The Seamstress (Dry Bayou Brides Book 2) Read online

  Tilly couldn’t stop her eyes from dancing over Hank’s broad shoulders and his big, long-fingered hands. Two of the knuckles on his right hand were knobby and a little misshapen, as though they’d been broken more than once.

  “I’m happy to be home. I missed this town,” he said and then looked at Tilly again. “And many of the people in it.”

  Heat rose into her face.

  Cressida chuckled. “I just bet you did, young man.”

  Hank continued their engaging conversation. All the while, Tilly wondered what Hank was after. He was using his handsome grin and alluring wiles for some purpose, she just hadn’t figured out what yet.

  Suddenly, Hank pinned her with his full, unfiltered attention. “Tilly, I was hoping to find you. Would you take a walk with me?”

  She opened her mouth to refuse, but he must’ve expected that.

  “Please. I’d like to discuss…a surprise for Ray and Billy’s wedding.”

  A whoop from Ray sealed Tilly’s fate. “Ooo, a surprise? For us? Now that’s somethin’ you just can’t refuse, Tilly. You take walks every day, anyway.” Ray batted her lashes at Tilly. “You know how much I love surprises.”

  Tilly nearly groaned in frustration at the look of triumph on Hank’s face.

  Hank had played them all and Tilly knew she’d been well and truly caught in his trap.

  Standing, she offered Hank a forced smile. “I’d be delighted.” Hank presented his arm and, after a hesitant moment during which she wondered if she’d lost her mind, she took it.

  Once they were of out of sight, Tilly pulled her hand from Hank’s arm. “What is this really about?”

  Hank stared down at her with a sheepish expression. “What makes you think I didn’t really want to discuss the wedding?”

  She glared and he laughed. “Fine. You’re right.”

  He smiled wide enough to show each one of his pearly-white, perfectly-aligned teeth.

  Her belly flip-flopped.

  “I didn’t want to talk about the wedding.”

  Tilly snorted. “I guessed that.”

  “I wanted to take you on a stroll, maybe discuss the wedding and get reacquainted.”

  Her heart thudded against her ribcage. “Why?”

  He offered her his arm again. “Please.”

  What could it hurt to just take a walk with him? It could hurt a lot. And that was the problem.

  She linked her arm with his and allowed him to lead her toward Robertson Street.

  Sometimes, Tilly took walks twice a day, but she’d never strolled with a man before.

  They’d only gone a few yards when she felt the heat of his gaze on her. “It really is good to see you again, Tilly.”

  An unwelcomed warmth spread through her.

  “I’d hoped that, despite our rather turbulent friendship over the years, we could start fresh.”

  All the air left her lungs. “You want to start over? I don’t think we were ever friends.”

  “I believe we were. I want to renew our acquaintance.”

  Tilly swallowed. “What does that mean to you, exactly?”

  As children, Hank was the meanest, most annoying little boy in the whole of Texas—at least Tilly thought so. A day wouldn’t pass without him going out of his way to tease her. Nothing seemed to escape Hank’s notice and Tilly certainly paid for it in spades.

  And now…now he wanted to start over—as if his declaration would erase the years of hair-pulling and name-calling. Though she was grown and capable of forgetting and forgiving, she couldn’t shake the distrust.

  Hank stopped and Tilly nearly collided with him. She gasped and stepped back, the warmth of his body radiating into her.

  “Starting over means we do what we can to forget the past and move forward—sort of like taking something old and broken and making it something totally new.”

  Tilly heard the words but she wasn’t sure she understood them.

  Something broken? How could something be broken if it was never whole in the first place?

  By the time she pulled herself from her own thoughts, she realized they were standing by the white picket fence surrounding the large, open churchyard.

  Tilly could only stare at the building where seven-year-old Tilly promised herself she’d never trust Hank Bartlett again. Her hand flew to her forehead, where the small, white scar sat as a reminder of their mutual past. Years had passed since then. She wouldn’t let old wounds spoil her new life. She couldn’t. And that meant letting go.

  She’d give Hank, the man, the chance to repair what Hank, the boy, had shattered. But she wouldn’t let her guard down. He was a whole lot more dangerous than the boy she used to know. His smile alone could disarm a gang of bank robbers.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I see. Start over. As friends.” She pulled her arm from his. “If becoming friends is what you wish, then friends we will be.”

  Hank’s answering smile filled her with equal parts of warmth and ice. “I’m glad to hear it, my dear.” He took Tilly’s hand. “But before we venture into this new territory, there’s something I must tell you first.” His gray-blue eyes were suddenly the color of the sky at twilight.

  “Tilly, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  Chapter Four

  Hank said the words he’d been burning to say for more than six years. Tilly’s face paled beneath her already pale blonde hair. Her delightful, kissable mouth dropped open. He coughed to hide a laugh.

  Then, the stricken look in her eyes stilled his heart. He saw surprise then wariness. Her expressions were as easy to read as the large church sign beside them.

  Tilly had every reason to be wary. As a child, he’d targeted Tilly out of misplaced and misunderstood emotions. He was different now and determined to show her. He wanted her to trust him, to grow to love him. Which is something he craved more than his next breath.

  “What?” Tilly’s voice was barely above a whisper, but at least the color was returning to her cheeks.

  “I’d like to apologize. Let’s go inside. I want to do this properly.” He indicated the door to the church and, with a tug, lead her through the foyer and into the main sanctuary. Hank never took his eyes off of her. Her eyes, her mouth, the way the light streaming through the stained glass played on her hair mesmerized him. She was magnificent.

  They stopped at the front pew and he watched Tilly’s gaze catch on the piano. She sucked in a breath and turned to him, her face settling into an expression of calm reserve, her eyebrows were arched perfectly over her eyes, her lips were pursed, and her chin was tilted upward, just so.

  “Well, we are here. Say what you must say so I can get started on today’s tasks,” she said, her words clipped.

  Cocking an eyebrow at her obvious desire to escape, he offered a smile. Now that they were here, he was unsure if he could speak the words he needed to say without kissing her. He admired her mouth and watched in awe as her two pink lips trembled.

  How can I make her see I only want to change her mind?

  “I am sorry for hurting you all those years ago. I was a little monster. Interested in causing as much trouble as I could. I am sorry that you were caught up, more often than not, in my terrible schemes and more than anything, I’m sorry for this—”

  Slowly releasing her left hand, he reached up to slide a length of her hair aside, revealing the small, white scar he’d help put there. Brushing his thumb over it, the softness of her skin beneath his touch startled and pleased him. She shuddered and, suddenly, he wanted to touch her again, if only to feel her shudder once more. He slid two fingers over the scar, down over her temple, down her downy cheek, and up under the chin.

  With those two fingers, he lifted her face up, and before he thought better of it, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over the scar. Her sudden intake of breath sent a thrill of heat into his belly.

  “I am sorry for hurting you, Tilly. I’m sorry you will always have this memento to remember my past misdeed. And I am sorry
I cannot take it back.” His voice, just above a whisper, was deeper than he’d intended.

  He stepped closer, needed to be closer.

  One hand on her chin, his other hand dropped to her waist and slid around to the small of her back. He pulled her forward, all the while watching the expressions dance across her face.

  Uncertainty, wonder, wariness, confusion, and finally…yearning.

  Does she want this as much as I do?

  “You’re sorry for my scar? You must know that you aren’t entirely at fault for my flaw,” she murmured breathily and offered him a thin smile.

  “Flaw? Is that what you think this is?” His thumb found its way back to the small, raised, crescent-shaped scar right over her left temple. She trembled again and he found he liked making her shiver, especially against him. “This isn’t a flaw, my dear, this is a reminder to me of what I must do to gain your trust. This is a beauty mark, earned by your strength of will and determination.”

  He nearly smiled when she turned a luscious pink.

  Tilly’s gaze flicked to his mouth and something she saw must’ve spooked her because she stepped back, bumping the back of her knees against the pew. On a gasp, she fell back, flailing for purchase, her face flashing shock and fear. With reflexes borne in the boxing ring, he reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into his arms.

  Her heavy breaths blasted over his cheeks and her body trembled anew.

  As did his.

  Her dear face, so close to his, was flushed and lovely, and her blue eyes were bright.

  His mind failed to quickly register what his body did as he bent and took Tilly’s mouth with his.

  Shock thrilled through him, just as realization did. He was kissing Tilly. His Tilly. And she was leaning into him. He pressed harder, his lips eager on hers, and hers meeting his, breath for breath.

  Just as quickly as it began it ended when she pulled away and landed an open-handed slap to his cheek.

  His face stinging from the impact, he took two long, slow breaths.

  “Is that how you usually apologize?” She wheezed, in an adorable, strangely attractive way.

  He swallowed then gave her what he hoped was a contrite smile. “No. That…that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Piercing him with her glare, she nodded. “I suppose you’re going to apologize for that, too.”

  He didn’t want to. That kiss, while unplanned, was something he’d been longing for. And now that he’d tasted Tilly’s sweet lips, he didn’t know if he could live without it.

  “No. I can’t apologize for that. I am not sorry for enjoying your warmth and sweetness after so many years away from you.”

  Her eyes widened with surprise.

  Tilly fought off the urge to sling her arms around Hank’s neck and get back to kissing.

  Hank…I want to kiss Hank?

  Anger fired in her chest; anger at herself, fury at her own heart for longing for something from someone she should be avoiding like a plague of locusts.

  “Well, if this is how you plan to start over, I don’t know if I can agree. Friends don’t force themselves on friends. You shouldn’t have kissed me, Hank.” Why did her voice seem…breathy?

  He flared his nostrils and opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped.

  After a long moment, Tilly arched a brow, curious about what was going on in Hank’s head.

  “The truth is, I don’t want to be friends with you, Tilly.”

  But then why all of this talk of friendship?

  “I want more,” he announced.

  Her heart did a startling shimmy in her chest. Bah-dah-dum, bah-dah-dum, dah-dum, dah-dum… “I want to prove I am a man worthy of your favor.”

  That brought her up short. “What do you mean?”

  “Let me court you, Tilly.” His deep voice tugged at her, but the words rang like alarm bells in her ears.

  “Court me? As in to marry?” she asked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

  He stepped closer. “Very serious. I didn’t come home just to take over my father’s practice. I want to start a family with you.” His eyes darkened and Tilly wondered when it had gotten so warm in the church.

  “You want to marry me?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation. He’d spoken that single word with such conviction, Tilly wondered how anyone could ever deny him anything.

  “I don’t know what to say…” Why me? Why now? What does he gain from teasing me like this? Her thoughts turned hectic in an instant. But the expression on his face made her wonder….

  Finally, he pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Take some time. Think about it.”

  She could only nod, her emotions and thoughts in turmoil.

  “Can I walk you home?”

  She really wanted to just leave him there and give her heart and mind time to process everything. But something in his expression gave her pause.

  “Please.” His tone was half-plea, half-push. He turned and offered his arm.

  “As a friend would. Of course.” She took his proffered arm and they walked in silence to her front door.

  All the way from the church to her porch, Tilly counted the steps. She was wondering what Hank was thinking and why had he kissed her. What was his true purpose in wanting to start over, to court her?

  Was it possible that all he wanted was to apologize and make amends for all the trouble he caused as a little boy?

  That’s silly, she chided herself. Was it really? Every once in a while, she still felt the pain and sting of the wound she’d earned when angry eleven-year-old Hank pushed her. Was she really so wrapped up in the past that she couldn’t give twenty-three-year-old Hank a fair chance?

  Am I?

  “Thank you for walking with me.”

  “Of course. We are friends, after all.” But the non-friend kiss was on her mind.

  He smiled and let out a deep chuckle that Tilly felt all the way to her toes. “Good day, Tilly.” He tipped his hat and, before she could answer, walked away.

  Tilly let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and watched as the tall, handsome man she thought she hated rounded the corner.

  “Hank Bartlett wants to court me? What am I supposed to do about that?”

  She groaned, fearing that the flutter of butterflies in her belly was her answer.

  Chapter Five

  Hank emptied the last of his coffee with a satisfied sigh. “There’s nothing quite like the black tar they call coffee in this town,” Hank said on a laugh.

  His father smiled at him from across the two-seat table in the corner of the La Beau Bayou restaurant. The restaurant boasted of ten tables, five large chandeliers, windows along two walls, polished wood floors, and gold filigree wallpaper. The tables were set with fine glassware, silver utensils, and high-quality linens.

  The restaurant was the finest Hank had ever seen, but that wasn’t a surprise considering the town founder, Leslie La Fontaine, had money to spare and wanted to make sure his town had the best of everything.

  “It’s one of those fancy French roasts Mr. La Fontaine orders. He says it’s good for the health.” Hank Sr. chuckled. “Although, if you want my esteemed medical opinion, the stuff is more liable to burn your gut than cure your ails.”

  Hank smiled at his father and nodded. “Just how I like it.”

  After another ten minutes of courteous chatter, coffee sipping, and scone eating, Hank’s father wiped the clotted cream from his perfectly-curled mustache. He made the point of pinning Hank with his gaze.

  “I’m glad you’re home, son.” His father’s voice held a hint of contentment.

  “It’s good to be home. Six years was a long time to be away. A lot has changed since I’ve been gone.” Hank’s thoughts immediately shifted to Tilly.

  When he’d left Dry Bayou to attend school and get his medical training in New York City, Tilly was still as striking as she was now, but she’d been younger. Now, she’d grown into a woman possesse
d of a radiance that came with sincere joy—something that left her face the moment she’d recognized him.

  He’d noticed it and it bothered him. What can I do about it?

  He’d always been inexplicably drawn to Tilly. With his thoughts stuck on her; her face, the taste of her lips, the memory of her body pressed against his, her reaction to him when he’d asked her to court him…

  There was too much Tilly in his head and not enough of everything else. That could become a problem. He had to take on his father’s practice and set up a home. He couldn’t live in the hotel forever. If he couldn’t focus on anything but the lovely blonde who’d claimed his every waking moment, he’d fail before he ever had the chance.

  Hank Sr.’s eyes missed nothing. His deep blue irises were penetrating. “What’re your plans, now that you’re here?”

  “What do you mean?” Hank quirked an eyebrow.

  “I know you’re here to become the Henry Bartlett on the clinic sign, but what else do you plan to do?”

  Hank could feel that the mood had shifted and that the conversation had been expertly steered into turbulent waters.

  “I want to get married and have children. What every man wants to do.” Hank discovered that saying the words to his father was harder than he thought it would be.

  His father had always been a rock—supportive and tough at the same time. He inspired Hank to do better and that was one of the main reasons he became a doctor.

  Hank Sr. nodded. “That’s good. Those are all good plans. But how? Who? When?”

  All good questions. Unwilling to provide a precise answer, Hank said, “I have my eyes on someone.”

  “Son, I’m not an idiot. I know about the flame you’ve been holding for Tilda all these years,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Even a blind man could see you cared for her.”

  Hank felt as though a great big hole had opened up in his belly. “How did you know?”

  His father laughed then, a deep chuckle that could usually make Hank smile.