A Tailor-Made Bride (36 page)
As he reached for the bit of lace near his boot, he glanced over the room. He’d wanted to have most of the mess cleaned up before she arrived, but not knowing where things belonged or even what half of them were had slowed him down. He was tempted to fetch a pitchfork and muck the place out like one of his stalls, but he supposed Hannah wouldn’t appreciate that type of efficiency.
The creak of door hinges brought his head up.
“You’re a hard man to find.” Hannah strode into the shop, letting the door close behind her. She raised an arm toward him and revealed a basket. “I brought you some lunch.”
“Thanks.” J.T. straightened and tossed the bit of lace in his hand onto the counter. An unexpected awkwardness closed off his throat. She probably expected some kind of explanation for his furtive behavior, but his tongue felt about three feet thick. He doubted anything intelligible would make it out of his mouth even if he tried.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected her to show up at some point, but something about the way she was looking at him made his breath shallow and his pulse accelerated. Beyond affection, beyond desire, a new light glowed in the depths of her eyes, one that seemed to penetrate the core of his soul and lay bare his secrets.
Setting the basket on the counter, she sauntered toward him, the intensity of her gaze unrelenting. He cleared his throat and took a step back, but Hannah didn’t let him retreat. Like a mesmerist, she held him enthralled. He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. She reached up and stroked his jaw, freeing the small muscle beneath her fingers to twitch. Then she braced her hands on his shoulders and rose up on her tiptoes. The lashes framing those fathomless blue eyes fluttered closed, and her lips brushed against his. The feathery caress lingered only an instant, but his insides trembled. Closing his own eyes, he savored the velvety touch.
“I love you, Jericho Tucker.”
For a moment he forgot how to breathe.
What miracle had led him to this woman?
He opened his eyes to find hers shining up at him with a love so real even his carefully cultivated cynicism could not deny its existence. At first, he was so humbled by the sight, he could do nothing more than drink it in. Then joy and possessiveness like he’d never known exploded in his chest. Pulling her to him, J.T. claimed her mouth. His hands slid up her back, pressing her close. She leaned into him and raised up on her toes as she returned his kiss. The taste of her lips tantalized him, stirring a craving that begged a lifetime to explore.
After a moment, Hannah slid back down to her flat feet. J.T. followed, caressing her cheek with the pad of his thumb, his forehead bent to hers. She inhaled a shaky breath and then stepped back. Reluctantly, he let her go. She bit her lip and turned toward the counter, pressing her palms into the wood. A long tress of golden hair had fallen from the knot he had thoroughly mussed. Hunkering down, he retrieved two hairpins from the floor, then stood and moved behind her.
“Here,” he mumbled, setting the pins on the counter next to her left hand. “Sorry. Your . . . uh . . . hair . . .” He was stammering like an idiot. Yet she smiled at him anyway, a tinge of pink dusting her face.
“Thank you.” She gathered the pins and edged around the counter, heading for the dressing room. He watched her until she disappeared behind the wall. Then he leaned against the counter and blew out a harsh breath.
He should have said something. Told her what was in his heart or at least spouted some romantic nonsense that women put such stock in. But no, he’d just stood there, mute as a fence post as she’d spoken the words he’d ached an eternity to hear.
“It looks like the fitting room escaped unscathed.” Hannah emerged from the back, her hair once again pinned up properly, although she dropped her bonnet on the worktable as she walked by. She smiled, but her gaze shied away from his as she drew closer. “The mirror’s intact and the skirt panels I’d been piecing together on the tailoring dummy are undisturbed.”
“That’s good.” He couldn’t seem to look anywhere but her mouth. Her lips were moist, as if she’d just licked them, and all he could think about was tasting them again. Just one kiss. One . . .
J.T. snatched a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and shoved it between his teeth. There. He couldn’t kiss her now without impaling her. Surely that would help him hold on to his common sense. All they needed was for someone to walk into the shop and catch them in an embrace like that last one. Not likely with everything closed on Sunday, but he couldn’t afford to take that chance. Hannah’s reputation would be shredded. J.T. chomped down hard and prayed for restraint.
They set to work, Hannah organizing all the smaller items that had been dumped out of her sewing cabinet, and J.T. continuing his self-assigned task of separating the blemished fabric from the salvageable. Cordelia arrived a short time later, and within a couple of hours, the three of them had the place back in order.
After a cold supper of chopped ham sandwiches at the Tucker house, J.T. and Cordelia tried to convince Hannah to stay at their house another night, but she insisted on returning to her own place. So J.T. escorted her home, carrying her bag as they strolled down the quiet street.
When they passed the livery, Hannah peeked up at him, an impish sparkle in her eye. “Thank you for the chairs.”
His brow furrowed. “What chairs?”
She giggled. “The ones you left on my landing.”
J.T. halted in the middle of the street. “How did you—”
“Don’t worry.” She spun around in front of him and he could see laughter in her face. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re really a sweet, caring man underneath all those frowns.”
“Good. A man has his reputation to consider,” he grouched, forcing his features into a scowl when what they wanted to do was grin. “That’d be almost as bad as you trying to hang curtains in my livery.”
Her eyes danced. “What a lovely idea! Why, that pink calico you wrapped yourself in earlier today would be just the thing.”
J.T. growled and lunged for her. With a sound that was half giggle, half squeal, Hannah darted out of his reach. But not for long. He chased her down and captured her waist in the crook of his arm. She pivoted to face him, her joy stealing his breath with its beauty. Unable to help himself, he dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before recalling they were in the middle of the street. Quirking a half grin, he tugged her forward. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
When they reached the staircase, she didn’t hesitate to make the climb. He took that as a good sign that her fear had receded. When they reached the small landing at the top, she pushed her key into the lock and turned to face him.
“Thank you, Jericho. For being there when I needed you yesterday, for helping with the shop, for everything.”
Uncomfortable with her gratitude, he ducked his head so the brim of his hat shielded his face from her, using the excuse of setting her bag down to justify bypassing her earnest expression. He mumbled something that he hoped would pass for a reply, while all the time his heart was pumping faster and faster under his ribs.
He’d intended to tell her how he felt when they got here. To the top of the steps. It was the perfect time. They were alone. The fading light softened the surroundings. He’d even spent the better part of the afternoon rehashing the words he could say. Not that he’d come up with anything good enough, but that didn’t matter. She deserved the words. Even if he mangled them in the process.
So sure he could say them this time, he looked into her face. And froze.
She waited.
Nothing came.
A sick sensation swirled in his gut. He wanted to tell her, he just . . . couldn’t.
If he spoke of his feelings, there would be no going back. What was left of his defenses would be stripped bare, leaving him completely vulnerable.
Like his father.
J.T. stared at her, willing her to read the apology in his eyes. Her smile never dimmed, but her shoulders dipped slightly—and that tiny show of disappointment knifed through him.
What is wrong with me?
He’d fight a rabid cougar with his bare hands to protect this woman but he couldn’t spit out a handful of love words. It was pathetic.
Angry at himself, he turned away and coughed to loosen his throat. “I’ll be sleeping at the livery until we get things settled with Warren. I don’t expect trouble, but I wanted you to know I’d be close at hand should you need anything.”
“Thank you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stoop to collect her bag. Then the sound of the door unlatching clicked loud in his ears.
Panic clawed at him.
Say something!
He spun around and grabbed her arm. “Hannah, I . . .”
She came to him easily, too easily. Instead of forcing the words he needed to say past his lips, he pulled her into his embrace, tucking her head into the hollow between his shoulder and his chest. A perfect fit.
J.T. tightened his hold, trying to communicate through his arms what his mouth was unable to say. But then Hannah patted his chest near where her head lay, and her quiet voice drizzled over him like honey.
“It’s all right, Jericho. I can hear your heart.”
And he got the strangest feeling that she could.
Over the next few days, business poured into Hannah’s shop, and she gladly welcomed the distraction. Whether the client wanted a simple alteration, an old dress remade into a more current style, or a completely new, custom-designed ensemble, Hannah gave each woman her utmost attention and courtesy. She planned to prove to the women of Coventry that she could be trusted with their fashion needs and exceed their expectations by completing the promised items ahead of schedule and with impeccable quality.
Needless to say, when she finally dragged herself up the stairs each evening, she barely managed to keep her eyes open long enough to eat a cold biscuit and wash her face before collapsing into bed. A soft lantern glow from the livery’s office across the street filtered through her window to warm her room and her heart as she eased into slumber. True to his word, Jericho was watching over her.
When she awoke on Thursday morning, her eyelids felt like sandpaper as they scraped open. She’d stayed in the shop until after midnight trying to piece together the perfect bodice for the eldest of Mrs. Paxton’s daughters. This was to be the girl’s first dress with long skirts, a gift for her sixteenth birthday.
By angling the pattern pieces in a judicious manner, Hannah recovered enough undamaged material from the length of trampled pink calico to cut several usable panels. However, necessity demanded smaller than normal seam allowances in order to avoid the soiled sections. This made assembly more difficult. She’d had to rip out one seam five times before everything finally lay just right.
Unwilling to quit until she’d accomplished her task last night, Hannah was now paying the price for her obsession. Not even a splash of cold water could enliven her wan complexion or remove the lavender circles from under her eyes. Maybe a brisk walk would add some color to her cheeks. She didn’t want to meet her customers, or worse, Jericho, looking as if she belonged in a box at the undertaker’s.
Lacing up her low-heeled boots, she thanked the Lord for the blessing of many clients, reminding herself that the added work
was
a blessing, and asked for sufficient energy to meet the demands of the day. Then after a few calisthenic exercises to animate her muscles, she headed outside.
And found Jericho sitting on her steps.
He stood, took one look at her face, and scowled so darkly she would have flinched had she the energy to spare.
“You look terrible.”
Hannah sighed. “Just what every girl dreams of hearing from her beau.”
Unfortunately the sarcasm bounced right off him without leaving so much as a dent. He took her arm and helped her down the rest of the stairs as if she were an invalid, frowning all the while. “You didn’t put out your light until the wee hours last night. You’re working too hard.”
“I’m fine, Jericho.” At the bottom step, Hannah tugged her arm free. “I know my limits. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I do anyway,” he muttered, letting her go.
Touched by his concern yet irritated at the same time by his overbearing manner, Hannah edged away from him. It didn’t matter that he was right. She was too tired to guard her words, and if he started lecturing her, she’d probably say something she’d regret. That surely wouldn’t aid her in getting him to admit his feelings. No, best to retreat before swords were drawn.
Hannah gave her best imitation of a perky smile, despite the fact that the corners of her mouth seemed to weigh fifty pounds each, and threw some spring into her step as she strode toward the outskirts of town. After a few steps, she turned to wave farewell. “My morning walk will put everything to rights. You’ll see.”
And it did, for a while. But by midafternoon, she found herself repeatedly snapping her neck up after nodding off at her sewing machine. The first three times, she shook her head and set back to work. The fourth time, she got up and paced the length of her shop. Twice. The fifth time, however, she stopped caring and laid her head in the crook of her arm, willing to let sleep claim the victory.
Thankfully, she wasn’t so far gone that she failed to hear the door as it swung open on its unoiled hinges. Bolting upright in her seat, she swiped at her eyes to remove any sleep residue lurking there and fluffed the peacock blue fabric pooled in her lap, hoping she looked industrious instead of like someone who’d just been caught napping.
“I’ll be right with you,” she called.
“It’s just me.” Cordelia’s familiar voice filled the room.
Hannah sagged in relief.
“I came to invite you to supper.” Her friend sauntered behind the counter and leaned against it as Hannah set the blue fabric aside and rose to meet her.
A quiet dinner with friends sounded heavenly, but she really needed to finish this alteration so she could get back to work on the Paxton dress. And with all her little dozes, the chance of finishing by suppertime was rather remote.