The Seamstress (Dry Bayou Brides Book 2) Page 7

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hank continued pacing at the front of the church. The building had been decorated with simple ribbons and beautiful sprigs of wildflowers. It was ready for the wedding and he was ready to jump from his skin.

  Did she read the book? He rolled his eyes. Of course she’d read the book. The look on her face as she’d stroked the cover told him she’d devour each word. But would she come?

  He knew he’d taken a risk; giving her the book, hoping she’d read it, hoping she’d understand what it all meant and still come to see him as he’d asked. But he had to. There wasn’t any other way to get Tilly to see that his intentions were real, that he wanted her more than anything else in the world.

  Because he could only wait, he stood there holding his breath, his mind ticking away the moments.

  Would she come? Please let her come.

  Tilly opened the double doors and entered the church. She was fairly certain her heart would give out before she walked two steps into the building.

  She was more than nervous, she was terrified; terrified of what the note in the book meant, terrified of what would happen once she met Hank, terrified of how she felt. But also excited.

  Having slept barely a wink the night before, she was exhausted yet energized. Her friend was getting married today, but Tilly was also aware that something life-altering would happen for her. She just wasn’t sure what.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked through the foyer and into the main sanctuary of the large church.

  He’s here. She almost stopped breathing. Hank was there, beside the piano bench, watching her. His eyes were pinned to her, his face expressionless. Tension rolled from him in waves.

  She took the aisle one step at a time until she was standing before him. Her hands were clasped before her, her legs trembling beneath her skirts.

  “Why do we keep ending up here?” she asked, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. It was her best friend’s wedding day, for Heaven’s sake. Even if what happened next tore her world apart, she still needed to find the joy necessary to celebrate with Ray and Billy.

  Hank smiled. “Because this is where it all began, I think.”

  She laughed. “Where all what began? You were bullying me long before I hit my head on the piano.”

  He grimaced. “I need you to believe me when I tell you that I’ve changed. I’m not that same little boy—”

  She held up her hand. “I know, Hank. I’ve known since the day you came back to Dry Bayou and told me your ridiculous plan to court me. I forgave you long ago, you know. I just…well, I just didn’t want to believe you were different. But you are.”

  He stepped forward and grasped her hands. “Did you read the book?” he asked, his voice a deep plea.

  She swallowed and nodded. “Yes, I did.”

  His grip tightened. “And, how does your story end, Tilly?”

  She searched his face and the hope and vulnerability she saw there pierced her heart. “I-I don’t know…” she began, unsure how to put into words all that was swirling around in her heart.

  “Oh.” He dropped her hands and stepped back.

  Tilly looked into his eyes and, suddenly, the truth struck. “It was you! You wrote the book! You’re H.B. Dillinger!” How had she missed that?

  “Here I thought you knew him and asked him for a favor, putting that message to me at the end of the book. But it was you, he was you all along.” She gasped. “It’s been you all these years!”

  In a blink, he was standing inches from her.

  “Yes, I am H.B. Dillinger. At first, it started as fun, something to do when I wasn’t studying or boxing. It was my way of putting how I felt about you down on paper. You’re my inspiration for Marie Henry, you know. Tilda Marie and my name.” He chuckled.

  “Eventually, a few friends convinced me to submit it to a publisher. I received my first royalty check three months later. It’s how I supported myself all these years. But now that I’m home…the stories are over.”

  Her heart sank. “No! You can’t mean that. These stories are what have kept me going through many a wearying day, through the ups and downs of my family, and most recently…” she met his gaze, “it has helped me realize something important.”

  His gray-blue eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”

  Tilly fought off a full body shudder. The heat rolling from him invaded her blood. He’d written those books about her, for her… Ray was right, Hank really had thought about this, all of this, for a very long time. “I’ll tell you, but first, I want to know why you wrote that book.”

  Furrowing his brow, he bent forward until his lips almost met hers. She held her breath, not sure if she wanted him to kiss her or if she’d find the courage to kiss him as she’d wanted to for weeks.

  “I wrote that book because I love you,” he said, the last words clear enough that her heart felt each syllable.

  “You-you do?” was all she could say as she stared up into the eyes of the man who’d just leveled her.

  He smiled crookedly, devilishly. “More than anything.” He pointed to the piano. “It was here. This is where it all began.”

  Confusion surfaced through the mush in her brain. “When I hit my head?”

  “No. After. When you picked yourself up off the floor, marched over to my father, dripping blood onto your brand new dress, and asked him to help you. All without shedding a tear—or telling him how you got the gash in the first place. You’re doing it again,” he murmured, pointing to her forehead.

  She started and pulled her hand from her temple where she’d been rubbing at the scar. Humiliation heated her face. “I told you, I don’t know I’m doing it. It just happens when I’m thinking too hard.”

  “Then stop thinking.” He bent forward, tilted her face up, and slid his lips over the scar.

  She shuddered. “Why do you do that?” she whispered.

  He kissed it then, the warmth of his lips a searing brand on her skin.

  “Because of this scar, I began falling in love with the brave, stubborn, beautiful little girl, who grew into a courageous, intelligent, still stubborn, utterly breathtaking woman.”

  His lips found hers and he pressed his mouth down, smothering any reply. Not that she could think of one after what he’d said. Hank pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her. She threw her arms around his neck, drawing him down to deepen the kiss.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat made them jump apart. They turned to find Billy standing there, dressed for his wedding.

  “I see your plan worked,” he beamed.

  Hank’s face turned red and Tilly’s own face burned.

  “Not just yet. There is still one thing left to do.”

  Tilly’s breath caught. What plan? What was he going to do?

  Turning to Tilly, Hank took her hands in his again. “Tilly, you know how I feel. What I feel is real. It began right here in this church, growing stronger over the years. The six years I was gone, my heart ached for you. I wanted to forget school and just come home to you. But I knew I needed to show you I was a man you could trust and care for. That I would protect and love you.” He was a hairsbreadth from her now. “I do love you, more than I can say with words, even in a book. If I have to woo you every day until you believe me and marry me, I will. You’re everything to me, Tilly.”

  His words and genuine feelings chased all her fears away. “Hank, I love you.”

  With a shout, he hauled her up against him and kissed her. She kissed him back with every bit of love and happiness within her.

  Hank pulled away, pressing soft kisses over her eyes, cheeks, nose, and, finally, her scar.

  “So this is where the story of The Seamstress ends? A happily-ever-after?” she purred, lost in the dream of the moment.

  Hank shook his head. “Oh no, my love, this is where the first chapter begins. The next chapter has yet to be written.”

  It was a promise that began twelve years ago with stolen tea cak
es and a mud pie.

  Epilogue

  “Beautiful, simply beautiful,” Cressida La Fontaine fawned to Tilly and Dora as they stood chatting before the start of the wedding supper.

  “It was perfect,” Tilly agreed.

  The wedding was a beautiful, simple, and utterly romantic affair—just perfect for her best friend and now husband.

  Tilly had cried like a baby through the whole thing. But Hank had been there, standing across the platform from her, acting as the best man to her maid of honor. He had offered her comfort through gentle smiles and heated looks. Tilly didn’t know if the tingling in her belly was because of the wedding or Hank.

  “Ray was stunning in her dress. You created magic, Tilly. I do believe you might have a real talent, my dear,” Cressida remarked.

  Tilly smiled, “Thank you, I—”

  “Oh, look! I never thought I’d live to see the day when Leo Watkins wasn’t wearing a grimy apron and an angry scowl,” Dora interrupted.

  The blacksmith, Leo Watkins, stood across the room, well dressed with a neatly trimmed beard.

  “Who knew that beneath all that sweat and soot was a handsome man?” Cressida murmured.

  “Is that Mrs. Piers with him?” Beside him, dressed in a dark green skirt and crème blouse was the school teacher, widow Missy Piers.

  “Why is she here with him?” Tilly asked, truly curious.

  Dora stepped closer and bent in. “I hear that Mr. Watkins is looking for a wife. But before he can get himself hitched, he asked Mrs. Piers to help him…err…better himself,” she whispered. “I had a chance to speak with him earlier. He actually seemed…tame.”

  Now that is interesting…

  “Tilly Mosier,” someone called from behind her. She turned to greet Sally Hanlon.

  “Mrs. Hanlon, how’re you? How’re your babies?” Mrs. Hanlon had birthed twin girls, one of which she’d named after Hank, so that towheaded baby was one of Tilly’s favorite people.

  “Oh, I am doing very well. Henrietta and Bernadette are healthy and wonderful. That was such a lovely wedding. Ray fairly shined in that amazing dress. I hear tell that you made it.”

  Tilly blushed. “I did.”

  Mrs. Hanlon smiled. “Well, I guess I’d better place my dress order with you before anyone else steals your time,” she said and Tilly’s head reeled.

  Her first official customer. “That would be wonderful. Can you come by the shop tomorrow morning?”

  After Tilly and Mrs. Hanlon settled the details, she didn’t have a chance to catch her breath. Three more women approached her, asking her to make time for them the following week.

  By the time Tilly sat at the table for supper, she had six appointments.

  This is actually happening. She could barely believe her luck. She glanced over to where Hank sat on the opposite side of the long head table. He was staring at her, smiling. Electricity flashed through her and she smiled back.

  Tilly settled into a delicious meal; eating and laughing and talking. All the while, she was overflowing with joy.

  She had customers, the promise of success, and a wonderful man who loved her. She thought back to the last page of the book Hank had given her: How will your story end?

  Now she knew the end of her story. The seamstress and the doctor lived happily ever after.

  The End

  About the Author

  Lynn Winchester is one of the pseudonyms of a hardworking California-born caffeine addict, now living in the wilds of Northeast Pennsylvania. Lynn has been writing fiction since the 5th grade, and enjoys creating worlds, characters, and stories for her readers.

  When Lynn isn’t writing sweet historical romances, she is writing spicy paranormal romance as Jackson D’Lynne, and YA Sci-Fi/Thrillers as DJ Sorber. When she isn’t writing at all, she is running a successful editing business, reading whatever she can get her hands on, raising her four children, making sure her husband is happy, and binge watching shows on Netflix.

  Connect with Lynn on her Facebook page, follow her on Twitter, or drop her a note at: LynnWinchesterBooks@gmail.com! She loves interacting with her readers.