Page 56 of If the Boot Fits

“Fergus and I will help Martin unload the wagon,” Mama Bess said. “You tend to Samantha.”

The driver, Martin, came alongside and hefted a bushel basket filled with vegetables over the side of the wagon. “After I see Miss Forrester to her mother’s place, I’ll return the rig to the livery, rent a horse for myself, and head back to the Three Cedars to let Mr. Dearing know what happened.”

“What did happen?”

Martin’s jaw clenched. “Long range shot from a protected position. Thought I caught a glimpse of a horse and rider through the trees. Took a shot, but I doubt I hit him. He disappeared over the ridge, too far away for me to identify.”

Samantha leaned back into Asher and pressed her face against his chest. The details of what happened ceased to matter.

Asher scooped her up in his arms and carried her away from the wagon and the memories of what transpired. Taking her into the house, he kicked the door closed with his foot, then moved to the kitchen table, thinking to set her down and put on the kettle for some tea. But when he lowered her feet to the floor, her arms tightened around his neck.

“Can you just hold me for a minute?”

Warmth seeped through Asher’s body as he wrapped his arms around her back and held her close. “As long as you want,” he whispered close to her ear before pressing a kiss to her temple.

His drive to do something, to fix something, faded as he stroked her back, her arms, her hair. She felt so good against him. Like she belonged there. A craving stirred to life in his soul—the urge to hold on forever and never let her go.

He loved her. He no longer doubted that truth. He had plenty of doubts about what that might mean or how things might play out in the future, but in this moment, he didn’t care about those things. All he cared about was her.

The back door opened, disrupting the peace they’d found alone together. Samantha lifted her head and stepped away from him, but he kept a hand at the small of her back, unwilling to sever their connection entirely. Martin had deposited all the baskets and bags on the back porch and was striding back to the wagon. Fergus crossed the yard, a precarious armful of hoes, forks, and shovels clanking together as he moved. Mama Bess came inside and laid her big straw hat on the table, then turned her attention to Samantha.

“Why don’t you go back to my room, honey? There’s water you can use to freshen up and a bed if you feel like lying down.”

“I’m fine, really.” Samantha pasted a smile on her face, but it failed to light her eyes. “I want to help. Just show me what to do.”

Mama Bess took Samantha’s hand. “If you want to keep busy, I’ll let you wash those potatoes you dug so Fergus can lay them out to cure under the porch. But first, take a minute to be still. Wash up. Clear the ugliness out of your mind with some prayer. My Bible’s on the bedside table. Help yourself. I find Philippians 4 particularly uplifting when it comes to clearing out dark cobwebs and letting the light back in.” Mama Bess smiled, then nodded to Asher, a clear signal that he was to escort Samantha to her room. “Take your time,” she urged as Asher started steering Samantha out of the kitchen. “Those taters aren’t going anywhere.”

In a small house, it didn’t take long to move from one room to the next, so his time with Samantha ended far sooner than he would have liked. But he knew it wouldn’t be proper for him to follow her into the bedroom.

Reaching around her, he opened his mother’s door, but when Samantha didn’t immediately cross the threshold, he focused his attention on her face, and offered a smile as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Mama Bess is usually right about things,” he said, remembering all the times he didn’t heed her advice as a youngster and later rued his choice. “Take some time to recover from the shock of everything that’s happened. You’ve been through a lot lately, and it’s only natural to be a little rattled. You don’t have to pretend to be fine. I know how strong you are, how brave. I admire you more than any woman I’ve ever met.”

She dipped her chin. “I feel neither strong nor brave,” she murmured. “I feel . . . shattered.” She lifted her face, and her eyes melded with his. “If you hadn’t held me, I think I would have completely fallen apart.”

Asher swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. “Then I’m glad I was here.”

“Me too.” She reached out a hand and laid it upon his chest, directly over his heart. That muscle leapt at her touch, beating with new vigor. “You make me feel safe, Asher. I . . .”

His ears strained to hear the words perched on her tongue, sensing their importance, but she never gave them voice. Her lashes lowered over those magnificent eyes, and he felt her distancing herself. Slowly, her hand fell away from his chest.

“I promise to take my time,” she said, lifting her lashes and meeting his gaze again. “But I won’t want to be alone for long.”

He settled his hands on her shoulders and gave them a gentle rub. “I’ll be in the kitchen whenever you’re ready to emerge. I’ll stay by your side until your father comes to fetch you.”

A tiny smile tugged her lips upward. “I’d like that.”

Asher released her shoulders and cupped both sides of her face. He drew her toward him and touched his lips to her forehead, lingering over a kiss that should be chaste, but aroused all kinds of longings within him. Then he stepped back and watched while she disappeared into the room and closed the door.

****

Samantha leaned against the door at her back, closed her eyes, and relived the memory of Asher’s lips pressed to her forehead and his hands gently cupping her face. Such a perfect moment. So tender. So affectionate and sweet. It almost blocked out the memory of the gunshot and glass shattering. Almost, but not quite.

Merciful heavens. What if something had happened to Fergus or Jimmy? For most of the morning, they’d been playing in the very spot where someone had taken a shot at her. If one of those precious children had been hurt because of her . . .

Her hands trembled. She balled them into fists and stepped away from the door.

Had her brash words to Leroy Thompson outside the livery that day evoked enough hatred to drive him to try to end her life? She’d always been impetuous, even as a girl. Speaking before thinking, jumping to conclusions, not considering possible consequences before taking actions. Her mother had tried to curb the tendency in her, but no matter how many times Samantha counted to ten, when her passions ran high, she threw caution to the wind. Now, it seemed, that wind was throwing things back at her—all of them deadly.