Twice Blessed Read Free

hefted the bag of nails. “And this isn’t a full pound of nails. Less than half, I’d say.” She turned the small burlap bag over and looked at the faint red lettering. “These didn’t come from my store. I think there’s been a mistake.”
    â€œBut I heard someone yell there was a thief.”
    â€œI did, too. Maybe it’s just someone’s idea of a joke.”
    â€œIt’s not a joke.” A man stepped out of the crowd.
    Emma locked eyes with the irritating man who had twice kept her from catching the lad. In the sunlight, she could see that, beneath the battered brim of a felt hat, his hair was a reddish brown, a shade lighter than his eyes. The air was chill, but sweat darkened his collar and lathered his shirt and suspenders to his chest, which had been so hard against her. His shirttail hung out of his trousers, drawing her gaze to the well-worn denims that followed his muscular legs. His boots might once have had a shine, but now were dull with dust. This was a man who was toughened by strenuous work and proud of it.
    As she looked back to his face, she swallowed her gasp when he gave her an unexpectedly roguish smile. It seemed to suggest he knew far more about her than any living man should. With a slow, sensual perusal, his gaze slipped along her, appraising her as she foolishly had him. Heat swelled each place his eyes touched.
    He put his fingers to the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
    â€œWho are you?” Lewis asked. “This your boy?”
    â€œHardly.” The man’s lips became straight again.
    Emma said quietly, “Sheriff, why don’t you ask the boy his name?”
    â€œWhat’s your name, boy?”
    The youngster’s shoe traced a pattern in the dust as he mumbled, “Sean O’Dell.”
    â€œO’Dell? There aren’t any O’Dells around here,” the sheriff retorted. He gave the boy a shake. “Tell the truth, lad.”
    Reverend Faulkner stepped forward and put his hand on the sheriff’s arm. “He’s telling the truth, Sheriff. I recognize him. He’s one of the young’uns who just arrived on the train.”
    Lewis’s voice grew hard. “On the orphan train from back east? Is that true, lad?”
    â€œYes, sir,” the boy murmured, an Irish brogue lilting through his words.
    â€œYou’re not making a good new start, lad.” He turned to the man who was still frowning. “And who are you, mister? Are you with these kids?”
    â€œI am Noah Sawyer, and I want you to punish this boy for theft.”
    His brows arched. “Strong charge, Mr. Sawyer.”
    â€œOnly the truth. That boy stole the hammer and nails from my wagon over there.” He pointed to a dilapidated buckboard in front of the store.
    The sheriff looked at the boy. “Is that true?”
    â€œI didn’t really steal them.” He shuffled his toe again in the dusty road. “I was just looking ’round. I wanted to see what this place was like. We went through lots of towns on the train, and I wanted to see one up close. So I was looking ’round. Then he came up and I got scared and I ran and he chased me and—”
    â€œI think I’ve got a good idea of what happened.” Lewis smiled when he turned back to Mr. Sawyer. That smile wavered when Mr. Sawyer continued to scowl. “Sounds like it was just a boy’s curiosity, sir.”
    â€œSounds like he was poking his fingers into things that don’t belong to him,” Mr. Sawyer fired back. “There’s a big difference between looking and helping yourself.”
    â€œTrue, and I’m sure the boy knows the difference.” He gave Sean another small shake. “Tell the man you do, son.”
    â€œDo know that, sir,” he said, not looking up.
    â€œNow that you’ve been caught?” Mr. Sawyer asked.
    Emma suspected she would regret getting more involved in this,