“Alice would have liked you, Miz Hannah. And she would’ve appreciated what you done for me. Maybe having something of hers will help you feel like you know her even though you two never met.”
Hannah bent forward and touched a kiss to Ezra’s cheek, right above his whiskers. “I feel as if I already know her—through you.” She stepped back and held the needle case to her heart. “Thank you, Ezra. I will treasure this.”
Tom brought out a horse and started hitching it to the buggy. As he adjusted the collar, he shot a questioning glance at Hannah. “You lookin’ for J.T.?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping back to give him room to work. “I brought him some lunch. Is he here?”
“Nope. Ain’t seen him since church.”
“That’s odd. He said he had business to take care of.” Something twinged in her stomach. Had he manufactured an excuse to get away from her? Surely not. Jericho was an honorable man. But why . . . ?
For heaven’s sake. All this negative thinking was getting her nowhere. She’d just received a lovely gift from a dear friend. She had no cause to feel morose. Careful not to drop the precious needle case, Hannah slipped it into her skirt pocket and patted it against her side. Such a thoughtful gift, equally as thoughtful as . . . her chairs.
“Ezra?”
The man had moved away from her to help Tom buckle all the necessary straps. Upon hearing his name, though, he turned.
Hannah smiled to cover her discomfiture over the question she was about to ask. “Did you by chance leave another gift for me on my landing? I only ask because I found a pair of oak dining chairs there with no note or other clue as to who they were from. With all your woodworking, I thought maybe they were from you.”
Ezra scratched his beard. “No. Can’t say they were. They just showed up?”
“Yes. I’d like to thank whomever is responsible. If I can determine who that person is.”
Tom worked his way down the horse’s back, checking the harness. “Mighta been J.T.”
Hannah’s heart gave a little leap. “You think Jericho left me the chairs?”
Tom shrugged. “Don’t know fer sure. He bought a couple from the junkman a couple weeks back, though, and I saw him working on ’em in the corner over there a few times.” He pointed to a recess hidden by buggies and buckboards. “They aren’t there now.”
“I knew that boy was smitten,” Ezra murmured just loud enough for Hannah to hear.
She stared at the empty corner, a grin breaking free across her face. Cordelia had warned her that Jericho didn’t handle gratitude well. That’s probably why he hadn’t said anything. But he best prepare himself. The next time she saw him, she was going to bombard him with thanks. In fact, she thought as she glanced down at the lunch basket still slung over her arm, maybe she could finagle a meeting in the next hour or so.
“I need to be going, gentlemen.” She eased her way toward the livery door. “Tom, if you happen to see Mr. Tucker, tell him I have his lunch. He can stop by the dress shop whenever he wishes to claim it.”
Tom yelled an “okay” to her back as she bustled across the street. She smiled, both at Tom’s limitless exuberance and at the warmth that radiated through her at the thought of Jericho’s painstaking attentions on her behalf.
As she neared her shop, though, her step faltered. Beyond the display window, a dark figure was roaming about inside. Had they been wrong to assume Warren’s guilt?
Whoever he was, the person inside had no right to be in her shop. Indignation swept over her like a prairie fire. Hannah jutted out her chin and stalked forward. The vandal had escaped detection last time, but not today. Nothing was going to stop her from uncovering his identity.
Caution kept her boldness in check as she concealed her body behind the wall that stretched between the two shop windows. It wouldn’t do to have the villain catch sight of her and flee before she figured out who he was. Balancing one hand on the back of Ezra’s bench, she pressed the other to the glass. She squinted against the reflective glare and leaned in until her forehead rested against the curve of her fingers. The shadowy figure finally took shape. Her heart pounded in anticipated victory. Then he turned, and Hannah gasped.
CHAPTER 36
Tears burned the back of Hannah’s eyes. Jericho stood in the middle of her shop, flower-sprigged fabric tangled around his torso. Having pivoted too quickly, he teetered while trying to avoid stepping on a coil of lace that lay directly under his raised boot. He managed to regain his footing, but almost took a tumble in the process. A muted laugh puffed out of her at the same time a tear fell from her lashes. Her rugged liveryman was draped in pink calico.
Jericho Tucker, a self-proclaimed despiser of fashion, flounces, and frills, was chin deep in feminine trappings. All for her.
Hannah sank onto the bench, her legs suddenly too weak to support her weight. Jericho’s actions had always spoken more eloquently than his words, and at this moment, the message could not be clearer. He loved her.
J.T. lopped off the soiled section of fabric with a pair of Hannah’s shears and finally freed himself from the ridiculous pink cocoon that nearly felled him. He folded the cloth over his arm, its raggedly cut end leaving pink strings stuck to his sleeve. He brushed at them, but they held firm. Rolling his eyes, he let them be and continued working. Once he had the material folded into a shape that loosely resembled a square, he slapped it on top of the four others already piled on the counter.
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 dow
n 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.
CHAPTER 37
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.