A Tailor-Made Bride

  “Oh, we seamstresses jab ourselves all the time, a hazard of the trade.”

  J.T. looked up at her then, meaning to tell her she’d been successfully detached, but he got lost in her smile and had to answer with one of his own. They stayed that way for a moment until Hannah blinked and twisted her neck as if trying to see the back of her dress.

  “How bad does it look?”

  It looked pretty good from where he sat. But J.T. figured she was referring to the dress, not the shapely curves beneath. He placed his hands on his knees and pushed to a stand. “There’s a fair-sized hole where one of the flounces tore off. But you can’t see your bloomers or nothing.”

  “Jericho!” Hannah’s face flamed and J.T. chuckled. Man, but the woman was fun to tease.

  He took her arm, thankful when she made no effort to pull away this time. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Tender but not too bad,” she said as she limped along beside him. “I’m sure it will be fine after I rest a bit.”

  “I should take you home.” J.T. wasn’t ready for his day with her to end, but she needed to get that ankle propped up.

  They approached a stand of mesquite that offered a bit of shade and slowed. Hannah turned to him, but her gaze moved past his shoulder to follow the children who were playing in the clearing behind him. “I wouldn’t mind slipping out early to avoid the embarrassment of displaying a torn skirt, but I don’t want the others to have to leave because of my mishap.”

  “Tom can ride back with us,” J.T. said as he grasped her waist and hoisted her up onto a bent mesquite trunk that grew at a nearly horizontal angle. She gave a startled little squeal and grabbed his arms for support as he set her on the improvised bench. Her feet dangled a good eighteen inches above the ground, but at least she wouldn’t have to stand. “He can drop us in town and drive the General back out here to pick up the rest of the group later.”

  “All right.”

  By this time, the kids had noticed Hannah’s return and descended upon them with questions about why she was sitting in a tree.

  After assuring everyone that Hannah was fine and leaving them strict orders not to let his prisoner escape while he was gone, J.T. hiked back to the picnic area, located Tom, and explained the situation to Delia. It took a while to hitch up the team and maneuver the General over the rough prairie ground, but he managed to fetch Hannah and the James clan back to the picnic without bumping anyone out or breaking an axle. J.T. dropped Louisa and the kids off with Delia and Ike, picked up Tom, and finally steered the rig toward town.

  “You think I got time to get back before the square dancin’ starts?” Tom called from the back of the wagon as J.T. pulled the General to a halt in front of Hannah’s dress shop.

  “I reckon so.” He set the brake and climbed down, not surprised when Tom vaulted over the side to meet him and take up the reins. “They had just started setting up the plank floor when we were leaving. The fiddler hadn’t even warmed up. You’ll have time.”

  The kid loved a lively tune, and the whole town enjoyed watching his high-kicking antics as he promenaded his ma and any other gals he could get his hands on across the floor. Such vigorous enthusiasm always generated friendly laughter among the spectators, and if Tom got a little mixed up at the caller’s instructions from time to time, no one minded. They’d just grin and point him in the right direction. It wouldn’t be the same without him there.

  J.T. reached up for Hannah and fit his hands to her waist as he lowered her to the street. He held her gaze for a moment. “The ankle holding up?”

  She nodded, and he slowly released his grip, making sure she was steady before shifting his attention to Tom.

  “Don’t be in too big a hurry, son. Hold the team to a moderate pace. You’ll get back in plenty of time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as J.T. stepped away from the wheels, Tom had the General in motion. Shaking his head, J.T. chuckled under his breath. The kid was chomping at the bit more than the horses were.

  He turned to share his smile with Hannah, but she wasn’t looking at him. Lines marred her forehead as she stared at her shop. Coming alongside her, he linked his arm through hers. “What is it?”

  She took a tentative step forward. “I don’t know, but something’s wrong.”

  He took a second look, narrowing his eyes to filter out the glare of the sun. He couldn’t be sure at this distance, but the door to the shop looked slightly ajar. “Did you lock up before the picnic?”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah pulled away from him and climbed onto the boardwalk. Instinct sent him after her. He clamped a hand on her arm and brought her to a halt.

  “Wait. Give me your key.”

  She obeyed, a question on her face.

  “Stay here while I check it out.”

  Suddenly, she was the one gripping his arm. “You don’t think someone is in there, do you? I don’t want you hurt.”

  He patted her hand where it lay across his forearm. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably a flaw in the lock that kept it from latching all the way. I just want to make sure everything’s safe before you go in. All right?”

  She nodded and let go of his arm.

  Senses on alert, J.T. approached the shop door. It was definitely ajar. He flattened his back against the wall, tucked Hannah’s key into his trouser pocket, and ran his fingers along the edge of the doorjamb. Splinters where the wood had been damaged jabbed his skin. Someone had pried his way in.

  He pressed the toe of his boot against the door and, in a swift move, flung it open. No gunshot or running footsteps broke the quiet, only the squeak of the hinges. Cautiously, J.T. leaned into the doorway. Whoever had intruded was long gone, but he had left an indelible impression behind in his absence. J.T.’s stomach churned, and bile rose in his throat.

  Stepping over the threshold, he surveyed the damage. The shelves Hannah had so meticulously hung had been torn down. Bolts of fabric lay unwound and scattered upon the floor. Not only had the miscreant tossed the expensive material on the ground, but he had trod on it, crushing it beneath his heel in several places as evidenced by numerous dusty boot prints and crinkled sections of cloth. Thankfully, the sewing cabinet stood intact, but all of the drawers were missing. J.T. could only assume they’d been dumped somewhere behind the counter.

  He balled his hands into fists, longing to mash them into the face of the person or people responsible for this attack.

  A tiny tortured cry sounded behind him.

  J.T. whirled. Hannah’s wounded expression twisted his gut. “Come on,” he murmured, forcing her leaden feet back toward the door. “I’ll take you home. You don’t need to see this right now.” Seeing her shiver, he tucked her under his arm and steered her through the doorway. Her neck craned as they went, as if she were unable to pull her gaze away from the destruction. A fierce protectiveness surged within him. He would make this right for her. Somehow, he would fix it.

  He grabbed hold of the door and moved to shut it, but Hannah’s gasp stopped him. He lifted his head and saw what had distressed her. Tacked to the inside of the door was a note.

  You never should have come.

  CHAPTER 33

  A chill snaked through Hannah as she read the ominous words. She would’ve felt better believing a group of unruly boys were responsible for this violation. Then the deed would have been random, impersonal. But the note destroyed that hope. Someone wanted her gone. Hannah wrapped her arms around her middle.

  Jericho snatched the offending paper from the door, crumpled it into a ball, and hurled it into the depths of the shop. He steered Hannah onto the walkway, then slammed the door hard enough to shake the outer wall. Hannah flinched.

  He stood with his back to her, the muscles in his shoulders twitching beneath his suspenders. She wanted him to hold her, to comfort her, to convince her she had nothing to fear, but the anger emanating from him made her pause.

  “Jericho?”

  His chest expanded as
he inhaled, and an audible release of air followed. The tension in his neck dissipated. His fisted hands uncurled. When he turned, the solicitous expression on his face eradicated the wall between them.

  “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I—”

  Hannah dove into his arms and burrowed into his chest. She clung to his waist, anchoring herself to his strength. As his arms enfolded her, the tears she had held at bay fell in earnest.

  Why? Why would someone do such a thing? It cut her heart to ribbons. It wasn’t so much the damage to her property but the hatred burning behind the act. What had she done to inspire such hostility?

  She sank further into Jericho’s embrace, her energy flagging as despondency took hold. Her knees wobbled, and Jericho scooped her up. He carried her to Ezra’s bench and settled her in his lap.

  Neither of them spoke, but his presence, his touch soaked into her soul like a balm on an open wound. Gradually her sobs slowed to occasional hiccups, and he fumbled for a handkerchief. While she dried her eyes and blew her nose, he untied her bonnet strings, set the hat aside, and tucked her head under his chin.

  Hannah couldn’t say how long they stayed that way, but when she finally raised her head, the sun was swimming on the edge of the horizon. Not quite able to meet Jericho’s eyes yet, she stared at his chest. Dark blue splotches marred the sky-blue fabric of his shirt, soggy from her blubbering. She covered the largest spot with her hand. The warmth of his skin seeped through the wet cloth, his heart thumping a steady beat. A beat that seemed to accelerate.

  “I’m sorry I wept all over you. I made quite a mess of your shirt.” She made to remove her hand, but Jericho covered it with his own and held it in place. Hannah slowly tilted her chin to meet his gaze.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I feel much better.” Suddenly shy and uncomfortable, Hannah slid off his lap and stood on the boardwalk. Even her ankle felt sturdier. She plucked her bonnet off the bench but didn’t put it back on. “I . . . I should change.” She forced a false smile onto her face as Jericho rose to his feet. His eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew she hadn’t fooled him. “That’s why we’re here, right?” she said brightly, as she stepped toward the stairs. “I’ll just let you get back to your business while I . . .”

  Her hand clutched the rail, but her feet refused to budge. Pulse jumping, mouth dry, Hannah eyed the stairs as if they were the teeth of some feral creature that would chomp into her leg the minute she set foot in its territory. She couldn’t do it. What if the same person who ransacked her shop had been in her personal rooms, touching her things, violating her privacy?

  Jericho came beside her in an instant. “I’ll go up with you.”

  He took the first step and held out his hand. Taking a deep breath, she fit her palm to his and let him lead her all the way to the top.

  The door loomed large, but Jericho faced it down, key in hand. He unlatched it, pushed the portal open, and stepped inside. He returned seconds later, a gentle smile curving his lips.

  “Everything’s still neat and tidy.”

  Thank you, Lord. Hannah swayed in relief and gripped the railing to her left as she steadied her shaking legs. After a moment, she stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room from wall to wall, searching for anything out of place. Jericho remained behind, giving her the privacy to explore on her own. Moving through the chamber, she fingered the cloth that covered her table, toyed with the spindles of the new chairs, traced the nickel-plated design on the stove, and ruffled the pleats on her ugly orange curtain.

  Normal. Everything was blessedly, wonderfully normal.

  “Put together a bag of clothes and whatever else you might need. You’re staying with Delia tonight.” His voice rumbled through her with a comforting authority.

  Jericho’s arrogant manner had irked her in the past, but hearing the tender concern behind his soft-spoken command made all the difference. He wasn’t trying to dictate to her. He was trying to protect her. And she was only too eager to surrender. After all, she truly had no desire to stay in her room tonight. Alone. Vulnerable. Just a thin door standing between her and the person who wanted her gone. Suppressing a shiver, Hannah nodded and ducked behind the curtain to collect her things.

  Later that evening after a light supper, J.T. sat at the kitchen table across from Delia and Hannah, drawing circles around the rim of his coffee cup.

  “I can’t believe it,” Delia said once Hannah finished her tale. “We’ve never had vandals in Coventry. Do you think they were after your money?”

  “I made a deposit yesterday, so there wasn’t much in the till.” Hannah glanced up at him and swallowed. He could sense her lingering unease, and it tore at his heart. More than anything, he wanted to take that from her, absorb it into himself if need be. He held her gaze, as if that limited connection could siphon off some her distress. And perhaps it had, for she sat a little straighter when she turned back to Delia. “I don’t think the vandal was after money. I think he wanted to scare me. He left a note saying I should never have come here.”

  Delia gasped and set aside her tea to squeeze Hannah’s hand. “How awful for you.” She shook her head. “To think someone we know could do such a horrible thing. . . . Well, it . . . it defies belief.” A thoughtful look crossed her face. “Do you have any idea who the culprit could have been?”

  J.T. halted his cup halfway to his mouth at his sister’s question. He’d been wanting to ask Hannah the very same thing ever since they got back to the house, but he’d not had the chance.

  Hannah hesitated, her focus dancing from Delia to him and back again. “I can only think of one person who has ever treated me with any degree of hostility.”

  His cup clunked against the tabletop. “Who?”

  “I . . . I have no proof it was him, of course.”

  J.T. pressed to his feet and leaned over the table. “Who?”

  Hannah glanced back to Delia, then looked down at her cup. “Warren.”

  Delia made a little choking sound. “Warren Hawkins? Surely not. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

  J.T. gritted his teeth and pushed away from the table. He whirled toward the wall and gripped the edge of the cabinet that held Delia’s baking supplies. Digging his fingers into the wood until his knuckles whitened, he struggled to master the rage that speared through him.

  Warren. First he’d tried to force Delia into a match she didn’t want, and now he’d taken out his anger on Hannah. The scoundrel needed someone to pound some sense into him. J.T.’s biceps twitched at the thought of fulfilling that duty.

  “I’m sorry, Cordelia, but I can think of no one else.” Hannah’s quiet regret inflamed his need for justice. She was the last person who needed to apologize for anything.

  When Delia finally responded, her voice broke, as if tears were near the surface. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

  “No. Of course not,” Hannah asserted, but when J.T. turned around, Delia was nodding.

  “Yes. Yes it is. He blamed you for the changes he saw in me. He probably thought that if you hadn’t come to Coventry, Ike would’ve never paid me any mind. When I refused his proposal, he struck out at you.” Her lip trembled as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, Hannah.

  Can you ever forgive me?”

  Now they both were apologizing! A growl built in his throat, though he pressed his mouth into a thin line to keep it from escaping.

  Hannah grabbed both of Delia’s hands. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Cordelia, and I won’t have you thinking you did. We don’t know for sure that Warren is the one who broke into my shop. But even if he was, you’re not responsible. He made the choice to act shamefully, not you.”

  J.T.’s jaw ached from clamping it so tight. He hoped the Lord would keep Warren out of his path tonight, because he wasn’t sure he would stop himself from pummeling the man. But Hannah was right. They needed proof.

  “I don’t recall seeing Warren at the picnic today. Did you see him, D
elia?” He kept his tone as neutral as he could manage but apparently wasn’t too successful, for Hannah’s head spun toward him.

  Delia sniffed a couple times, then met his eyes. “I don’t think so. But he might have been avoiding me since I was with Ike. A conversation between us would have been awkward.”

  J.T. strode to the door and took his hat down from the peg. He fingered the brim for a moment and then set it on his head. “I’m going out for a while, but I’ll be back.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah rise and move toward him. “Jericho? What are you—?”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest of the question. Without looking back, he stepped into the night and closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 34

  J.T. pounded on the back door of the mercantile. “Open up, Hawkins. I need a word with you.” He waited a couple seconds and started pounding again.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Keep your boots on.” The store owner cracked the door and peered out. “This better be an emergency. I don’t do business after hours.”

  “This isn’t business.”

  “Tucker?” Hawkins pulled the door wide. “What in the blue blazes are you doing hammerin’ a hole in my door?”

  The man had a napkin tucked into his shirt collar, and crumbs speckled his mustache. However, J.T. could summon little regret for disrupting his meal.

  “Your boy home?”

  “Nope. Took the train down to Temple this afternoon.”

  The Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe didn’t depart until around three o’clock, which left plenty of time for Warren to sabotage Hannah’s shop before leaving town. A convenient arrangement.

  “Thinking ’bout opening a second store there now that they’re building up the place,” Hawkins rambled. “Used to just be a bunch of railroad men thereabouts, but since they sold off town lots back in June, it’s really growing. I tried to convince Warren to go several months back, but he weren’t interested till recently.”