The Seamstress (Dry Bayou Brides Book 2) Read online

  Hank appreciated Ray’s frank manner.

  “Well?” she prodded.

  Hank took a deep breath and smiled. “I plan to marry her,” he admitted, a burden lifted off his shoulders. “I’m courting her.”

  Ray’s face glowed in excitement as she tossed down the glasses she’d been holding and threw her arms around Hank.

  She barely flinched at the sound of shattering glass.

  He let out a wompf of surprise at the tiny yet strong arms around him. He blinked and looked over to Billy, who had turned to stare in disbelief and chagrin at the bundle of squealing woman in his friend’s arms.

  “Oh, I knew it! I knew somethin’ was goin’ on with you two, but I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I made her tell me about everythin’ that happened at the picnic and she folded like a house of cards. I couldn’t be happier for you two idiots! I want to yell it from the top of the hotel and then tie you two together to keep you from doin’ somethin’ to ruin it all!”

  Hank chuckled. “Wait a minute, there, Ray. You can’t go telling anybody anything I just told you. The point of my courting her is to get her to trust me and to care for me in return. But if you go around telling people, it’ll only make what I have to do that much harder.”

  He couldn’t imagine the kind of well-meaning interference he’d experience if all of Dry Bayou knew he was trying to get Tilly Mosier to marry him.

  Ray clicked her tongue and gave Hank a big pout. “Oh, you can’t tell me you plan to marry my best friend and then not let me help you snag her! That’s like handin’ me a new fishin’ pole and tellin’ me I can’t use it to fish!”

  Ray’s words replayed in his mind. “Ray, you said that you knew something was going on with us. What do you mean?”

  “Besides her tellin’ me you took her on a romantic picnic at Beau du Lac?”

  Hank flushed but nodded for her to continue.

  “I went to see her a few days ago, figurin’ I’d gab with her about whatever. I found her out in her readin’ chair mopin’ like a sullen puppy. Now, usually, when I find her in her readin’ spot, she’s fair gone in whatever H.B. Dillinger book she’s been slobberin’ over—”

  “Wait, who did you say?” Hank’s heart thudded to a stop.

  Ray shrugged. “She’s been readin’ these adventure books from some mysterious man named H.B. Dillinger. She owns near every book he wrote. If you ask me, I think she’s half in love with him.” Ray tossed her long, red braid over her shoulder. “It really is a shame H.B. Whoeverheis isn’t a real man—not that you couldn’t win her hand from him, mind you.”

  Hank had a new plan. A plan that could either win him the heart of the woman he adored or fail miserably. Drawing in a slow breath, he prayed that what he was about to say wouldn’t come back to bite him on the back pocket.

  “Ray,” he began. “You still want to help me win my woman?”

  *

  Tilly groaned and rubbed at the spot on her lower back that was screaming at her for putting it through so much bending and twisting. Heaving a sigh, she surveyed the results of the last five hours of work. Her shop was nearly complete. The floors had been swept and mopped, the shelves hung, and the display cases she borrowed from her brother were installed. Every glass or brass surface in the room was polished to a diamond shine.

  In a matter of a few more days, once the supplies arrived, she’d be ready to open her doors to her very first customers. Excitement and fear roared to life within her.

  What if I fail? What if all of this is a foolish dream? What if my parents were right and I’m meant to rot away in the family business?

  She groaned from the ache in her heart. The what ifs were leaving little room in her mind for the why nots.

  Why not open a dressmaking business? Why not design and create the most beautiful dresses in all of Texas? Why not live her dream and ignore the grumblings of her bitter parents? Why not fall in love with Hank Bartlett?

  “Fall in love? With Hank Bartlett?” The words sounded foreign even to her own ears, but the warmth rising within her filtered into her brain, burning away the bits of remaining doubt.

  Since returning to Dry Bayou, Hank had been sincere, charming, kind, and thoughtful. The afternoon outing at the lake had been one of the best in her life. She had to admit it didn’t feel wrong to be with Hank.

  She sighed. A yearning she’d never known before reached up into her chest to clutch at her heart. It felt oh so right to be with Hank.

  A new wave of disbelief and realization slammed into her. In that moment, she knew that the impossible had occurred.

  She didn’t hate, dislike, or distrust Hank, not as she originally believed she had. Nor did she blame Hank for anything that happened to her all those years ago. She knew that allowing memories of a young boy’s antics to muddy the waters of her emotional wellspring was a tragic mistake.

  “I could love Hank Bartlett,” she admitted. The sound of the front door opening dragged her from her thoughts.

  Rebecca DuCastille glided into the store. She was wearing a smart, pink walking dress and a matching bonnet. The color brought out the gold in her hair. “Hello, Miss Mosier,” she said, smiling.

  Tilly smiled back. “Miss DuCastille, welcome! How’re you? The last time I saw you was at the…err…your welcome party.”

  Just a short time ago, Rebecca DuCastille arrived in Dry Bayou as the intended bride for Billy, Ray’s fiancé. Billy’s parents had picked Rebecca out of a mail order bride catalog without actually telling their son. The ensuing havoc lead to Ray and Billy finally admitting their love for one another.

  “Yes, it was a lovely party. I was grateful to the Ducharmes for planning it. I truly felt welcome, which is one of the reasons I decided to stay here,” she explained.

  “You have? That’s great. I thought if you didn’t marry Billy that you had to go home to New York.”

  Rebecca blushed. “Well, thankfully, Billy’s parents were willing to nullify that contract. Also, Mrs. La Fontaine approached me yesterday to ask me to run the new boarding house they’re building next month.”

  “Wonderful!” Tilly was genuinely happy for Rebecca.

  “Yes, it is. And once I receive my first month’s wages, I will return to this store to order my very first Tilda Mosier dress.”

  For a moment, Tilly was speechless. But then—“I look forward to designing the perfect one for you, Miss DuCastille,” she gushed.

  “Please, call me Becky.”

  Tilly arched her brows in surprise. “Becky?”

  Becky nodded. “Yes. I’ve decided that since I am starting over in a new place, I should have a new name. From now on, I am Becky Castle.”

  “Well, that’s a great name. Becky.”

  After a few more minutes of pleasant chatter, Becky left and Tilly returned to cleaning.

  Another ten minutes passed and she heard the door open again.

  Tilly turned to greet her newest visitor, but her smile of welcome turned to a bitter slash of icy disdain on her face.

  “I see you’re still serious about leaving the mercantile and starting this silly dressmaking business,” her mother sneered. “Your father and I,” she turned to indicate her husband standing beside her, “have come to change your mind.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A knock sounded on her bedroom door. Tilly moaned then wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her coverlet.

  The exhilaration, hope, weariness, frustration, anger, and sorrow she’d experienced over the last two weeks finally came crashing in on her. She was tired. She was devastated. She was numb—or at least she wanted to be.

  “Tilly?” Her brother’s voice drifted to her through the door. “Open up, Tilly. Dora and I want to talk with you.”

  Dora was there, too? What could they possibly want to talk to her about? Her parents had already said enough. More than enough.

  “Go away,” she called out, not ready, now or ever, to see anyone. She was determined to never lea
ve her room again, at least until they came to prepare her body for her own funeral.

  “Tilda Marie, stop moping and open this door this instant!” Dora commanded, seemingly able to read Tilly’s self-loathing thoughts.

  Tilly had to smile at that. Dora always knew when she needed to pull out the “elder sister” stick and beat Tilly over the head with it.

  Tilly slid off the bed and shuffled to her bedroom door. Unlocking the door, Tilly barely had a moment to think before her siblings were in her room pinning her with their sympathetic stares.

  Gaston, tall and handsome, had blonde hair a little too long to be fashionable and bright blue eyes that were always a little sad… He left home at sixteen to find his fortune back east. When he returned to Dry Bayou three years ago, the light and laughter that made Gaston, Gaston, had disappeared. The shell of a man that once was now stood before her, a ghost of concern on his beloved face.

  “Tilly, what happened? Dora says you’ve been locked in here for three days. I was fine leaving you alone, but she was adamant about finding out what happened.” He plopped down on her bed. “So, tell us so we can leave already. I have better things to do with my time,” he said. But Tilly could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

  Dora tsked and sat beside Gaston, then patted the mattress next to her. Tilly slunk over and sat, her shoulders caving beneath the weight of her bleak emotions.

  “What did Mother and Father do now?” Dora asked, perceptive as always.

  Tears burned at the backs of Tilly’s eyes, but she fought them, not willing to give them power over her again. “They came to the store,” she began, the words like sand in her mouth. “They told me that I was a fool for trying to open a dress shop, that I was meant to make lace and such for the family store—that I was a Mosier and Mosiers only ever work for the mercantile.” As she spoke, her voice grew louder and more bitter.

  Dora nodded in understanding, but Gaston’s suddenly empty gaze made Tilly ache for her brother.

  “They told me that if I didn’t give up my silly notion of leaving the family business they’d disown me. Leave me out of the family to fend for myself. They’d leave me penniless and nameless in the street!” At the last word, the truth of her situation exploded in her mind.

  At first, a single sob escaped and then another. Then she was wailing her woes into Gaston’s shoulder, shaking so terribly she couldn’t keep her breaths from coming out in wretched shudders.

  Gaston’s large hand pressed against her back.

  “Tilly, I don’t know what to say…I can’t image…” Dora hung her head.

  “There’s nothing to do but to obey.” Gaston’s deep voice vibrated from his chest and into Tilly’s cheek where it was pressed against him. “They are right. Mosiers work for the mercantile.” The defeat and icy bleakness in his tone chilled Tilly to her bones.

  She pulled back and peered up into his face, suddenly angry at him, at her parents, at the very tears flooding her eyes. “What happened to you, Gaston?” she whispered.

  Her question seemed to surprise him, but that surprise became emptiness again in a blink.

  Dora rose to her feet and pulled Tilly with her. “Don’t listen to Gaston. He gave up on his own life long ago.” Dora gripped Tilly in a tight hug and said, “Don’t listen to Mother and Father, either. You have a dressmaking business, your dream, and once you have enough ladies clamoring after your gorgeous dresses, you won’t have to worry about our parents’ support. You can finally make a way, your own way, and be your own person, not just a Mosier.” Dora’s impassioned speech, though muffled against Tilly’s neck, was exactly what Tilly needed to hear.

  Despite the quagmire of emotions sucking at her, Tilly couldn’t help the smile that creased her face. She pulled out of Dora’s arms and looked at her sister. “Thank you, Dora,” she said, her voice stronger now.

  Can I do it? Can I strike out on my own, be my own woman, without the support of the Mosier name? As though a flash of lightning struck her with its brilliant tail, she knew, in that instant, that even if she failed miserably, she would still try.

  “I’ll do it!” she said, her voice even stronger now. “I will be the seamstress.”

  With that promise in her heart, she and Dora began making plans.

  *

  Reading over the last of what he’d written, Hank dotted the final “i” then flexed his cramped fingers. He’d been bent over his desk for the last two days, putting the final touches on his plan to win Tilly.

  He stood, stretched his back and legs, then went about wrapping up the parcel. It was destined for the morning mail wagon to Laredo. From there, it would make its way to St. Louis. He just hoped that everything went smoothly. He was counting on a lot of people to help pull off this crazy, but oh so wonderful plan.

  Tilly was worth it.

  Glancing out the window, he saw that the sun had just set. And though he wanted to see Tilly, it wouldn’t be proper to visit with her so late in the evening.

  Not having seen her since he’d dropped her off after their picnic, it had been the longest week of his life. But he’d wait until the morning to take her out walking again, to see the smile on her face, and feel the warmth of her against him as he kissed her.

  A groan escaped him. He found himself rubbing at his temples to rid his mind of the heated thoughts.

  It took him five minutes to prepare for bed. As he slipped between the covers, the cool fabric did little to douse the flames dancing along his skin.

  When he’d kissed Tilly in the church, he knew he wanted to do that again in front of a congregation after the preacher pronounced them “husband and wife”. And when he picnicked with her at the lake, he pictured them enjoying sunny days by the water with their children playing and laughing around them… But just then, when he’d pictured pulling Tilly into his embrace and taking her mouth with all the hunger and pent up desire he’d kept at bay, a little piece of his control slipped.

  He rolled over and closed his eyes, willing his mind and heart to stop racing. If he couldn’t convince Tilly to marry him, he’d burn in hell for all the things he’d dreamt of doing to her.

  Chapter Twelve

  It had taken most of the morning, but Tilly had moved her belongings into the small back room of her store. She’d originally planned to use that room for storage, but now it was where she’d lay her head.

  I am really all in. There’s no turning back. She wiped the sweat from her brow and smoothed out the rag of a dress she wore. It didn’t make sense to wear one of her better dresses, not when there was so much dirty work to be done.

  “If that isn’t a metaphor for my life, I don’t know what is,” she mumbled.

  “Tilly?” a deep voice called out from the front of the store. Tilly immediately recognized it as Hank’s.

  She couldn’t stop her stupid heart from fluttering. She hadn’t seen him since the picnic, but she’d certainly thought about him; his smile, his scent, how he looked reclining on the picnic blanket, how much she wanted him to kiss her…

  Before her mind was totally lost to her baser thoughts, she straightened her shoulders and walked out into the store. “Hello,” she greeted him evenly, which was difficult considering he looked so handsome standing there, grinning at her like a fool.

  If he’s a fool, what does that make me?

  “Hello, Tilly.” Hank walked around the store, looking at the glass cases, glancing at the hooks on the walls.

  “It’s really starting to come together,” he said, turning the full force of his gray-blue eyes on her. “I bet you’ll be a success in no time.”

  Tilly smiled, genuinely pleased. “Your vote of confidence is much appreciated, especially after—” She didn’t finish her sentence. Hank didn’t need to know about her problems with her family, with their abandonment of her, of her new found forced independence.

  “After what?” he prodded, stepping closer.

  Tilly moved to the nearest counter and wiped at an invisible me
ss with her hand. “Nothing for you to worry about,” she said. “Is there something you need, Hank?”

  The flash of emotion in his eyes told her that what he wanted might not be something she could give him.

  But I might want to…

  “The strangest thing happened this afternoon, right before I came here, actually.”

  “Oh? And what was that?”

  Hank moved to the other side of the counter and trapped her hands under his against the now scorching hot glass of the counter. “I haven’t seen you, spoken with you, touched you,” Tilly didn’t miss the emphasis, “in a week so I stopped by your house. I wanted to see if you’d like to take a walk with me, but you weren’t there. So I visited the mercantile to ask your parents where I could find you.”

  Tilly’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh?” her voice wobbled.

  “Your mother informed me that they didn’t know anyone named Tilly. She said that if anyone named Tilly existed, I should check under every rock in Texas to find her.”

  Her heart stopped altogether. The pain that erupted at his words burned more than she thought they would. She knew her mother and father were serious about disowning her—they never said or did anything they didn’t mean—but to hear something so…hateful…

  The sting of tears behind her eyes made her blink. She tried pulling her hands out from under his, but his grip only tightened.

  “What’s going on, Tilly?” he asked, his voice a coaxing caress.

  She fought hard to remain in control—of her tears and her body. “Nothing’s going on. And if there were, it wouldn’t be any of your business, Hank Bartlett,” she barked.

  He reached over the counter and took her chin in his hand. “Tell me.” Two simple words with a complicated meaning.

  She sighed. “If you must know, my parents…disowned me.” The words hurt, but she forced a smile. “I am now a free woman; free to make my own decisions and create my own life.”