A Tailor-Made Bride

  Jericho,

  Please don’t mention my mishap at the river to Ezra. I fear he will blame himself for my predicament when it was my own lapse in judgment that caused the problem. I’m sure questions about the damaged carriage will arise, and I will gladly accept responsibility for wrecking the vehicle. All I ask is that when you tell the tale, please minimize the danger of the situation so that Ezra doesn’t fret.

  Thank you,

  Hannah

  Now, sitting on the hard bench built more for a school-age child than a grown man, J.T. considered her request. It wouldn’t be hard to grant. He hadn’t said much to Tom about what had happened beyond letting him know that Hannah was all right, so no one besides Delia should be privy to the events surrounding the buggy accident. He didn’t figure it was anyone else’s business anyway.

  The sermon finally ended, and J.T. gladly rose to his feet to sing the closing song. Ike Franklin led them in three verses of “For the Beauty of the Earth.” The hymn’s lyrics floated through his heart and fell from his lips with newfound freedom. For the first time, he felt comfortable praising God not only for the beauty of the earth and skies, but for the beauty of the people around him, a certain dressmaker in particular. Like any other heavenly gift, beauty could be corrupted. He’d witnessed ample evidence to that effect in his lifetime. However, Hannah had proven that such a fate wasn’t inevitable. Her inner character exuded as much loveliness as her physical features—a combination that succeeded in reflecting the glory of her Creator much like a field of bluebonnets or a host of gleaming stars in the night sky.

  But what did she see when she looked at him? A grouchy old bear, most likely. J.T. bit down on the edge of his tongue, wishing he had a toothpick to grind. He had no right to hope that Hannah could care for him. Every time he opened his mouth around her, he managed to insult either her or her business.

  If she needed him, she might be willing to overlook his bullheadedness, but the woman was as independent and capable as any man. Running her own business. Hanging her own shelves. She even managed to rescue herself from a flash flood. All he’d done was drag her out of the water. Hannah didn’t need his money, his strength, or his skills. All he could offer her was his heart. But would that be enough? It hadn’t been for his mother. And even though Hannah shared as much in common with his mother as a dove did with a rattlesnake, he couldn’t quite banish the doubt that gnawed on his gut.

  J.T. added his amen to that of the congregation even though he hadn’t heard a word of the prayer the preacher had pontificated. He silently begged God’s pardon for his inattention as the hum of conversation escalated around him. Ike Franklin approached and shook his hand.

  “Good to see you, J.T.”

  “Ike.”

  The fellow darted a glance at Delia and stammered an inane greeting. Delia smiled and stepped closer, which set the man rocking back on his heels.

  “I enjoyed the songs you led this morning,” Delia said.

  “Th-thank you, Miss Tucker.” His face reddened, and he stretched his neck as if trying to escape a snug collar. “I . . . uh . . . remembered you mentioning that ‘Father of Mercies’ was one of your favorites.”

  Since when did Ike get nervous around Delia? He saw her every day, for pity’s sake.

  “Indeed it is. The others you selected were uplifting, as well. I especially liked ‘Sweet By and By.’ The lilting melody put me in mind of a boat of believers sailing for heaven and singing of the joy that awaited them on that beautiful shore.”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way, but you’re quite right.”

  J.T. frowned as he shifted his gaze from Ike to Cordelia and back again. Normal people talked about the weather, crops, or their sick aunt Myrtle after services, not poetic song lyrics. What was going on with these two? Poor Ike was probably wishing he’d never opened his mouth. J.T. cleared his throat to gain the man’s attention and was about to offer a comment on the recent rains when someone slipped up beside him and touched his arm.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Tucker.” Hannah smiled up at him, and J.T. promptly forgot about his noble intentions to rescue Ike. “I find myself in need of your assistance. Would you mind stepping outside with me for just a moment?”

  “Of course.” Ike could fend for himself.

  “I hope it’s not something too serious, Miss Richards,” Ike said.

  “Not at all, but thank you for your concern. I’m sure Mr. Tucker will set everything to rights for me in no time.”

  Feeling like he’d just grown two inches taller, J.T. followed her as she made her way down the aisle. She didn’t stop at the steps or even the yard, but strode directly to Ezra’s buggy. Did she want him to fix something on the old man’s rig? He crammed his hat onto his head and caught up to her, confident he could take care of whatever she needed.

  He stripped out of his good Sunday coat and hung it over Ezra’s worn leather seat. “What needs fixing?”

  Hannah leaned back against the coal-box body of the carriage and drew a line in the dirt with the toe of her shoe. “Oh, I think you’ve already taken care of it.”

  J.T. squinted at her. “I don’t understand.”

  She smiled. “I know.”

  What was she up to? He stared at her until she finally looked away.

  A sick suspicion that she’d just manipulated him churned his stomach. A pretty smile, a touch on his arm, and he’d followed her like a pup on a leash. “So you lied to me?” he growled. He was no better than his father after all. “You don’t need me.” He jerked his coat off the seat and stomped off. Women! He should have known better than to let his defenses down.

  “Wait, Jericho. I didn’t lie.” Hannah ran up behind him and latched on to his arm.

  He shook off her hold.

  “I did need you to come outside, Jericho, but that was all. Just come outside.”

  He spun to glare at her. “What kind of riddle is that?”

  The sparkle that lit her eyes a moment ago disappeared. “You were going to interrupt them. They needed more time. Without your interference.”

  None of this was making any sense. He slapped his fist against his thigh and jerked his shoulders up in question. “Who?” he demanded. “Who needed more time?”

  “Cordelia and Ike.”

  “Delia and . . .” All at once, the scales fell from his eyes, followed by an infusion of sweet relief. She hadn’t been manipulating him. Well, maybe a little, but it had only been a harmless ploy to aid his sister, not some feminine machination to twist him to her will. She was simply playing matchmaker.

  With his sister.

  His ire sparked back to life.

  “Delia and Ike? Ike is the man you hinted at all those weeks ago? The man Delia’s pining after?”

  Hannah glanced around the yard. “Hush. Someone will hear you.”

  J.T. didn’t care about the volume of his voice. His sister was in there flirting with a man. A man whom she visited every day. Alone. With no one to chaperone.

  “If he’s stepped out of line with her, so help me, I’ll—”

  Hannah grabbed the ends of his black string necktie to restrain him. He glared down at her in disbelief. She glared right back. “Cool your heels, cowboy. Nothing improper has happened and nothing’s going to happen. They’re in a church with dozens of other people, for heaven’s sake. Stop and think for a minute.”

  J.T. flared his nostrils and drew in several deep breaths.

  “Cordelia’s not a girl anymore, Jericho. She’s a woman of marriageable age. An intelligent, loving, giving woman who longs to share her life with someone.”

  He ground his teeth. His mind recognized the truth in her words, but his heart fought against it. Delia was his baby sister, his responsibility, his family.

  “Ike Franklin is a decent man, a godly man,” Hannah insisted. “He’d make a good husband. Unless you know of some blot on his character that Cordelia is unaware of?”

  He’d considered the man a friend for years. Res
pected him, too. He had no reason to change his opinion just because he’d decided to take an interest in his sister. But Delia married? It seemed too soon. Even if most girls already had husbands and even a kid or two by the time they were nineteen. Not Delia. She’d kept house for him and quietly gone about her duties, never hinting that she was anything but content. And he’d never bothered to ask.

  “Jericho?”

  He blinked and refocused on the woman in front of him. Exhaling, he unclenched his fists and laid a palm over Hannah’s hand, the one still clutching his necktie.

  “You’re right,” he said. Her grip loosened, and he shifted his fingers until she released his tie strings in favor of his hand. It felt awfully good holding her arm against his chest. Delia deserved to feel this way, too. “If I had to pick a husband for her, Ike would be a likely candidate. I guess I just have a hard time picturing Delia under another man’s protection.”

  “She’ll always be your family, Jericho. Those bonds won’t be severed. But there are some spaces in a woman’s heart that a brother’s love cannot fill.”

  He peered into her eyes. A warmth glowed in their depths, daring him to believe that she was speaking as much for herself as for Delia. He covered the length of her arm with his and tugged her close. She came to him, her body only a whisper away. The pink of her lips beckoned to him, promising softness and delight. He wrapped his left arm about her waist. He dipped his chin.

  Then the distant drone of voices hit a marked crescendo as the congregation filed out of the building and began swarming toward the wagons.

  This was not the time, nor the place.

  But as he stepped away from Hannah and released her hand, J.T. vowed to himself that there would be a time and a place. Soon.

  CHAPTER 26

  During the noon hour the next day, J.T. kept one eye on the street as he oiled a pile of spare harness leather in his office. Delia had passed by thirty minutes ago with Ike’s lunch in hand and hadn’t yet returned. As soon as she did, he planned to have a little talk with the telegraph operator.

  Two bridles and a pair of reins later, she finally moseyed by, all smiley and dreamy-eyed. J.T. spat out his toothpick so hard it arced over his desk. His fingers curled into fists, tangling in the breast strap he’d been working on. Breathing deeply, he unclenched his hands and gently set the leather aside.

  He trusted Delia. Shoot. He even trusted Ike. But there was something about the two of them together that stuck in his craw. Probably because he wasn’t quite ready to admit that his baby sister had grown up. It had been just the two of them for so long—even before Pop died, truth be known—and J.T. had a hard time bending his mind around the idea of turning her care over to another man. Yet she deserved happiness, a family of her own, children.

  J.T. pushed to his feet and started for the door. He wouldn’t keep her from her dreams, but heaven help him, he’d make sure no one hurt her along the way, either. If Ike didn’t have good answers to the questions he was fixin’ to get asked, the man could kiss his homemade lunches good-bye.

  After telling Tom where he was headed, J.T. marched down the street toward the edge of town, where the telegraph office sat across from the hotel. He chose the dirt instead of the boardwalk to avoid the people milling about. In no mood to chat, he lifted a hand if someone called out a greeting but otherwise kept his mouth shut and his gaze locked on the telegraph office.

  “J.T. Tucker! Just the man I’m looking for.” Elliott Paxton dashed down the walk on the opposite side of the street.

  J.T. tried the wave-and-ignore method, but Paxton had never been one for subtlety. He scurried directly into J.T.’s path and clapped him on the shoulder as if completely unaware of his efforts to avoid him. Then again, the fellow probably was unaware. Elliott Paxton had a tendency to see what he wanted to see.

  “Hold up a minute, Tucker. I’ve got some news you’ll want to hear.”

  J.T. kept walking.

  “About a certain property . . .” Paxton let his words dangle like a worm on a hook, and J.T. bit back a sigh. No wonder the man always caught the biggest catfish in the county. His bait was irresistible. J.T. slowed.

  “You made contact with the owner?”

  Paxton gave a quick nod and slid his focus meaningfully around the street. “Come to my office, and I’ll tell you about it.”

  It took J.T. several seconds to drag his eyes away from the telegraph office, but he knew Ike wasn’t going anywhere. Not till his shift ended, anyway. Louisa’s roof needed those new shingles. The sooner he got things settled with the owner, the better.

  “All right. But I’ve only got a minute.”

  The banker’s eyes twinkled much as J.T. imagined they did when he reeled in a defeated fish. “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  Anxious to get the chore done, J.T. ate up the ground with his long stride and forced the banker to stutter-step to keep pace. Once in the office, he cut to the heart of the matter.

  “So, will he sell?”

  Paxton shook his head. “No. At least not for the price you offered.”

  “I can’t afford more,” J.T. admitted as he dropped into a chair. “Besides, the place ain’t even worth what I did offer.”

  “I know. The fellow claims that he can’t get out of his rental agreement with Mrs. James. If he sold to you, he’d have no way to guarantee that you wouldn’t turn the woman out.”

  J.T. slammed his palm against the polished wood of Paxton’s desk. “I’d never do that! The whole reason I want to buy the place is to help Louisa.”

  “Yes, I explained that to him, but he refused to relent.” Paxton shrugged as he leafed through a stack of papers, setting one aside. “I have no way of knowing if he sincerely cares about Mrs. James’s welfare or if he’s just using that as an excuse to not sell. Either way, it doesn’t bode well for your interests.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” J.T. flopped backward into a slouch. Covering the lower half of his face with his hand, he pushed out a long breath.

  Slowly, Paxton slid a paper from in front of him over to J.T.’s edge of the desk and rotated it 180 degrees.

  J.T. sat forward. “What’s this?”

  “I still have a few negotiating tricks up my sleeve.”

  Glancing over the words, J.T. frowned. “This is a contract naming me property manager.” He shot a glare across the desk. “I’m no man’s lackey, Paxton.”

  “Of course not, but think about it for a minute. Though the owner’s not willing to sell, when I happened to mention the dilapidated state of the structure and how the people of Coventry held him in such low esteem because of his poor oversight, he warmed up to my counterproposal. He agreed to hire a man, on my recommendation, for a small monthly stipend to make repairs and keep the building in good working order. All expenditures will have to be submitted for preapproval, of course, but basically, he would give the manager free reign.”

  J.T. rubbed his chin, the corner of his mouth tilting up at one corner as he mentally took Paxton’s plan a step further. “And if said manager chose to deposit his stipend into Louisa’s account . . .”

  The banker grinned, and for the first time J.T. recognized the shrewdness in the man’s eyes. Paxton continued, “We could honestly tell the widow James that we worked out a deal with the owner to lower her monthly rent in exchange for property maintenance.”

  “Maintenance I’d be willing to do for her in exchange for . . . say . . . laundry service, since Cordelia is so busy with her baking business these days.”

  Paxton nodded, and the two men shared a conspirator’s chuckle as J.T. signed his name to the contract.

  “You brokered me a good deal, Paxton,” J.T. said as he thrust out his hand. The banker clasped it firmly.

  “Always willing to aid a noble cause.”

  Leaving in a considerably better mood than when he’d arrived, J.T. bid the banker a good day and crossed the road to the small square building that housed the Western Union office. A bell jangled as he
pushed through the door, and Ike emerged from the back room to meet him at the counter.

  “Afternoon, J.T. Need to send a wire?”

  “Nope. Need to visit with you. About Delia.”

  The man’s face paled and then turned an entertaining shade of red before finally settling on a dull pink. He coughed a bit but then lifted his chin and faced J.T. squarely. “Come around the counter. We can talk in back.”

  J.T. mentally ticked one mark in Ike’s column as he stepped through the doorway that led to a simple room that held only a table with a telegraph machine and a couple of chairs. The room was cozy. Too cozy. He scratched out Ike’s mark.

  “So what’s on your mind, J.T.?” Ike asked, offering him a seat with a gesture of his hand.

  “I’ve noticed that Delia takes longer to deliver your lunches these days than she used to. Makes me wonder what’s changed. Especially after the two of you acted different at church yesterday. Friendlier . . . if you get my meaning.”

  Ike’s face darkened a bit, but he held J.T.’s gaze. “I get your meaning. And you’re right. Something has changed. At least on my end.”

  His eyes shifted away, searching out some far-off point in the space that stretched between the room’s walls. “Cordelia’s easy to talk to. And she laughs at all my stories.” He shrugged a bit as a grin tugged at his mouth. “I was comfortable having her around.” His grin faded. “Maybe too comfortable.”

  J.T.’s gut tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing untoward,” Ike sputtered. “It’s just that . . . well . . . she started becoming a pleasant fixture in my day. Talking to her, being with her. I guess I started taking it for granted.”

  J.T. couldn’t be too hard on him for that. He’d been guilty of the same attitude.

  “Then she started changing little things about her appearance. Her hairstyle, the cut of her dresses. I didn’t say anything about it at first. I figured it was just some notion she’d taken up. But then I overheard some old hens gossiping in the mercantile about how Cordelia must have her sights set on some man to make such efforts. Well, it got me to thinking. And feeling. Things I’d never felt before. I didn’t want Cordelia cooking lunches for any other man. Only me.”