When Matthias reached the upstairs hall, Opal was only one determined step ahead of him. “Opal?”
She showed no sign of stopping, so he reached for her arm. “Opal, wait.”
She spun. “Maybe you should call me Miss Boyd.”
He tried not to wince at the verbal slap, but at least she now stood listening. “Miss Boyd, then. I need to say something.”
She didn’t answer, and the angle of the lantern left her face in shadows. Yet he could see the rise and fall of the lace at her collar as she took hard breaths.
“Last night, I’m sorry if I offended you. But…I’m not sorry I kissed you.” Was it his imagination or had she gasped? Well, she’d better lace up her boots because more scandalous things were a’coming.
“I don’t know if you’ve felt this thing between us, or maybe ’tis all on my end.” He paused for a response—anything from her. He’d even take another gasp at this point, but nothing from the shadows. Lord, what am I doing?
Like the irrepressible fool he was, he charged on. “What I’m trying to say is, I’d like to spend more time with you. To see if there’s something that could be more. Than friends, I mean.”
Opal fought back the burn of tears. He’d meant the kiss? The whirl of emotions that had surged through her all day seemed to be culminating in one overwhelming wave. His words couldn’t be true. He couldn’t really be here saying he wanted to be more than friends.
“Won’t you say something? Even if you hate the idea, please tell me.”
She jerked her gaze up to his, the hint of…fear?...in his gaze giving her a sudden boost of courage. She even had to bite back a bit of a smile. “I can’t believe you said that. I didn’t think the kiss meant anything to you. I was trying to put some distance between us. To make it easier for you to pretend nothing happened.”
He ducked a little so he was nearer to eye-level with her. Maybe so he could see her face better in the shadows. She raised the lantern, letting the warm light spill across his features.
“I thought as much. And…I can’t promise I’m any kind of catch.” He pressed his lips together, and his brows lowered. “Actually, getting close to me can sometimes be a bit dangerous, or at least painful. Maybe you should run while you can.”
Those brows scrunched together, and her fingers itched to smooth them. Could she? Did she dare? It wouldn’t normally be proper, but…maybe if he were courting her.
Before she lost her nerve, she stretched up and pressed her first two fingers to his left brow, smoothing along its surface. The wrinkle in the other brow melted away at the same time, and he tilted his head so his cheek pressed into her palm.
With that tiny motion, the shadow of scruff on his face tickled her skin and sent a shiver all the way down her arm. He turned his head a little more and pressed a kiss into her palm. Sweet, warm taffy. That shiver spread through her entire core, so strong she had to press her eyes closed just to control her reaction.
“I probably shouldn’t make a habit of these hallway meetings, but if your answer is yes, I’ll find other places to entertain you. More suitable places.”
“Yes.” The simple word was all she could manage, but she finally forced her eyes open to drink him in.
He sank another kiss into her palm, then lowered her hand. “Good night, then.”
“Good night.” But ’twas another moment before she could force herself to turn and walk down the hall.
“Go on, you rascal.” A couple days later, Opal pushed Charmer’s nose away from the cedar tree for the third time. But he edged right back, intent on whatever animal smell he’d picked up. As he craned through the feathery needles, several ribbon decorations fluttered to the ground.
“That’s it. Out of here.” She stepped between the dog and the tree, grabbing her skirts in both hands and flapping them. “Git. Shoo.”
A deep chuckle sounded from the other side of the tree, but its owner didn’t come any nearer to aid her cause.
Charmer finally seemed to get the message, though, because he turned and trotted away. His tail wasn’t exactly between his legs, but it didn’t wave quite as high as usual.
She turned back to the tree at the edge of the Shumeisters’ rear yard, sending Matthias a glare.
He returned the look with an unrepentant grin. “I think you hurt his feelings.”
“He keeps knocking the decorations off. We’ll never finish if he wallows in the branches, undoing all our work.”
“You know he’ll just bide his time and come back when we’re gone. And likely bring a host of animal friends.”
She did her best to defend against that hint of a smirk on Matthias’s face. The rogue. But one glance at him slashed through her fortifications. She bit down on her lower lip to keep at least some of her grin inside. Goodness sakes, but he was handsome, with that tilt of his mouth bringing out the strength of his jawline and his noble cheekbones. But it was that softness in his eyes that melted her all the way to the core.
Still, she couldn’t stand here and stare at him all day, no matter how much she’d like to. With effort, she pulled her gaze away, sending a quick glance at Mrs. S., almost hidden by the girth of the evergreen. Thankfully, the woman wasn’t paying them any notice as she arranged a bow on one of the branches. Did she realize something was different between her and Matthias? Hopefully they weren’t that obvious, despite the way the air almost crackled anytime he looked at her.
They passed another half hour in peaceful quiet while they worked. Although not exactly quiet, as the forest sounds settled over them. The call of a mourning dove. The chatter of a squirrel.
“Oh.” Mrs. S. broke through the peaceful blanket. “I just remembered I set aside a crate of dried berries to use on zis tree. The doctor put zem in the upstairs closet, I believe.”
Matthias stepped back, his gaze scanning their work on the evergreen. “I’ll get it. Are there markings on the box?”
“Just William Barr and Company.”
He nodded and caught Opal’s gaze. That smile again. And the way his green eyes sparkled, ’twas enough to heat her all the way through.
After he’d gone in the house, she stepped over to the crate of carved wooden ornaments and selected a star shape. “Here’s another angel. I thought we’d hung them all.” She turned and held up the elaborate carving for Mrs. S.
The woman nodded, but she seemed to be staring at Opal, not the ornament.
Opal returned the look with raised brows. Something must be troubling the older woman.
“You are happy with Matthias, ja?”
She couldn’t help the heat that flamed up her neck, and she turned toward the tree to find places for the decorations. If Matthias intended to court her, it would be clear enough to the Shumeisters soon. She might as well ease them into it. “I do like him. He’s a good man.” She chanced a glance at the older woman, who was still watching her with the beginnings of a smile tugging her lips.
“Ja. He is. He only needs to know he is loved just as God made him.”
Loved. The word had slid through her mind as she waited for sleep the night before, but she wasn’t ready to speak of it with anyone yet. How could she even know for sure what love felt like? Or maybe ’twas more than a feeling.
“Miss Boyd.”
Opal spun at the bark of the man’s voice. “Mr. Lefton?”
The livery owner strode toward them from the direction of the street. With each determined step, his body seemed to radiate anger. And something long dangled from his hand. A pack of some kind? Too slender to hold much.
But as he came within a dozen feet, the shape registered in her mind with startling awareness. An arrow quiver.
Lefton’s face had mottled red under his winter beard, and he didn’t seem to know whether to focus his attention on her or Mrs. Shumeister as he planted himself a half-dozen feet from the tree.
He raised the leather case so the fringe hanging from the bottom waved in the air. Something else dangled with the strips. Feathers.
“Can you tell me, either one of you fine ladies, why your dog would be carrying around an Indian arrow case?” He seemed to be working hard to contain his fury, although his words fairly dripped with sarcasm.
“My dog?” She peered closer at the item. Some kind of beadwork or painting adorned the body of the case. ’Twas a beautiful piece, really. And it definitely looked to be made by an Indian. “Are you sure Charmer brought this? Where would he have gotten such a thing?”
He impaled her with a look so venomous it took everything in her not to wrap her arms around herself for protection. “From an Indian, Miss Boyd. Or perhaps from an Indian-lover.” He coated those last words with pure hatred, and Opal did grip her elbows this time, bracing them as a barrier between her and his rage. She’d never imagined he harbored such poison.
But she worked to keep her voice solid and her chin up. She would cower to no man. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Lefton. If ’twas my dog carrying such a thing, he must have picked it up in the mountain somewhere. Are you concerned about Indians attacking us?”
His eyes narrowed to beady slits. “Why would Indians attack you, Miss Boyd. You have one of them practically living with you.”
Living with…? She turned to Mrs. S. to see if she had any idea what the man meant.
Mrs. Shumeister’s face possessed its own glare, and she’d turned the force of it on the livery owner. “Henry Lefton. It’s time you speak plain.”
“All right. You want plain? Matthias Björk is a murderer and a savage. When he’s not sponging off your good graces, he’s off with his Indian friends killing good people and stealing their life possessions.”
Opal inhaled a breath so sharp it nearly choked her. Yet she couldn’t focus on anything other than the words hovering in the air like a cloud of acrid smoke. A murderer? He’d muttered a few insults about Matthias when she was leaving to visit Tori, but she’d assumed the man was grumpy from the cold.
Yet this was no flippant mention. This insult was a direct affront. But Lefton knew nothing of Matthias. How dare he make such accusations?
Stepping forward, she leveled her own glare on the man. “Mr. Lefton. Apparently, you’ve been misinformed. Mr. Björk is neither a murderer nor a thief. He is the best of men.” Better than you. But she knew better than to push her luck by speaking that last bit aloud.
He matched her step forward and held up the leather quiver, practically shaking it at her. “Are you trying to tell me this isn’t what he carries his arrows around in?”
She examined the pack again. It didn’t look familiar at all. Yet Matthias did have a bow and arrows. He used them for hunting. He’d said so himself. Yet if this were his quiver, ’twas not because he went raiding with Indian cohorts. There was no doubt of that in her mind.
She turned her ire on the man again. “I have no idea if it belongs to him. And, frankly, it matters not. Matthias would never hurt a man or animal for sport, nor take what isn’t his.” With every word, fire burned hotter in her veins. “If you have something against him, I suggest you settle it with Matthias directly. I’ve had more than enough of your insults. You will not besmirch the good name of Matthias Björk. Do I make myself clear?” She’d never spoken to a man like that, yet the flames still surged through her chest. She’d do more than yell, if necessary, to stop this scoundrel from damaging Matthias’s reputation.
But the rage on Lefton’s face seemed to ease at her words. Or maybe it wasn’t easing so much as shifting into a look so cold and calculating, it slid a shiver down her back.
“You think so highly of him, do you?” He took another step forward, only a couple feet separating them now.
Yet she could almost feel the power of his arms around her, strapping her hands to her sides, smothering her so she couldn’t get away. Couldn’t save herself from him. The feeling wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air and stopping any sound from escaping.
“That’s quite enough, Heir Lefton.” Mrs. S. used her no-nonsense tone.
“I’ll say it is.” A new voice. Matthias. He must have approached from behind Lefton, where the blacksmith’s bulk hid him from view.
She was torn between a relief strong enough to pull all strength from her limbs and the urge to yell for him to get away from this monster. This man meant him harm, and her paltry statements weren’t enough to stop him.
Matthias stepped toward Mrs. S., bringing himself into full view of the man. “’Tis time you leave, Lefton. Whatever your trouble with me, it doesn’t involve these ladies.” His voice had taken on an edge of steel, a competence that made her want to cheer. Or sob.
Mr. Lefton, of course, turned his focus to Matthias, allowing her the chance to step away from him. Matthias edged in closer, creating a kind of barrier between her and the angry man.
Lefton’s temper hadn’t abated any. He flung the quiver on the ground at Matthias’s feet. “You act so noble, but you’re nothing more than a savage.” Smoke seemed to erupt from his ears, although that may have been his breath in the cold air.
He looked ready to hurdle another insult at Matthias, but then he clamped his mouth shut and spun away.
After stomping a few steps, he turned back, apparently unable to keep his parting blow inside. “You’ll pay for your sins, Björk. I’ll make sure of it.”