Heart of Integrity (Hearts of the West, #2)

Chapter 3

“A bag of flour, please. And four eggs.”

Mr. Bulson, proprietor of the mercantile, placed the items Susan had requested in front of her on the counter. “That everything, Miss Kelly?”

“I think so.” She’d stopped in on her way to work to procure some extra food now that she had another mouth to feed besides her own. That would do for now, wouldn’t it?

The bell above the door jingled. Mr. Bulson smiled and called past her. “Mr. Morgan, good morning.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bulson.”

Susan couldn’t stop herself turning around upon hearing the deep, rich voice with the melodic accent.

A handsome young man stepped inside the mercantile, closing the door behind him.

The young man’s gaze shifted from Mr. Bulson’s face to hers, and the nod and shy smile he gave her made her feel more self-conscious than she could ever remember being. She tucked her head down a little, turning back to face the counter. She’d tried to nod a greeting in response, but didn’t have the slightest idea if she’d been successful.

Footsteps behind her increased in volume.

“How can I help you, young Ifor?” Mr. Bulson asked.

Ifor. That was an unusualname.

She listened closely as Ifor told Mr. Bulson a short list of items. He sounded a bit like a man from back home who’d worked at the railway station. He’d been...Welsh, wasn’t it?

“Of course.” Mr. Bulson turned his attention to her again. “Oh, uh, was there anything else, Miss Kelly?”

She noticed the young man looking at her. Why were her cheeks burning like this?

“Um... Oh! Candles, please. I need a few more candles.”

“All right. I’ll return momentarily with everything. I have to grab a few things from the back.” With that, Mr. Bulson disappeared through an open door in the corner behind the counter, leaving her alone with the young man in the deafening silence.

“Pardon me, Miss, am I right in thinking that’s an Irish accent you have?”

Susan hesitated, then turned to face him. “Yes.” Up close, his eyes were mesmerizing, and the line of his jaw was straight and strong. She swallowed hard. Why did she feel so shy around a perfect stranger?

“Ah. My father and I came here from Wales almosttwo years ago. Have you been here long?”

Come on, Susan. What’s the matter with you? Just talk to him.

“About six months.”

He smiled, his twinkling eyes crinkling at the corners. “How do you like it?”He looked so happy, so content.

“It’s wonderful.” She tried to force a smile. Her heart had never fluttered like this before. “Quite different, you know. Weather-wise and all.”

Ifor gave a knowing laugh. “I’m sure it is. We had our fair share of rain in Wales, too. Took me months to get used to there not being much here. And I certainly appreciate how warm it is.”

“Me too.” She nodded, a little more at ease.“The people are lovely, too.”

“Yes.” He frowned a little. “I’m surprised I haven’t run into you before now if you’ve been here six months.”

“Well, I was working as a laundry maid for a while when I first arrived. Didn’t really come into town an awful lot then. But I work in the post office now. Started there a few weeks ago.”

“Ah. That’s probably the one place in town I rarely go.” He chuckled.

Susan smiled. He had a lovely laugh. “Have you no family back in Wales that you write to?”

Ifor’s expression grew somber. “No,” he said, evidently trying to sound more light-hearted than he felt. “No, it’s just me and my father now, and he’s here with me.”

Her gut twisted. “Oh, that’s nice. My father just arrived last night.”

“Oh, lovely.” He brightened up again. “Is he here to stay, or just visiting?”

Susan hesitated. Ifor must have a good relationship with his father, judging by the way he was acting about hers showing up. Little did he know it hadn’t beensuch a lovely surprise for her.

“I...I’m not sure yet. He’s here for the time being, anyway.”

Ifor nodded. “That’s wonderful.”

Silence crept in. How long was it taking Mr. Bulson to find a few candles?

“You know, you’re both very welcome to join my father and Iat church on Sunday—you and your father.”

She blinked at him. “Church?”

“Yes. Well, it’s only a little congregation, but we meet in the schoolhouse every Sunday morning at ten o’clock. We don’t even have a full-time minister—afew of the men from town take turns leading it. But it’s a great little tightly-knit community.”

“I see.” She’d never been part of anything tightly-knit. Not even her own family.

He looked at her expectantly.

Was he waiting for her answer, here and now?

“I...”

He chuckled, a gentle and warm sound. “Please, don’t feel obligated to say anything right now. Just think about it. But the two of youwould be more than welcome.”

“Well, thank you. That’s very kind.”

Church. The last time she’d set foot anywhere like that had been her mother’sfuneral. She’dnever had time for it otherwise. All it seemed to be was formulaic rigmarole that didn’t make any sense.

Besides, who was she to ever set foot in a church after all she’d done?

“Here we are,” said Mr. Bulson as he swept back into the room. She watched Ifor as Mr. Bulson started measuring out one of the supplies he’d asked for. Did the fact that he belonged to his tightly-knit churchhave something to do withwhy he looked so full of peace?

If he only knew what she and her father had done back in Ireland, he certainly wouldn’t welcome them to the service. He’d probably never talk to her again. Never give her that open, sinceresmile.

She didn’t know why the thought hit her so hard. He was just a stranger, after all.

But she couldn’t deny there was something about him.Something endearing.

“And here are your candles. The usual amount, right?” Mr. Bulson’s voice broke into her thoughts.

“Oh, uh, yes. Thank you.”

He placed them in her basket alongside the flour and eggs, taking care not to crush the latter.

She paidMr. Bulson, then turned away from the counter, heading toward the door.

A voice stopped her in her tracks. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Kelly.”

She turned, her heart throttling. If he only knew...

“And you, Mr...” What was his name again? She’d been so surprised by his first name that she couldn’t remember his last.

“Morgan. Ifor Morgan.”

“Yes. Mr. Morgan.” She nodded to him. “Well, goodbye then.”

“Goodbye. And don’t forget—Sunday morning, ten o’clock. Only ifyou’d like to join us, that is.”

“Thanks.”

She dipped her head and rushed out of the mercantile.

If you’d like to join us...

For the first time in her life where church was involved, she actually would like to go along, strange as it was to admit.

But how could someone like her ever do such a thing?