To Win Her Heart by Karen Witemeyer Read Free Book Online Page B

something in particular I can help you find?”
    Most males of her acquaintance only visited the library when they needed a specific piece of information, usually a manual or reference book of some sort. However, when she glanced back at Mr. Grant, his attention was fixed on the south wall, not the north.
    “Do you have Verne?” He crossed through the open corner where she conducted her readings and began perusing the fiction spines.
    “Verne?” She could think of no book with that title.
    He twisted his neck to peer at her over his shoulder. “Verne,” he repeated. “The author?”
    “Oh. Jules Verne. Of course.” What a ninny he must think her. “Yes. I have several of his titles.” She bustled past the blacksmith to the last bookshelf and crouched down to reach the bottom row. “ Journey to the Centre of the Earth . From the Earth to the Moon. Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea .” She withdrew each book as she called out the title, shifting it into the crook of her left arm. “ Around the World in Eighty Days. The —”
    “That one.”
    “ Around the World in Eighty Days ?” Eden looked up at him.
    He nodded.
    Of course he nodded. The man hoarded words as if he were being charged a dollar for each one he uttered.
    She handed the book up to him and returned the others to the shelf. As she reached for the edge of the bookcase to aid her balance in standing, a hand cupped her elbow. A large, warm hand that lifted her to her feet so easily she felt more like a puppet than a person with muscle and sinew of her own.
    Her gaze melded with his, and an unexpected stirring meandered through her abdomen. She lowered her lashes at once and hid her discomfiture behind a mumbled thank-you.
    As soon as she regained her full height, Mr. Grant removed his hand, and one completely irrational corner of her heart actually regretted the loss. Just because a man was strong didn’t mean his commitments were, she reminded herself. Eden had felt secure with Stephen, too, right up until the day he accepted her father’s money and left her behind with a wedding dress that would never be worn.
    She shook out her skirts, ignoring the fact that they were perfectly tidy, and cleared her throat. “Well, feel free to have a seat as you look over your book.” She motioned to a nearby armchair that cozied up to a library table and lamp.
    He gave it a glance, then looked down at himself. “I think I’ll . . . go over there.” He tipped his head in the direction of the reading corner.
    “All right.” Too late, Eden realized he’d have a difficult time squeezing himself into the chair she had offered. It obviously hadn’t been crafted for a man of his proportions. However, any chair that had been would surely swallow her usual female patrons, so he would have to make do. It wasn’t like he would be a regular visitor or anything. The giant hardly strung more than two words together at any one time. What could he possibly want with her books?
    He was probably trying to impress her so she’d send a favorable report back to her father. Probably trying to give himself a veneer of sophistication. Although, why a blacksmith would think anyone cared if he could read or not escaped her.
    As she watched him lower himself to the floor and brace his back against the wall, another, much more disturbing, thought found purchase in her brain. What if he was trying to impress her for more personal reasons?
    Mr. Grant looked her way and smiled before stretching out his long legs. He crossed his ankles and opened the book across his lap.
    Eden spun around, her breath hitching. Oh dear. That wouldn’t do at all. She couldn’t have him coming in all the time, pretending to be interested in literature simply because she’d expressed a preference for it. People might get ideas—matchmaking ideas. Wouldn’t the busybodies in town love to pair up the bookish spinster with the brawny blacksmith, making a to-do about opposites attracting and all