The Sailor and the Seamstress Page 8
“Good afternoon, Miss Flowers,” the older man said, tipping his head. “I came by to see if I might have a word with you.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate he wanted to speak with her in the shop. She understood he was wanting to keep things appropriate, and she appreciated that.
Nodding, she followed him out, closing her apartment door behind her.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Ducharme—but wait! I need to thank you for all you did for me last night. Stepping in on such drama couldn’t have been easy for you, and then how you defended me and the other women Colvin victimized….” She choked on her emotion. Ducharme cleared his throat, his cheeks brightening in shy humility, turning his rugged face pink.
“It was nothing, Miss Flowers. Truly. I would have done the same for any woman in need, though, that man of yours seemed more’n happy to step in front of a fist for you.”
It was her turn to blush, her heart tripping at the memory of Jarren, his broad shoulders, her shield, his tall frame her bulwark, his strength, her fortress. In that moment, he’d show her what it meant to be cherished.
And now, she craved it.
Too bad, it wasn’t because he loves you, you ninny. He is a good man, and just like Mr. Ducharme, he would have done it for any woman in need.
Mr. Ducharme gave a cough, drawing her from her musings, and she offered him a smile.
“Was there something I could help you with?” she asked again, hoping there was something, in some small way, she could do to make up for what he’d done for her.
“Actually, I was thinking I could help you.”
“Oh?” she chirped.
“My sister has spent the better part of a week telling me all about this here young seamstress and her skills with a needle. I’d say she has plenty to recommend her, and I’d like to do just that. There’s a talented seamstress back home, and I’d think she’d love to work with someone as fresh and eager as Miss Flowers.”
“Who?” Angela found herself asking, her curiosity superseding her wariness.
Mr. Ducharme smiled big. “Why, Mrs. Tilly Bartlett.”
Her breath left her chest in a shrill noise. Her hands shaking, her legs wobbling, she asked, “Tilly Bartlett? The brilliant and utterly visionary dress maker?”
“The one and the same,” he answered. “Just before I left to come visit my sister, she was asking my daughter-in-law, her best friend, if she should get some more help in her shop, since she was about ready to pop with baby number three. With so many children, and with her husband running the clinic in town, she is in need of reliable seamstresses to take the load off.”
She didn’t have to think twice. “Yes! I’ll do it!”
Mr. Ducharme’s grin made her giggle, a hysterical emotion bubbling up and out.
“If you’ll let me, I’d like to pay off your lease for this shop, and then purchase your train ticket to join us in Dry Bayou.”
The floor fell out from under her, and she stumbled back into a hard, hot wall.
“Oomph”, the wall groaned, his arms flying up to encircle her, his chest brushing against her back.
She shuddered, the feel of him against her…she’d never get used to it.
Good, because if you take that job in Dry Bayou, you’ll never see him again. But…she couldn’t stay in Aurora Lake just for Jarren Gryffud, could she? On the other hand, could she spend the rest of her life…without Jarren next door, bringing lunch every day, listening intently as she chattered like a crazy bird?
She had to face here and now, and not worry about a future that wouldn’t be.
Jarren was there, and she hadn’t even heard him arrive. And he was holding her, once again. Heat blasted through her, and she nearly bit her tongue when his hands slipped to her waist, his long fingers spreading to both help stabilize her and turn her to pudding.
Thinking it best to face one surge of emotion at a time, she stepped from Jarren’s hold and gave a silent nod of thanks.
Jarren stepped up beside her, extending a hand for Mr. Ducharme to greet him. As they shook hands, Angela took that moment to search Jarren’s face; did he looked upset? Annoyed? Angry? Did he feel pity for her? That she had to accept help from a near stranger because she couldn’t make it on her own?
“Good to see you, son,” Mr. Ducharme greeted. “I’m glad you’re here, too. I’d like to offer you the same thing I just offered your lady, here.”
Angela froze, though her blood still rushed through her, and into her face.
“No, no, Mr. Ducharme,” she began, but how could she explain that all he’d over heard the night before had been a ruse? “Jarren—that is, Mr. Gryffud isn’t—”
Jarren interrupted, his voice firmer than hers. “Mr. Ducharme, can I have a moment alone with Miss Flowers?”
Mr. Ducharme tipped his head. “Absolutely. Find me at the hotel once you’re ready to get on with things.”
He left but Angela didn’t notice, her eyes were pinned to the man before her. The man she loved.
“Jarren?” she murmured, her heart in her throat, clogging up the works.
He pushed his fingers through his hair, which only slid back into place, a single lock falling over his forehead to add a dashing flair.
“I-I wanted to speak wi-with you about s-something important,” Jarren announced, directing Angela to sit in her usual spot at the table where they’d lunched just the day before. She sat, curling her hands together in her lap. Jarren didn’t sit, though, her began to pace, driving up her nervousness to new heights.
“Jarren…please tell me what has you so upset?” she implored.
He continued pacing for another few moments before halting and turning back toward her. She didn’t have time to think before he was in front of her, on his knees, her trembling hands cupped in his.
“I meant it,” he blurted, and she flinched, unprepared for the power behind his voice.
“Meant what?” she asked, confusion slowing her thoughts.
He blew out a breath, shoved his fingers through his hair again, and then said, “Yesterday, what I said…I meant it.”
Two things struck her at once: Jarren hadn’t stuttered just then, and he said something that didn’t mean what she hoped it meant. It couldn’t.
He must have read the confusion and disbelief in her expression because he gripped her hands tighter.
“Yesterday, when I t-told your father th-that I fell in l-love with you when I f-first saw y-you—it was the truth.”
Shock forced the air from her body, and the sensation of falling took hold of her. She tried to tug her hands from his grip, to pinch herself, but he didn’t let go, squeezing harder.
“You don’t mean that,” she murmured, her voice a ghost made up of ridiculous hope.
He raised her hands to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. She gasped. His breath was hot, his lips soft, his kiss just as intoxicating as she dreamed it would be—it was just in the wrong place.
“I meant it, Angela. And I have said so before…” An utterly enthralling blush painted the angles of his face.
She’d been there for every conversation with him, she would have remembered if he’d confessed his love for her before then.
Wait!
“In Welsh?” she asked, realization making her blood turn to flames. “You told me in Welsh?”
A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
“Yes. That day, when y-you asked me to s-say something in W-welsh, I told you how I felt ab-about you.”
Her chest ached from the forced of her heart beat.
“What did you say?” she asked, her voice hushed.
Jarren leaned in, his chest brushing against her knees.
“Angela, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And hearing you speak makes my heart beat.”
She shuddered, her body tingling. “And that second time?”
“For you, I would do anything, my angel, my heart's song. And if I could, I would show you just how much power you
have over me.”
Her hands tingling now, she tugged them from Jarren’s grip to cup Jarren’s face.
“Is that how you really feel about me?” she asked, an unfettered smile on her face even as tears began to build behind her eyes.
“Yes. Every word. And when I told y-your f-father I was the man to m-marry you, I-I could only h-hope that it could b-be true one d-day. That you could l-love me as I love you.”
A laugh rumbled from her chest, as her smile grew ever bigger.
“I do! I do love you, Jarren! I think I have since you came to my rescue that night with that horrid letter,” she admitted, a giggle erupting. A happy giggle.
With a chuckle of his own, Jarren reached around her arms to cup her face, pulling her toward him, and when his lips met hers, it was like coming home. Like coming to life. Like nothing she had ever felt before. Bliss and wickedness in the same moment.
The kiss ended much too soon, but the beaming face of the man who’d kissed her was almost as good.
“You l-love me? Even wi-with my t-tumble t-tongue?” he asked, a flicker of concern dampening the light in his eyes.
She pressed her cheek into his palm, his calloused hands strong and warm and all him.
“I love you—all of you. You are a man who has survived the horrible to become my hero, a man who stood up for me, who was there for me at my lowest.” She cocked her grin. “I meant what I said last night, too… You are the most wonderful, considerate, thoughtful, handsome, and courageous man I have ever known. I am honored to be the woman you want to marry.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jarren couldn’t believe his ears or his luck. His angel, the woman of his deepest desires, loved him in return.
He had never though it possible to feel such joy, such bliss.
If his arm wasn’t already sore from doing a hundred times before, he would pinch himself.
Across the table from he and Angela, Mr. Ducharme sat beside a statuesque, elegant older woman.
“I am so happy to have finally met you,” Mrs. Ducharme beamed. “Walter and his voracious sister have been cloistered, heads together, for the last several days, discussing that horrible mess with that snake, Colvin. But, when they weren’t talking about the snake, they were discussing an angel—Angela Flowers.”
He chuckled. “She is that, an absolute angel.” He pulled Angela into a hug—Lord but he’d never get used to touching her, holding her. “My angel.”
Angela laughed nervously, obviously unused to the truth, that she was beautiful and wanted. That terrible Mr. Flowers had much to answer for; allowing his daughter to grow up believing she was less than what she was: amazing.
And he would spend the rest of his life making up for all Angela had been denied.
Breaking through the warm haze surrounding him, Mr. Ducharme pulled two train tickets from his pocket, sliding them across the table.
“I know this is a little soon, but when I decided to help you two young’uns out, the wife and I were already packing our bags to head back to Dry Bayou. The tickets are for tomorrow morning at nine. I think that’s plenty of time to get you out of those leases.”
So, the man really was giving them a clean break, a chance to start over clean. Together.
Jarren swallowed down the emotion squeezing his throat.
“Th-thank you, s-sir,” he tumbled out.
Mr. Ducharme raised his hand to silence Jarren, shaking his head.
“No need to thank me. Just come on to Dry Bayou and make yourself a useful part of my town.”
He could do that.
“Mr. Ducharme,” Angela cooed, “you are too generous.”
Mrs. Ducharme laughed prettily. “Believe me when I tell you that this man never does anything for the heck of it. When he says you’ll add something to our town, he means it. Dry Bayou is always looking for good, honest people to grow her heart. And we believe that is just what you’ll do.”
“Besides,” Mr. Ducharme interjected, grinning, “I know a certain dressmaker who loves to make wedding dresses.”
“Tilly Bartlett?” Angela nearly crowed, her smile so big it eclipsed the sun.
Mrs. Ducharme patted Angela’s hand. “She is basically part of our family, and I know she has a soft spot for blushing brides.”
Gracelessly sputtering, Jarren supplied, “W-we haven’t ch-chosen a date yet.” And they hadn’t. They had just admitted their love for one another, and their desire to marry a mere hour ago, they hadn’t had time since then to plan beyond meeting Mr. Ducharme at the hotel.
“My wife is a deft hand at planning quick yet beautiful weddings. Our son married his wife two months after those two finally agreed they were in love with each other.”
“Two months?” Angela squeaked. “Isn’t that fast?” She turned wide, blue eyes to Jarren. Her mouth was saying one thing, but her eyes were saying another.
“Not too soon to marry the woman I love,” he drawled, his voice dropping as, once again, disbelief set in. Was it real? Was he really planning to marry the woman who stole his heart at first sight?
Angela pressed a much too quick kiss to Jarren’s cheek.
“Then let’s do it! Let’s move to Dry Bayou and get married. And, I can start work with Tilly Bartlett and you can…” Her words died off as realization hit them both.
Once they arrived in Dry Bayou, Angela would have her dress making to supply them with income, but what sort of husband made his wife work to provide while he sat around staring at the clouds.
His heart sank.
“Now, don’t go being glum, Gryffud. I knew you’d need something to do once you left this town, and I made sure to send a telegram to a good friend of our son. He owns a saddlery, working with leather making saddles and bags and belts and such. He agreed that he could use a man skilled with a needle, who didn’t mind a bit of hard work.”
Tears burned that backs of his eyes and, once more, his heart soared.
“I’ll take it!”
Stepping from the train and onto the train platform three days later, Jarren couldn’t help but stare as the bustling town appeared before him. And it wasn’t long before a few select members of the town came to greet them.
“Oh, Angela, it’s so great to finally meet you. Welcome to Dry Bayou, Texas,” a lovely blonde cooed just before she threw her arms around Angela’s shoulders and pulled her in for an awkward hug. The woman’s swollen belly told Jarren she was near to term, but that certainly didn’t stop her or slow her down.
“I’m Tilly Bartlett, but I guess you probably already knew that.”
Angela grinned. “I could tell by that absolutely glorious dress you’re wearing.”
Tilly laughed then glanced down at her dress. “Oh, this old thing? I made this one when I was pregnant with Bartlett Baby #2. Though, I’ve already had to let it out twice.” The woman pouted, which made the man beside her chuckle.
“You’re still beautiful, little sister.”
Tilly slapped her brother in the chest with the back of her hand and grimaced.
The man offered his hand for Jarren, who shook it heartily.
“I’m Gaston Mosier.”
Jarren knew that name from the conversation he’d had with Mr. Ducharme on the train. Jarren had asked the older man about the business of saddlery, and while Mr. Ducharme couldn’t offer much information about the work, he gave Jarren plenty of information about Gaston.
It would be a change to work for someone who held honor in high regard.
Gaston and Tilly were like living whirlwinds, escorting them to the beautiful and stately Dry Bayou Hotel, and then promising to return the next day to give them a proper tour.
Finally alone in the public sitting room of the hotel, Jarren ached to drag his beloved onto his lap and just…breathe her. So much had happened over the last month. So much turmoil, but also more good than he could have imagined.
Across from him, Angela cocked her head, a curious expression pulling her brows taut.
He couldn’t help it, he smiled, his heart full.
In answer, he replied, “I am thinking how much this sailor love his seamstress, and how he cannot wait to make her his wife.”
About the Author
Lynn Winchester is the pseudonym of a hardworking California-born conservative, 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.
Lynn writes charming, romantic romance that focuses on the growth of the relationship and the power of true love.
When Lynn isn't writing, 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.
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