Page 25 of If the Boot Fits

“I might need you to buck some sense into me tonight if I start going soft in the head over that woman in there.” He spread the saddle blanket over Bruno’s back, then reached for the saddle. “She’s too pretty for my own good. Not to mention smart. And kind.” He reached under Bruno for the cinch. “But she’s a Dearing. Educated. Refined. Rich.” Any one of which was enough to place her well out of his reach. All four should send him scurrying in the opposite direction.

So why was his heart picking up speed at the prospect of seeing her home?

Because I’ve got rocks for brains.

Rocks or not, he’d promised Mama Bess to see the woman home, so that’s what he’d do. Asher finished cinching the saddle, then fit the bit to Bruno’s mouth and fastened the bridle straps.

Just keep your eyes on the road. Not the most sophisticated strategy, he acknowledged as he led Bruno around to the front of the house, but it had potential. Gave him an excuse to avoid conversation. Easier to ignore her if he couldn’t see her. Or hear her. Maybe he’d run through a mental list of all the supplies he needed to purchase. That should keep his mind engaged in a productive direction. Nails, shingles, lumber, paint, fen—

“I’m ready.”

The supply list evaporated the instant she came into view. He’d obviously overestimated the effectiveness of his diversion tactic. An entire lumberyard couldn’t distract a man from that cheerful smile. Especially when it came packaged in such a comely face. If she’d had the decency to wear one of her fancy dresses, like that pink fashion-plate outfit she’d had on in the hardware store, it would have been easier to recognize the difference between their stations, but her dark blue dress looked so . . . normal. It made it hard to remember she was Eli Dearing’s daughter.

Knowing Mama Bess was likely watching from the front window, Asher left Bruno to introduce himself to the little mare pulling the cart and came forward to assist Miss Dearing with her basket. Good manners were good manners, after all, and he preferred avoiding motherly scoldings whenever possible. Even if he did have to hold his breath to keep from inhaling the smell of blackberry cobbler that lingered in the basket linens. Far too dangerous to associate the woman with words like delicious and sweet.

He slid the basket onto the floor of the small cart, then offered a hand to assist Miss Dearing into the gig. He felt her gaze on him as she fit her hand to his, but he kept his eyes trained on the ground.

“Thank you.” Her soft words floated over him, the tinge of disappointment in them jabbing his conscience.

He glanced up, but she’d already turned her attention to settling herself in the seat and collecting the driving lines. He figured saying anything at this point would have a greater chance of going wrong than right, so he clamped his jaw shut, strode over to Bruno, and mounted.

Asher kept Bruno even with the black mare he’d heard Miss Dearing call Dolly. Made it easier to avoid conversation that way. Not that Miss Dearing had made any efforts in that direction, a fact he should be thankful for, yet oddly . . . wasn’t.

The vibrant pinks and oranges slashing across the sky began to fade as they left Palo Pinto behind and entered open country. He expected Miss Dearing to urge her mare into a trot, but she seemed in no hurry. At this rate, it would be near to full dark by the time they reached the Three Cedars. He’d ridden through the dark before and wasn’t concerned for himself, but he didn’t need an overprotective father sending out a search party to hunt down his little princess and blame Asher for her tardiness.

Reining Bruno in, he slowed to a near crawl until her cart drew alongside him. “We should probably pick up the pace a bit,” he suggested.

She swiveled her neck to face him, and the earnestness radiating from her blue eyes caught him off guard. “I want to apologize first.”

Apologize? For what? He was the one acting surly.

Before he could question her, words starting spilling out of her like milk from an overturned bucket.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to your family. Mrs. Stephenson didn’t share any details, but she did mention that your mother lived on property owned by my father and that he recently evicted her. I don’t know his reasons, but I do know how hard it is to be evicted from a home you love and be forced to start anew elsewhere.”

How that statement could be true, he couldn’t imagine, yet the sincerity in her gaze had him believing her.

“You must be so angry at my family. I don’t blame you. It’s clear you don’t approve of me tutoring Jack, but I promise I’m just here to help.”

“Whoa, now. I never said anything about not approving.”

“You didn’t have to. That day we met in Patterson’s Hardware, I saw the change that came over you after you realized who I was. And tonight, you’ve done everything you can to avoid me.”

Just lay him across the road and let Dolly trample him with the cart. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I understand. Really, I do. But I’m hoping you might be willing to look past my family connections. I think I can help Jack. I want to try, at least.” Her words slowed to a trickle. “You and I will likely be seeing a lot of each other over the next several weeks, and I hope we can . . . Well, if not be friends . . . perhaps we can at least be amiable with each other . . . for Jack’s sake.”

“For Jack’s sake.”

What if he wanted to be amiable with her for his own sake?

She smiled as if accepting his mindless parroting of her words as agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Ellis. I promise to treat your family with the utmost respect.” Her eyes visibly brightened. “Now, let’s get this distasteful duty of yours discharged without further delay, shall we?”

She snapped the driving lines and clicked her tongue. “Get up, Dolly.”

Before Asher could argue with her faulty assumption that he found escorting her distasteful, she pulled away from him at a fast clip.

He hung back a moment, still trying to process all of what she’d just said. Yet as he watched her go, it dawned on him that while she had painted him as a grumbly, grudge-holding grump, she hadn’t described him as a trespassing thief. Maybe she didn’t recognize him after all. Maybe he could have a friendly relationship with her without worrying about the sheriff knocking on Mama Bess’s door.