The Sailor and the Seamstress Page 7

  Her heart slamming, her body shaking, she couldn’t believe what just happened, and not that her father had lifted a hand toward her, but that Jarren had taken the punishment that was meant for her.

  Hands trembling, she reached out for him, touching him, sliding her palms over his shoulders from behind.

  “Jarren…” she begun, completely at a loss for what to say.

  “I say,” a new voice interrupted the tense moment as a tall, thin man with a steel gray mustache stepped into their circle. “The lad is correct, you ought to take this conversation somewhere private.”

  Her father grunted, his eyes glittering with hatred, but, as he cast his gaze at the people gathered and all the eyes on them, he relented, allowing the newcomer to lead them from the restaurant and into a private sitting room in the hotel.

  “Now,” he started, once they were all behind closed doors, “anyone care to tell me what the hades is going on? I heard you call him ‘father’,” he looked at Angela and she nodded. Then, the man looked at her father. “What sort of man, let alone father, would raise his hands to hit his own kin?”

  Her father blustered, his chest nearly exploding as he sucked in the air he needed to yell the roof down on their heads.

  “How dare you tell me how to treat my own daughter?”

  “I dare a lot when a man stoops to harming someone he’s supposed to love,” the man drawled, not in the least affected by her father’s vitriol.

  The man turned to Jarren. “And you, young man, who are you? I’d like to shake the hand of a man willing to take a blow for a lady.”

  Jarren extended his hand and the man took it, shaking it vigorously.

  “Mr. Jarren Gryffud,” he answered.

  “He’s the tongue-tied sailor who thought he was good enough to open a tailor shop in my town,” Mr. Colvin spoke, his sneer like a snake slithering in the grass. Part smile, part scowl. All diabolical.

  Jarren shook his head, and Angela stared at him as his expression hardened, his lips thinning.

  “I am more th-than that,” Jarren corrected.

  Snorting, Mr. Colvin taunted, “Oh? Do tell.” He snickered, but no one laughed with him.

  No one, though, was as startled by his answer as Angela.

  “I am the man who will be marrying Angela.”

  The room fell silent, and it wasn’t lost on her that he hadn’t stumbled over any of those words.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jarren knew he was taking a risk, but he couldn’t stand by and listen to that mule’s arse bad mouth and threaten the woman he cared for more than anything.

  From the open-mouthed shock on her face, Angela hadn’t expected that—not that she should. She had no idea he felt that way, that he wanted to marry her, make her his. Forever. He just had to convince her. And her father. And get Mr. Colvin out of the picture. After Angela told him about what the scoundrel had been doing in town, Jarren had no doubt that Colvin was the one who’d left that threatening letter at Angela’s shop, and now he understood why. The man intended to force her into marriage, using his connection to Angela’s father. But why? What did her father get out of the arrangement?

  It was obvious the man didn’t care a whit about his own child, so why was he so adamant about her marrying at all?

  Angela’s father, a man whose name he didn’t even know, and didn’t care to learn, turned purple, his mouth puckering and flattening, his eyes wide and angry.

  “You? She’s not marrying you! You are nobody, a tumble-tongued imbecile. A slick operator who, no doubt, seduced my daughter.” As the man blubbered loudly, Jarren grew more and more angry.

  “Y-your d-daughter is t-the most amazing, most intelligent, kindest and most beautiful woman I have ever known. It is my honor to be the man who will marry her. And I c-care not what y-you think of m-me. I only care th-that Angela th-thinks—”

  “And I think Jarren is the most wonderful, considerate, thoughtful, handsome, and courageous man I have ever known. I am honored to be the woman he wants to marry,” Angela gushed, turning into him so that her arm was around his waist and her hand was pressed against his chest. He tensed, his blood thickening, a surge of sensation hurtling through him. Could she feel his heart racing? She was so close, close enough to smell the sweetness of her soap, to feel the warmth she exuded.

  She beamed up into his face and he couldn’t help but return her smile, his chest swelling with something suspiciously like…joy.

  “I forbid it!” her father roared, reaching out the snatch Angela by the arm. She yelped and tried to pull away.

  Enraged, his body thrumming, Jarren jumped into the fray, snagging the larger man around the wrist and squeezing. “Take your hand off her!” he commanded, not a single hesitation in his voice nor his movements. Striking out, he slammed his fist into the man’s armpit, which made the oaf loosen his hold, and once he did, Angela pulled her arm free.

  She swung away, moving to stand behind Jarren, who stood taller now, than he ever had in his life. For her, he would take a million lashes, if it meant she was safe.

  The bullish man took a step forward, no doubt intending to attempt to murder Jarren, and Jarren made to lift his hands in defense.

  “See here!” the newcomer yelled, coming to stand between Angela’s father and Jarren. “This is not how men conduct themselves, and I’ll be danged if I let anyone hurt this here lady.”

  “You stay out of this stranger,” Mr. Colvin barked. “Mr. Flowers and I have a deal, and I mean to make good on that deal.”

  Deal?

  “What deal?” Angela asked before Jarren could.

  Her father stiffened and, unbelievably, his face paled.

  “It doesn’t concern you,” the man had the gall to say, lifting his chins to glare down at them.

  Angela stepped out from behind Jarren, her hands on her hips.

  “If the deal has anything to do with you forcing me to marry Colvin or Colvin’s wrongful activities in Aurora Lake, then you better believe it concerns me.” Jarren couldn’t help but stare at the fiery woman before him. Her eyes were bright with holy wrath, and he was glad it wasn’t him she was flaying with that gaze.

  Her father sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest as a petulant child would.

  “Father,” Angela growled, then crossed her own arms over her chest. Jarren recognized what she was doing; meeting aggression with aggression. This was a part of Angela he hadn’t seen before, and it was enthralling.

  “You father and I have a deal; I marry you, he gets the entailed parcel of land right beside his property outside Waylon, and I get enough money to keep me swimming in champagne for the rest of my life.”

  Angela deflated—that was the only way to describe what he saw. Her shoulders slumped, her jaw slackened, and her eyes began to flutter as if she were trying to clear the haze from her view.

  “You want to sell me—”

  “It isn’t as callous as that,” Mr. Flowers sputtered.

  Hearing those words from Angela’s lips made Jarren’s insides shudder. Sold. Like a piece of property. He knew exactly what that felt like, how hopeless you could feel, how betrayed. He wouldn’t wish that experience on his greatest enemy, and he especially didn’t want Angela to know what it felt like to be handed over for a piece of land.

  “That’s exactly what it sounds like to me,” the newcomer drawled, his bald head glistening in the sitting room lights, several gas lamps hung from the walls dispelling shadows and painting them all in a spotlight. “If you could make the deal without getting your daughter all wrapped up in it, then it wouldn’t be selling your daughter off. It sounds to me, though, that you based the whole dang thing on his marrying your daughter.” The man pinned Mr. Colvin and then Mr. Flowers with his penetrating stare. “Have I got that right?”

  Mr. Colvin swore. “Not that it is any of your business, old man. This is between Mr. Flower, Angela, and myself.”

  “You f-forget,” Jarren interjected, “Angela is not part
of this. She is marrying me, of her own choice.”

  “Bah. You’ve only been in town for a month or so. It’s ridiculous to think you two have made a match in such a short time.”

  A calm settled over him, the knowledge that what he was about to say was the absolute truth.

  “I fell in love with her the moment I set eyes on her.”

  Angela’s hand flew to her mouth, covering her gasp. Her deep blue eyes glittering with unshed tears. Shoot, he hadn’t meant to make her cry.

  She’s crying tears of disappointment…

  “I refuse to consent to the marriage,” Mr. Flowers bellowed, his voice cracking.

  “If I understand it correctly, Miss Flowers is old enough to marry without her father’s consent,” the newcomer supplied.

  Mr. Colvin opened his mouth to argue, but the more intimidating man raised his hand, silencing Colvin with a displeased glare.

  “My sister, the good Mrs. Langley, told me all about your business practices, Mr. Colvin. What would it mean for that business if I had the California attorney general look into you and all the dealings you have in this town…and in Waylon?”

  Mr. Colvin pinched his mouth shut, his skin turning a sickly green.

  “And Mr. Flowers, I believe that knowingly doing business with a man who makes a living by unethical means is a good enough reason to peek into your businesses.”

  Suddenly, the large, blustering man lost his bluster. He dropped his arms and scowled at the newcomer, who was more like the champion.

  “I suggest that you let these two marry, and forget all about making noise in Aurora Lake. I also suggest that you clean up your businesses…just in case someone comes looking.”

  Colvin and Flowers both grumbled under their breaths, before turning to search each other’s faces.

  But Angela’s father wasn’t done putting his foot in his mouth.

  “Who are you to threaten good, honest businessmen?”

  The newcomer hooked his thumbs behind his belt and leaned back on his heels, a great big old smile on his face.

  “Why, I’m Walter Ducharme, cattle baron, horse breeder, rancher, and one of the wealthiest men in Texas.” He spoke confidently, without the taint of arrogance, and the words rang through the room.

  It wasn’t a surprise that silence ruled in the moments after Mr. Ducharme’s announcement; Mr. Flowers shut his mouth real quick, his cheeks flushing and then turning to paper white in a blink. Mr. Colvin looked fit to be tied, and Jarren wouldn’t have minded doing that.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of me, so you know what type of man I am,” Mr. Ducharme drawled, his dark eyes regarding Flowers and Colvin as though they were as guilty as sin itself.

  Angela was watching the scene before her, her skin deathly pale, her hands limp at her sides. Jarren couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, thinking, but he did know that he wanted to wrap his arms around her and be the comfort she needed.

  Blast!

  Giving in to the urge, he strode to her and immediately enfolded her into her arms. She stiffened at first, but then, as if she were butter, she melted into him. It was heaven. Her back to his front, he became the pillar against which she leaned. And it felt good. Right.

  Suddenly and belligerently, Mr. Colvin stomped his foot. “You think you can come into my town and make threats! You haven’t heard the last of me, Ducharme—and you!” He speared Angela with a glare that could pierce armor. “I am not done with you. As long as you remain here, I will do all in my power to make sure you fail, over and over again.”

  In his embrace, Angela straightened, her slight body trembling. She let out a hiss, then stepped from Jarren’s arms, her hands in fists.

  “You have no power over me, Mr. Colvin, and soon, you won’t have power in this town either. I suggest you take my father and leave.”

  Brave, fierce girl.

  Colvin grimaced, his lips curling. “Oh, but I’ll make sure to ruin you, and all the meddling wives, in this town before I leave.”

  That threat managed to make the usually calm and mindful Mr. Ducharme change into a hulk of towering indignation. He strode forward, his large hands easily grasping and twisting the starched collar on Mr. Colvin’s coat.

  Taller than Colvin, Mr. Ducharme leaned down until his rigid face was close enough to Mr. Colvin’s to breathe the same breaths.

  “You won’t touch a hair on their heads, Mr. Colvin, or I will see to it you are black-balled from every bank in this country until the day your miserable hide stands before your Maker.”

  Something seemed to spark in Angela’s thoughts.

  “You’re here visiting your sister?” Angela asked.

  He nodded, not turning his attention from Mr. Colvin. “That I am. I love my sister, dearly. So you can understand how troubled I was to hear that Mr. Colvin was calling in their loans ten years early.”

  Mr. Colvin didn’t say a word, bur rather seemed to find the pattern of swirls in the ceiling awfully interesting.

  “Now, now, Mr. Ducharme. I believe my partner and I will take our leave,” Mr. Flowers announced, patting Mr. Colvin’s shoulder—hard. Mr. Colvin flinched.

  Mr. Ducharme held Colvin’s gaze, and everyone held their breaths. Finally, Mr. Ducharme loosed his hold, taking a small step back so that he was still within striking distance, if Colvin said or did anything else worth getting pounded for.

  The rest of the scene unfolded without Jarren’s complete attention, as he was focused on the woman before him, the emotions crossing her face, the flicker of new hope in her eyes, the play of light and darkness over her breathtaking features.

  It wasn’t until the door closed that he shook himself from his stupor to find that they were down two men.

  Mr. Flowers and Mr. Colvin.

  “Is that it? It’s done?” Angela asked, disbelief challenging the hope he’d witnessed earlier.

  Mr. Ducharme tipped his head, a gentle softening of his features seemed to offer Angela relief.

  Then, the trembling began, and Jarren was there, holding her up as she sobbing began.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, after her father had left town, checking out of the hotel, and Mr. Colvin seemed to disappear, his offices deserted, Angela waited for the clock to strike noon, and Jarren to walk through the door. But he probably wouldn’t, not today. Not after last night.

  The night before, he’d lied for her, he’d put himself on the line for her, taking a punch to the face for her.

  And now, she had to tell him goodbye. And that was much more difficult than anything she’d ever had to do before. Her heart sinking, she remembered all he’s said the night before, about falling in love with her at first sight, and how he meant to marry her and was honored to be the man who would marry her—to hear those things, even if they were well-meant lies, had triggered a longing so deep and breathtaking, she nearly fell to her knees, beginning Jarren to say those things in truth. To take her into his arms and hold her as someone who truly cared for her, and not just as a protector. As a man who loved her and not just a neighbor who got mixed up in something she never should have dragged him into.

  It was her fault Jarren had been there last night in the first place, where he’d been belittled, insulted, attacked, and then forced to lower himself to lying for her.

  Shame coated her tongue, stealing her appetite—she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, since her dinner with Jarren had been interrupted. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten, because what she had to do next would have made her retch.

  She had spent all night and into the early morning thinking on her next step. She couldn’t stay in Aurora Lake, not with the risk of Colvin remaining and continuing to cause trouble for her. And…it felt as though her chance at success in the town had come and gone, leaving her behind. So, she couldn’t stay, but where would she go? She refused to return to Waylon, where her father would be, gloating. But there were plenty of other growing towns in the west where she could find work as a
seamstress. Yes, find work. She’d tried running her own business, and she’d learned many things in the doing, and the most important thing she learned was that she was no good at the business part of running a business. Give her a dress pattern, hand her a needle, thread, and measuring tape, and she could whip up a dress in no time. Hand her a balance sheet, receipts, and invoices and she was lost.

  Too bad she hadn’t thought about that before she’d sunk her money into leasing her shop. With no clients—though she now knew why, and no skill in running a business, she had few prospects, which meant no way to purchase a stagecoach or train ticket.

  In her apartment, she sat at the small dining table peering into nothing.

  “Come on now, Angela…you have to think of something! Where’s all your gumption now?” She’d been all fired up, determined to leave Waylon and make it on her own…where had that girl gone? Where had that determination gone?

  It fell into the cracks formed by her own experience and Colvin’s meddling. But…she could get it back, it wasn’t gone forever. She just had to get up and do what needed to be done.

  Slamming her palms onto the table top she gritted her teeth at the sting, allowing the sharp pain and then the ache to strip the haze from her thoughts and the fear from her heart.

  “I will Mr. Etheridge if there anyway to cut the lease short, then I will find work at the hotel. Then, I will work and save up for a ticket to…” To where?

  Cradling her head in her hands, she didn’t hear the bell over the door—more like a death knell now than a herald of good news and income.

  Heavy footfalls sounded and then a hard knock on the doorframe made her turn around, then immediately shoot to her feet.

  “Mr. Ducharme!” she blurted, running her hands over her skirts and hair nervously. Had she remembered to braid her hair that morning?