15

Hank waited until late in the afternoon on Christmas Day, although it was hard for him not to hurry over and make amends to Fleeta sooner. He was determined to get her to take the rest of the money he’d promised and to tell her what he’d come to feel for her. He didn’t want to rush her—to frighten her with the intensity of what he was feeling—but the fear that he’d lost her by pushing too far into her private affairs made him realize just how involved he wanted to be in her life. He was determined to persuade her to let him woo her. Giving her the final payment for her carving was the perfect excuse, and surely she couldn’t be angry with him on Christmas Day.

Plus, he had a plan.

Hank drove over to Oscar and Maisie’s after enjoying a fine Christmas feast. James and Grace wanted to come too, but Abram persuaded them to stay and try out Grace’s new Hula-Hoop instead. James acted like he didn’t want to play with a girl’s toy, but as soon as Grace suggested that was because he couldn’t do it, a competition was in full swing.

Hank pulled up to the Brady house and got out of his car, flipping a silver dollar over and over between his fingers. He dropped it as he stepped toward the porch and noticed his fingers shook as he retrieved the coin from the winter-sere grass.

Albert opened the door even before Hank knocked. “Fleeta, you’ve got company,” he called into the house.

She appeared as though she’d been expecting him. Her lips tightened and thinned.

“Merry Christmas,” Hank said, then jumped right in without any more preamble. “First thing I need to do is apologize to you for butting into your business the way I did. I’m real sorry about that.”

Her face relaxed just a little, and she uncrossed her arms. “I appreciate that.”

Hank smiled. That hadn’t been so bad. “Now, I know you said you wouldn’t take the rest of my payment on the gunstock carving, but I have a proposal for you.”

She tapped a toe and raised her eyebrows at him. She was back in her pants and flannel shirt, and Hank thought she looked wonderful.

He held up the silver dollar. “Whichever one of us shoots a hole through this first, wins.”

A gleam came to Fleeta’s eyes. “Will the target be still or moving?”

“I thought Albert here could throw it for us. You shoot first.”

Fleeta reached for her rifle in a rack on the wall.

Hank stretched out a hand and stopped her. “Don’t you want to know what the prize is?”

“I thought it’d be that cash you keep trying to push off on me.”

“If you win, you decide whether to take the money or not, and I don’t say a word either way.” He tightened his grip just a little where he held her arm. “If I win, you take the money and you let me call on you.”

She furrowed her brow. “Call on me? Like a man calls on a woman?”

“Exactly like that. I know you don’t care to marry, but I’d like a chance to persuade you otherwise.” There. He couldn’t be much plainer than that.

Fleeta’s lips parted, and she stared at him. “I . . . are you saying . . . ?”

“I’d like a chance to win you, Fleeta Brady. And if I have to outshoot you to do it, then I’ll shoot better than I’ve ever shot before.”

Color tinted her cheeks, and she blinked several times before drawing her shoulders back and nodding slowly. “I suppose I might let a man who can outshoot me have a chance.”

Hank’s heart soared. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting himself into, but this was the happiest he’d been in ages. “All right then. Albert, will you do the honors?” He handed off the silver dollar.

Fleeta shrugged into a coat and cradled her .22 rifle in her arms. Her heart fluttered, and her stomach knotted. Did she want to beat Hank? Or did she maybe want to let him win this one? She’d never missed a shot on purpose in her life, but for the first time she was beginning to think there might be something better than being the best shot in the county. Maybe her ability to outshoot just about anyone wasn’t the only thing that gave her worth. And maybe Hank had noticed. She breathed in and out slowly. If she couldn’t get a handle on herself, she wouldn’t have to throw the match to lose. Or would that be winning?

Albert walked out into the pasture, flipping the silver dollar in his hand. “I’m going to fling it out and up this way,” he said, pointing. “Don’t anybody get all shaky and shoot me instead of the coin.” He laughed, but Fleeta thought if he knew how she was feeling at the moment, he might not think it was so funny.

“Ladies first,” Hank said and made a sweeping bow.

Fleeta closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to the God she was beginning to think of as Father. If someone had asked her what she prayed, she didn’t think she could say exactly, but it felt good all the same. Her hands steadied, and she lifted her rifle to her shoulder. “Ready.”

Albert winked in the waning light and flung the silver dollar high and wide. As he did, Fleeta thought she saw a flicker of white at the edge of the trees across the pasture—like a deer’s tail as it ran. She ignored the movement and forced her focus on the coin. She tracked it and fired. The coin spun wildly and ricocheted back toward Albert, who jogged a few steps and scooped it up.

“You shot the L right out of Liberty,” he said. “Took a piece out of the side. Hank, you’ll have to shoot pretty well to do better than that.”

Hank’s jaw tightened, and he shook out his hands before lifting his own rifle to his shoulder. “Get ready to see some pretty shooting,” he said. “Ready.”

Albert threw the coin into the air again, and to Fleeta it seemed to take a long time to reach the arc of its trajectory while she waited for the sound of gunfire. As the coin began its descent she heard a shot, and the coin spun once again before landing in a tuft of weeds farther away from Albert.

“He hit it sure enough,” Albert called out, starting toward the weeds.

Fleeta bit her lip, wishing Albert would hurry, when she heard the screech of a blue jay. It was Jack, following Albert again. Only this time, he swooped down, found the silver dollar, and launched himself back into the sky.

“Hey!” Albert hollered, waving his hat at Jack.

The bird flew to the peak of the barn and looked down at them, tilting his head one way and then the other. The silver dollar glinted in his claws. Albert ran into the house and came out with a piece of Aunt Maisie’s fruitcake.

“He won’t want that,” Fleeta said, but Albert waved her off.

He walked toward the barn, holding the cake high for Jack to see. He broke off a few pieces and put them along the edge of the wooden crosspiece on the clothesline pole. Jack watched intently. Albert hurried back to where Hank and Fleeta stood.

“Give him a minute,” Albert said.

Jack shifted on the barn roof, then flapped his way down to the clothesline. He landed, coin still clutched in one claw, and eyed the cake. He sampled a piece, and Albert began to ease toward him, crooning soft words. Fleeta had seen Albert feed the bird out of his hand before. She held her breath.

“C’mon, Jack, I’ve got a nice big piece for you right here,” Albert said, holding his hand out with the hunk of cake.

Jack ate another crumb from his perch and hopped closer to Albert, who was almost to the pole now.

“That’s right, Jack. I’ll trade ya.”

Fleeta swore she could see the bird squint his eyes as though calculating the risk and reward. Then he darted forward, snagged the hunk of cake in his beak, and flew once again. This time the bird went to a branch halfway up a hemlock tree where he settled in to enjoy his treat. He hopped along the branch, apparently having dropped the coin.

“I think that’s where his nest is,” Albert said. “Or was when he needed it last spring.”

Fleeta started to say the whole thing was silly and they should just let it go, but before she could open her mouth, Hank stripped off his jacket and reached for the tree’s lowest branch. She snapped her mouth shut. If the fool man wanted to risk his life to prove he was a better shot, then let him.

Hank made his way up the tree, over and under branches, until he was just below Jack’s nest. The bird watched him from a higher branch as though enjoying the show. Hank finally heaved himself up to eye level with the nest. He reached inside.

“Got it.” He held the coin up in the air where it sparkled. Jack fluffed his wings and screeched.

In spite of herself, Fleeta was itching to know who won the contest. “Did you hit it?”

Hank grinned. “You’ll just have to wait until I get back down there.” But he didn’t start down right away. “Doggone. This nest is full of junk. Looks like Jack stole one of Maisie’s teaspoons.” He reached back into the nest and tossed down a spoon to Albert below. “Got some shotgun brass up here too.” He continued to fish around, Jack flapping his wings and hopping from branch to branch.

“Will you stop fooling around up there and come on down,” Fleeta said. She wanted to see that coin.

“All right.” Hank pocketed another item from the nest and began to work his way back down the tree.

When he was about ten feet from the ground, he dropped his full weight onto a branch. With a mighty crack it gave way. Fleeta gasped as Hank cried out and fell to the ground with a terrible thud, flat on his back. She rushed to his side, all thoughts of the coin suddenly washed from her mind.

She knelt beside him, noting a long, bloody scratch up his neck to his ear. “Are you all right?”

His eyelids fluttered open and he tried to speak, but nothing came out. A look of panic crossed his face as his mouth gaped and he worked his throat. Fleeta grabbed his shoulders and gave him a shake. With a roaring gasp he inhaled air, then coughed and sputtered.

“Phew. Got the air knocked out of me, but I think you shook it back in,” he said at last.

Fleeta gave a shaky laugh, still holding his arm as he sat up. She didn’t care anymore who the better shot was. She wanted this man to woo her no matter what. And she didn’t need any piece of jewelry to tell her when to fall in love either. As she tried to formulate the words to tell him just that, he held the silver dollar up to his eye and looked at her through the hole he’d shot in its center.

“How about that?” he said.

Fleeta flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m glad,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?” Hank asked, his arms wrapping around her in a clasp that was so delicious, Fleeta never wanted to move again.

“I’m glad you’re a better shot, Hank. And I’m glad you won the bet.”

Hank stroked her braid and gently eased her back so he could look into her eyes. “I found something else in that nest up there.”

Fleeta had been halfway hoping he was going to kiss her, so she had a hard time following his words. What did it matter if he found some old bits of metal in Jack’s nest? She didn’t say anything, just waited, and hoped.

Hank reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something shiny. Fleeta was too busy gazing into his face and eyes to pay much attention, until she saw something flash purple. She gasped and looked at what he held.

Her mother’s luckenbooth shone in the palm of his hand. Fleeta took it with shaking fingers. “How . . . ?”

“Beats me,” Hank said. “Maybe ole Jack liked it so much he hunted it down and carried it home to decorate his nest. But I hope even Jack won’t mind if you take it back as your own.”

A tear slipped down Fleeta’s cheek, and Hank caught it with his lips. He pressed them there to her jawline. Fleeta leaned into him. She felt wanted . . . treasured . . . beloved. She closed her fingers around her mother’s pin—returned to her twice by this gentle man.

As Hank shifted to move his lips over hers, she gave in to the sensations he stirred in her heart. Maybe there was something to this true-love nonsense after all.

****

Keep reading for a special sample of When Silence Sings by Sarah Loudin Thomas.