proportions. However, any chair that had been would surely swallow her usual female patrons, so he would have to make do. It wasn’t like he would be a regular visitor or anything. The giant hardly strung more than two words together at any one time. What could he possibly want with her books?

He was probably trying to impress her so she’d send a favorable report back to her father. Probably trying to give himself a veneer of sophistication. Although, why a blacksmith would think anyone cared if he could read or not escaped her.

As she watched him lower himself to the floor and brace his back against the wall, another, much more disturbing, thought found purchase in her brain. What if he was trying to impress her for more personal reasons?

Mr. Grant looked her way and smiled before stretching out his long legs. He crossed his ankles and opened the book across his lap.

Eden spun around, her breath hitching.
Oh dear.
That wouldn’t do at all. She couldn’t have him coming in all the time, pretending to be interested in literature simply because she’d expressed a preference for it. People might get ideas—matchmaking ideas. Wouldn’t the busybodies in town love to pair up the bookish spinster with the brawny blacksmith, making a to-do about opposites attracting and all that nonsense? It would be humiliating.

Especially because the whispers would start again. Whispers about how any man interested in a bluestocking like Eden Spencer must be after a piece of the Spencer fortune. Rumors would circulate about her last fiancé and the scandal that tainted her with his leaving. Questions would arise about whether or not her father would buy off another of her suitors, and how much it would cost him.

She’d spent the last five years of her life silencing those whispers. She couldn’t bear to have them return.

Then she heard one . . . right in her ear. “Is that the new smith?”

“Oh . . . Mrs. Draper.” Eden reined in her runaway thoughts. “Yes. I believe it is. Mr. Levi Grant.”

“Ah. I thought so. Norman told me the man was abnormally large.”

Eden followed the woman’s gaze and peeked at Mr. Grant. Sure, his legs were longer than most and well-muscled, and his torso put one in mind of a sturdy tree trunk, but she wouldn’t say his size was
abnormal.
She’d seen ranchers and quarry workers who exhibited similar statures. Well, perhaps not quite as tall. Or as strapping. But close.

“I imagine size would be beneficial in a job like his,” Eden said.

The banker’s wife sighed. “I suppose. Still, it will take some getting used to. I smiled when he came in, but to tell you the truth, I was praying the whole time that he wouldn’t come too close. One never knows what kind of behavior to expect from a man like that. If he were ever to lose his temper, he could probably snap a person in two.”

Eden bristled. Why, Mr. Grant had demonstrated more gentlemanly behavior toward her yesterday than Lydia’s husband had. And today, despite her ruffled feathers, he’d been polite and even assisted her to her feet.

“I’ve been in the man’s presence on two separate occasions, and he has always conducted himself in a courteous and civilized manner. I’m sure you have nothing to fear from him.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Lydia Draper gave her a probing look. Only then did Eden realize her defense of the blacksmith might have been a tad too spirited. She rushed to change the subject.

“So, would you like to borrow that book?” Eden glanced pointedly at the volume in the woman’s hand.

“I don’t know.” Lydia opened the cover and thumbed through a couple of pages. “Do you think I’ll like it?”

Eden made out the embossed title.
Lady Audley’s Secret
. “Well, there are some elements to the story that you might consider somewhat shocking, but it has an intriguing plot with mysterious identities and a man bent on uncovering the truth. You can always try it and if it doesn’t fit your tastes, you may return it.”

“Shocking, you say?”

“There is a touch of scandal and certainly a great deal of deception, but the ending is quite satisfying. Right triumphs, as it should.” Eden chose to keep quiet about the fact that Lady Audley turned out to be a madwoman, a bigamist, and nearly a murderess. She wouldn’t want to spoil the mystery should Lydia decide to read it.

“All right,” the banker’s wife said as she handed the book over to Eden. “I’ll give it a try.”

There was a bit of a sparkle to the woman’s eyes, giving Eden the distinct impression that the shocking nature of the story might have actually increased its attractiveness. She hid a smile as she moved to her desk and opened the wooden box that held the cards for each book in her collection. Flipping through the alphabetical stack, she spotted the author’s name, Mary Elizabeth Braddon, and pulled free the small card for
Lady Audley’s Secret
. She noted the date, Lydia’s name, and the book’s title in her ledger and handed the book into Mrs. Draper’s keeping.

“I hope you enjoy it.”

Lydia tucked the book under her arm. “Thank you.”

As the woman departed, Eden added the extracted card to her Borrowed Books box and took a moment to peruse the other cards inside to see if anyone needed a gentle reminder about returning their selections.

All at once she sensed someone’s presence. Eden stilled, her head bowed over her box. Mr. Grant. It had to be. He was the only patron currently in the library. Yet she hadn’t heard his approach. Strange that a man his size could move so quietly.

Her heart thumping an uneven rhythm, Eden looked up. “Yes?”

“May I borrow it?” He set the Jules Verne novel on her desk with the same care one would use for a crystal vase or other delicate item.

Eden fought back a rising panic. She needed to discourage this man from becoming a regular visitor. After her slip with Lydia Draper, she was already in danger of having her name linked with his. If Mr. Grant started frequenting the library on a regular basis, it would only add grist to the rumor mill. But what could she do? She couldn’t bar the man from her reading room when he’d done nothing deserving of such drastic treatment. She needed something subtle, something . . .

An idea budded.

She leaned forward, lacing her fingers together as she pressed her palms onto the cover of the book, scooting it slightly toward her chest. “I would be happy to lend you this book, Mr. Grant, if you can come back in two weeks.”

“Two wee—” His brow furrowed as he cut himself off. “Why?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have a policy about lending books to people who do not have strong ties to our community.” A policy that had been in place for all of ten seconds, but he needn’t know that. “I have to protect my inventory, you see. If someone were to borrow a book and then leave town for one reason or another, I’d have no way to recover the lost item. You only arrived in Spencer yesterday, sir, and while I’ve no doubt that you will soon establish yourself, until that day comes, I must restrict your borrowing privileges.”

She hoped that in two weeks he’d be so busy at the smithy, he’d have no time for books. Or her.

Which would be for the best.

Really.

His gaze strayed to the placard propped on a wire photograph easel at the corner of her desk, and the frown lines between his eyes relaxed.

“You open at noon every day?”

“Except Sundays.” Eden spoke slowly while her brain rushed ahead. Surely he wasn’t considering—?

“I’ll come by tomorrow, then.”

With supreme effort, Eden held her head erect and even managed a weak smile in parting as he bid her good day. But the minute she heard the front door close behind him, she slumped forward, her hands barely unlacing in time to catch her plummeting head.