Page 47 of A Secret Heart
This wasn’t just Ed’s workshop. This was his home.
Warmth spread through her. A warmth that had gone missing when she’d talked to Isaac. All those years, she’d been wrong. It wasn’t Isaac she wanted.
All of it rushed forward inside her. The kiss. Ed protecting her.
She stepped into the room.
The sanding stopped as Ed straightened. When he finally met her gaze, his face wore a resigned expression.
And a bout of shyness hit her.
* * *
Was Rebekah about to let him down?
Ed watched her warily as she stood just inside the cabin. He’d seen the eagerness, the way she’d looked at Isaac when they’d pulled up in the wagon.
Ed had been prepared to spill it all. Because that kiss had made him hope.
Why hadn’t she said anything yet? Her eyes darted to him and away as invisible tension stretched between them.
She moved to his worktable, not far from where he’d been sanding, and gently touched some of the unfinished pieces there.
It wasn’t like Rebekah to hold back. He steeled himself for what she would say.
“I’ve been wanting to see your cabin since it was built.”
He got distracted for a moment by the strands of hair that had come loose to tumble around her face and shoulders. Her words registered as her head turned.
“It’s nice.”
Her skirt swirled through the sawdust as she moved to his bench of tools, leaving a pattern across the floor. He was conscious of the mess, wishing he’d swept up. But she didn’t seem to mind it. Her fingers ran over some of the chisels he used. She sent an admiring but quizzical look to him.
What had happened back there? Had Isaac had a change of heart? Ed couldn’t seem to find his voice, too afraid to ask.
“You don’t mind if I move these tools to look at them, do you?” Rebekah pointed to a pile of clamps.
“You can’t hurt anything. Watch out for the blades.” He stepped over to lean past her, moving them away from her delicate fingers. Just as quickly, he shifted back to settle himself back on his stool.
“What do you use this for?” She held up a chisel.
“It has a lot of uses.” He was so twisted up inside that he didn’t know how to tell her about a chisel and when to use it any more than he knew how to tell her the truth about the letters and his feelings for her. His glance skittered to his bed in the corner, hoping the letters’ hiding spot underneath the cot offered enough concealment. He’d stuffed all the ones she’d written there after his confrontation with Isaac.
Rebekah seemed oblivious to the tension vibrating through him. There was only a gentle curiosity in her voice when she asked, “How do you have time to work on pieces like this with all the ranch work?”
She walked to the other side of the cabin and pointed to the chair he’d been working on in hopes of getting the other job at the bakery.
“Your work is beautiful,” she said softly. “The craftsmanship of that cradle was impeccable.”
The admiration in her voice confused him. Maybe that was why he blurted, “I’ve sold more pieces since then. Would have sold even more if I could finish them faster.”
“Would you ever open a shop in town?” Her eyes met his.
“I have responsibilities here.” The words hurt to say.
Her expression softened, and he couldn’t quite look away.
He tracked her movements as she crossed the floor to where he sat.
