Free Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 by Joanne Bischof Page B

on his ego.
    Gideon fiddled with the top button of his shirt until his collar was straight. He smoothed his hand through his hair and strode toward the chicken coop that nestled against his woodshop. He had no idea what he was going to do or say, but he had a mind to prove Hollis wrong. The sooner, the better.

Nine
    G ideon?” Lonnie looked up when Gideon pushed the small door open. A dozen brown eggs filled her basket, and she clutched another in her hand.
    He leaned against the jamb as casually as he could manage. “Thought I might find you here.” He knew his voice was too smooth when she arched an eyebrow. He cleared his throat, knowing he’d better try a different approach. “I was hoping you might have a few minutes to spare.” He kept his tone light, friendly.
    Girls liked that.
    He motioned with his head toward his woodshop. She followed the movement, her face still uncertain. And why shouldn’t she be confused? When had he ever proven that she could trust him? Gideon swallowed. He hadn’t so much as touched her last night. He hoped he might have earned a tiny bit of her trust with that. All he needed was a little.
    “I wanted to show you something.”
    “Me?” Her eyebrows pinched together.
    “Yeah. I thought I might show you what I do.” He straightened and held the door ajar. “C’mon.”
    Her face was shadowed in confusion, but she set the basket downand followed him into the late afternoon sun. They walked without speaking. Gideon tugged the heavy door open, then pressed his hand to the small of her back. The fabric was soft to his fingers. Lonnie stepped into the darkness. He followed her in, turned the knob on the kerosene lamp, and when a yellow light pooled over his work surface, he closed the door tight.
    Tilting her chin up, Lonnie glanced around. He heard her soft gasp.
    He fought to keep his smile in check.
    Unfinished furniture covered every surface. The tangy scent of fresh-cut wood hung thick in the air. Her mouth formed a small O. Gideon gripped the bottom of the rocking chair that stood in the center of the workbench. The oil had soaked in to a rich sheen, and it shone even in the weak light. Lonnie reached up and touched the curved seat. Her thumb followed the speckled grain of the precious bird’s-eye maple. Gideon had spent hours shaping the seat. He reached up and, with one hand, pulled a child’s stool down from the overhead shelf. He tilted it toward Lonnie. Her gaze roved the intricately carved legs, the delicate spindles that had taken him hours.
    “You made all this?” she said softly.
    “In my spare time.” He leaned against the workbench and studied her, but she didn’t blush as other girls did.
    Her face was soft, as if taking it all in. Good. Gideon folded his arms, giving her time. No sense scaring her off again. Lonnie moved slowly around the workbench, her bare feet leaving small prints in the sawdust-covered floor. Gideon didn’t move. He simply watched her. He’d seen the type before. He knew the kind of girl she was. The kind who just wanted to be loved. The kind who had no idea what that looked like.
    He was just the man to swoop in and show her.
    She seemed to notice a crock full of wooden spoons. She lifted one out and turned it in her hand.
    “No. This one.” He gently took the spoon from her and pulled out a smaller one. It was the perfect fit for her palm.
    She felt the oak handle, and Gideon knew it was as soft as silk. He’d spent a lot of time on that one. Like his ma said, it wouldn’t fetch much, and he was no doubt a fool to spend all his time in this dusty old shop, but he couldn’t pass by a piece of wood without thinking what he might make it into.
    “It’s beautiful,” Lonnie said softly. She went to put it back.
    “Keep it.” Gideon folded her fingers closed around the handle. “It’s yours.” He looked at the floor. “Consider it a wedding present.” He straightened his collar again. “At least until I can make you something