He directed Miss Longley toward the parsonage with his hand on the small of her back.
A white picket fence enclosed the tiny yard. Overgrown lilac bushes crowded a front porch, and a two-person swing blew gently in the breeze. Gabled eaves, oriel windows, and thick vines graced the white house. It wasn’t large, but it was quaint and had been a place of warmth to Hays his whole life. “Your father replaced a very kind man,” Hays said. “Pastor Darby was loved by the whole town.”
“We’ve heard good things about him.”
“He used to come to El Regalo for dinner on Sunday afternoons.” It was Hays’s favorite day of the week, when most of his brothers gathered around his father’s dining room table.
They stepped onto the porch and she reached for the doorknob.
“Look.” Hays put his hand on her wrist.
Her startled eyes met his.
He pulled his hand back and grew serious for the first time since meeting her. He sensed she was a nice woman, somewhere under all the manners and quiet hostility, and he wanted more than anything to set things right. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Is there any way I can make it up to you?”
Before she could answer, the front door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out. He stopped short when he saw them standing there. He had kind blue eyes and dark brown hair streaked with a bit of silver at the temples. Surprise lit his face. “Hello.”
Hays took off his Stetson with his free hand. “Howdy, sir.”
“Mr. Hart, this is my father, Reverend Longley.”
Hays extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Reverend. I’m Hays Hart.”
“Ahh.” Reverend Longley opened the door a bit wider. “Emma didn’t tell me she had met one of the Harts.”
Emma. It suited her.
“Are you GW Hart’s son?”
Hays nodded. “One of them.”
“I’ve been meaning to get out to the 7 Heart Ranch and introduce myself. I’m afraid I’ve been a bit busy since we arrived.”
“My pa is eager to meet you.” A new idea began to form. “In fact, we’d love for your family to join us for dinner after church on Sunday.” Surely Pa wouldn’t mind if Hays extended an invite.
“We’d be happy to—”
“Papa,” Emma interrupted. “It’s your first Sunday preaching, and you might be—”
“Nonsense,” Reverend Longley said. “Tell your father we’ll be there.”
Hays couldn’t hide the pleasure from his voice. “I will.”
Emma turned to Hays and extended her hands. “Thank you for carrying my books.”
Hays handed them over and she bent slightly from the weight.
“It was my pleasure. I’ll see you Sunday, Miss Longley.”
She barely acknowledged him before she stepped over the threshold and past her father.
Reverend Longley watched his daughter for a moment, curiosity in his steady gaze. “Thank you for seeing her home.”
“Good day, Reverend.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Hart.”
Hays stepped off the porch and quickly retraced his steps to the livery, where he’d left Gage to get their horses.
Gage sat atop his gelding, lazily waiting for Hays. “Where’d you go?”
Hays took the reins of Bella, his dark brown Morgan, and effortlessly mounted. “I walked Miss Longley home.”
Gage nudged his horse into motion. “I don’t imagine that was pleasant.”
Hays set his spurs to Bella’s flanks. “I think I’ve found the one, Gage.”
“The new teacher?” Gage’s voice was filled with doubt. “Have you lost your mind? She doesn’t like you.”
“Maybe not now … but she will.”
Gage offered him a dubious look.
“There’s something special about her,” Hays said. “If we had met under different circumstances, I know she’d like me.” They had gotten off to a rocky start, but he could change her mind. He’d do it when her family came to dinner at El Regalo.
Emma sat in the back of the surrey nestled between her sister, Hope, and her young brother, David. Papa held the reins and Mama shaded her eyes as she shook her head. “My, my. Would you look at that?”
“It must be El Regalo,” Papa said. “I don’t imagine there are any other houses like it for miles around.”
“Emma, do you see?” Mama turned her pretty face toward Emma. Green eyes, the exact color of Emma’s, blinked at her from a face that looked too young to be a mother of grown daughters.
Emma bent in front of her brother to get a better look as they pulled up to a beautiful Victorian mansion. Two stories tall, with a flat roof, it was made of a sand-colored brick with darker brown brick accents around windows, doors, and corners. A three-story tower rose up from the structure with a blunted iron-railed widow’s walk.
“I bet you can see clear into Hartville from the top of that tower,” David said in his eleven-year-old voice. “I wonder if Mr. Hart will let me climb it.”
“Oh, David.” Mama sighed. “Please remember your manners—and do not ask to climb that tower.”
Disappointment clouded his gaze. “Yes, ma’am.”