Page 19 of If the Boot Fits

He grinned, feeling more himself now that he had the upper hand in the conversation. He tipped his head toward the shelf beside her. “You seemed quite enthralled by those chisels. I thought you might be a hobbyist.”

“Ah yes. Well. My father has a birthday coming up.” She fiddled with a bit of lace at her cuff.

“And he’s a carpenter?” He really shouldn’t derive so much pleasure from teasing her, but it felt good to let go of his worries for a few minutes and flirt with a pretty girl.

“A rancher, actually, but tools are always handy to have around, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would.” He grinned. “A ranch can never have too many chisels.”

Her lips twitched, and amusement gleamed in her vibrant eyes, but she managed to keep it contained. Unfortunate, since he found himself intensely curious about what her laugh would sound like once unleashed.

“Everything all right back here?” The clerk who had greeted Asher from behind the front counter hurried into the aisle, his smile strained. “I heard a crash.” He scanned the shelves, no doubt looking for evidence of an avalanche.

“Sorry,” Asher said. “That was my fault. I clipped a saw with my elbow. The stray’s been wrangled and is back with the herd now, though, so no harm done.” He nodded to where the saw hung, nice and tidy.

The clerk, however, didn’t bother looking at the cutting-edge display. His attention remained riveted elsewhere. Not that Asher blamed him. What fella wanted to look at saws when there was an attractive young woman a few feet away?

“Miss Dearing? Are you sure there’s nothing I can assist you with? I’d be happy to lend you my expertise.”

Asher’s ears rang. Miss Dearing? As in Samantha Dearing? The pampered princess he’d nearly flattened when jumping out of her daddy’s study window? The one whose little brother almost drowned trying to chase him down?

Had she recognized him? Slowly, he turned his face away, thankful for the distraction of the overzealous clerk. He hadn’t recognized her, but then he’d not seen her up close that night. But what if she had seen him? In the study or after he’d leapt from the window.

Breathe, Ash. It had been dark. A boy had been drowning. She’d had other concerns on her mind. Plus, no recognition had registered in her eyes while they’d been talking. He would’ve seen it with as hard as he’d been staring at those blue beauties.

But what if it wasn’t his face that could give him away? His gut tightened as her interest in men’s boots suddenly made a dreadful sort of sense. If she’d found the boot he’d dropped . . .

Asher yanked his fingers away from the handsaw he’d been pretending to inspect. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Lengthening his stride, he left the carpentry aisle behind and made a beeline for the door. Shingles and nails would have to wait. He couldn’t chance being recognized by the one woman in town who could send him to prison.

9

Samantha bit back a sigh as the intriguing gentleman with the kind eyes and teasing smile disappeared from the aisle. His bootheels echoed against the wooden floorboards, then faded beneath the jangle of a bell. He’d left.

“Miss Dearing?”

“Hmm?” She refocused on the annoyingly helpful clerk. “Oh yes. Mr. Flanders.” She manufactured a polite smile for the man with the heavily pomaded hair and lopsided mustache. “Thank you so much for your kind offer.” She was pretty sure he’d offered something. Pointing out items in the store perhaps? Whatever it was, she had no desire to take him up on it. “I just stopped in today to do a little light browsing. My father’s birthday is coming up, you see.”

That excuse had become remarkably handy, even if the occasion was three months away. It might not reflect the real reason she chose to visit the shop, but the statement itself was true.

Mr. Flanders grinned, the gesture tipping his already lopsided mustache into an even steeper asymmetrical position. He held out his arm and stepped toward her. “We have some sturdy work gloves that would make a fine gift for a rancher. Or perhaps a new saddlebag? We have a special collection of hand-tooled leather goods I think you’ll like.”

He attempted to herd her in that direction, but she sidestepped and dipped her chin in apology.

“Excellent ideas, sir. I will certainly bear them in mind.” She squeezed past him, wiggling her fingers in a small wave as she went. “For now, though, I have other business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me?”

“Of course.” His arms dropped to his side, and his mustache leveled out as his smile dimmed.

She felt a little bad about dashing his hopes, whether they’d been centered on her in a personal manner or strictly attached to her pocketbook. Best not to encourage either. Although . . . she might have to return later and buy one of those chisels. The oddity of the gift would be vastly entertaining. Stepping outside onto the street, she fought a giggle as she pictured her father’s face scrunched in confusion when he unwrapped her package.

The real pleasure would come from the memories sure to be prompted whenever she ran across the chisel among the tools in the barn. Memories of a handsome cowboy who teased and flirted with her as if she were any other woman. No exaggerated efforts to impress. No effusive compliments. No recitation of his pedigree. Just friendly conversation. He even had the good manners not to ask about her peeping beneath the store shelves like a child spying through a keyhole.

Warmth spread through her chest as she lifted the hem of her skirt and climbed into the horse cart she used when driving to and from the ranch. He’d dressed like any other cowboy—denim trousers, tan shirt with a bibbed front, dusty brown boots that looked nothing like the one she’d found with the fancy stitching. She’d hadn’t gotten more than a glance at his feet, but they seemed to fit within the size parameters she’d set. What if he was the man who rescued Clint? Her heart pounded as she picked up the reins and clicked her tongue to signal the little mare that she was ready to depart.

His physique matched what she remembered of the man fleeing her ball. Tall. Lean with sinewy strength. Of course, that description fit most working cowhands. Still, it didn’t rule him out. Her pulse pounded at the possibility that she might have just conversed with the mystery man who’d been invading her dreams of late. A man possessed of rugged good looks and a pleasant manner. One might even consider him charming.

She’d tried to convince herself that her search for her brother’s rescuer had been motivated by a desire to express her gratitude, but if she were brutally honest with herself, it probably had more to do with besting her father. Solving the case of the unknown intruder while her father remained in the dark would be incredibly satisfying. She’d control the knowledge and decide how best to use it, not him. If the man she found ended up being more hero than thief, she’d protect his identity out of loyalty to Clint. On the other hand, if she discovered a man of murky character, one in possession of nefarious intentions toward her family, she wouldn’t hesitate to have the intruder brought up on charges.