“I would love to come, but I’ve got so much to do here. Perhaps one day next week when things slow down again?”
“J.T. said you’d be stubborn about this.”
Hannah bristled. “Did your brother put you up to this? For pity’s sake, Cordelia, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need someone to tell me when to eat, when to sleep, when to—”
An ill-timed yawn interrupted her diatribe. Hannah hid her gaping mouth behind her hand and glowered at Cordelia as if it were somehow her fault.
Cordelia just smiled. “J.T. did volunteer to forcibly remove you from the shop if you refused to come, but I assured him such tactics wouldn’t be necessary. After all, you’re a sensible woman who can recognize the signs of having pushed yourself too far. Say . . . falling asleep in the middle of a sewing project?”
The smug look on Cordelia’s face was really quite annoying. Hannah crossed her arms over her chest, not yet willing to concede the point.
“The truth is, when J.T. suggested you come for supper, I leapt at the chance. Not just because I enjoy your company, but because I could use your help.” Cordelia’s smugness disappeared behind a pleading expression, one that was much more difficult for Hannah to dismiss.
Hannah’s arms flopped to her sides. “What kind of help?”
“Ike’s coming to dinner, too. And I’m afraid J.T. will hound him with questions about his intentions and so forth. The poor man will probably never want to have dinner with me again.”
“Nonsense,” Hannah declared. “If it means spending time with you, a little verbal sparring won’t keep him away.”
“But if you were there to distract J.T., our time together could be so much more pleasant. Please?”
Hannah rolled her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll come.”
Cordelia beamed. “Thank you!” She practically skipped to the door. “Oh, by the way, we’re having beef roast with potatoes, carrots, and onions; cornbread; cabbage salad; baked tomatoes; and fresh apple pie. Ike’s favorites.”
Hannah had always supposed Ike was a man of good taste, and this confirmed it. Her mouth was already watering. She hadn’t taken the time to cook a decent meal for herself all week. She’d fried up a little bacon yesterday and nibbled on some boiled eggs at noon, but beyond that, her diet had been sadly lacking. Maybe she did need a break.
When closing time arrived, she set aside the alteration project with two feet of the hem left to sew. Her fingers itched to complete the task before leaving for the day, but thoughts of Cordelia’s roast set her stomach to growling, and the sound drowned out the siren call of the unfinished project.
Wanting to make a better impression on Jericho at supper than she had that morning, Hannah closed the shop and rushed upstairs to tidy her appearance. She couldn’t do much to disguise the shadowy circles under her eyes, but she could change into the blue dress he liked and twist her hair into a more fashionable chignon than the plain knot at the base of her skull now. After brushing and braiding, pinning and primping, Hannah surveyed the results in the small mirror above her washstand. Not perfect, but hopefully good enough to erase Jericho’s scowl and keep the lectures at bay. As a final touch, she pinched her cheeks several times and then headed downstairs.
A cool breeze carrying the smell of rain drifted over her and drew her face toward the overcast sky. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her spirit absorbed the quiet, replenishing the peace that had been worn threadbare by busyness. In an effort to please her clients, she’d become consumed by work and forgotten the need to be still in the Lord’s presence.
Forgive me.
Perhaps Jericho’s arrival on her step had a divine purpose as well as a human one. A reminder to keep things in balance. If there was a time to be born and a time to die, a time to kill and a time to heal, surely there must be a time to work and a time to rest. Or better yet, eat.
With a grin, Hannah opened her eyes and set out across the road. An impromptu tune rose inside her, dancing a cheerful jig across the roof of her mouth and buzzing against her lips. Her fingertips tickled the wood siding of the livery as she passed, and her mind drifted to Jericho. Was there something she could do to make it easier for him to declare himself? She saw his love in his eyes and in his actions, yet some unseen barrier blocked the words.
Maybe it would help if she stopped calling him by the name he despised. She’d started calling him Jericho to irritate him, but now she considered it more of an endearment, a name only
she
called him. But what if he still hated it? Kindness would dictate she stop using it and defer to his preference—J.T. She doubted such a small gesture would free his tongue in and of itself, but it couldn’t hurt. And tonight at dinner would be the perfect time to try it out. And again when he walked her home. Would he be so pleased that he’d kiss her again outside her door? She bit her lip to keep the tingling sensation in her chest from erupting in an embarrassing giggle. Not that anyone was around to hear. This end of town was quite deserted at suppertime.
She rounded the corner and the Tucker home came into sight. From a distance, she could make out Cordelia and Ike on the porch, laughing and talking. Her hand in his.
Hannah stopped before they could see her and scurried behind an oak tree several feet off the road. Cordelia would no doubt welcome her arrival with a smile, but Hannah suspected her friend would prefer a few more minutes alone with her suitor. She planned to give her just that.
A rustling in the brush to her right drew her attention from the happy couple. Before she had fully turned, though, a man lunged at her. Hannah shrieked, but the man clamped a bony hand over her mouth and slammed her into the tree. The back of her head crashed against the unforgiving trunk. Pain ricocheted through her skull. Stunned from the blow, she offered little resistance as he pressed his forearm against her collarbone and trapped her legs with his weight. As pain receded, panic surged. She grabbed at the arm that imprisoned her and frantically twisted her head from side to side, wanting freedom, wanting away, wanting to deny that this was happening. Her nails dug into the man’s wiry forearm. He hissed but did not lessen his hold.
“Be still or I’ll cut you. Understand?”
Hannah stilled. She knew that voice.
The pressure at her neck lessened as her attacker lifted his arm to brandish a pocket-sized knife close to her left cheek. The fading light glimmered off the short silver blade. A frisson of fear slithered down her back. Yet it had more to do with the man than the weapon. Flaring her nostrils to take in as much air as possible above iron fingers that smelled of ink and onions, Hannah shifted her focus from the knife to the hardened face behind it. Small eyes brimmed with accusation. Overlong hair. Blotched skin growing redder and more pronounced as she stared.
Warren.
As J.T. had prepared to leave the livery, one of the horses he’d been stabling for a traveler at the hotel began showing mild signs of colic. After lunging in the paddock for twenty minutes, the animal seemed some improved, and J.T. led him inside to a stall. He offered the sorrel a small handful of grain to see if he would eat, and when the gelding nuzzled it from his palm, J.T.’s spirits lifted. A truly colicky horse would have turned his nose up at the feed.
Stroking the sorrel’s side, he backed out of the stall and handed the empty lead line to Tom. “Keep an eye on him till I get back. Don’t give him anything to eat. He can have a little water but nothing else.
Got it?”
“Yes, sir. No feed. Got it.”
“And if he gets restless or tries to roll, come get me at the house, right away.”
Tom nodded. “I’ll watch him real close. I promise.”
J.T. clapped the young man on the shoulder. “I know you will. You’re a good liveryman, Tom.”
The grin that split the boy’s face was a mile wide and brighter than a full moon on a clear night. J.T. thumped him on the arm and left, confident the kid would keep a faithful vigil.
On his way out, he passed through his office to lock up. J.T. glanced at the clock on his desk as he shoved his ledger into the top drawer and frowned. He should’ve been home ten minutes ago. Cordelia would skin him alive if his tardiness caused Ike’s meal to be less than perfect. Although the delay did afford him the opportunity to check on Hannah, kidnap her if necessary. If the woman couldn’t see the wisdom in taking time to rest, he had no qualms about forcing a bit on her.
J.T. raised two fingers to his temple in a parting salute to Tom and jogged across the street to Hannah’s shop. He peered through the window, checking to see if she was inside. When he didn’t find her, he nodded to himself in satisfaction.
Good. The woman possessed some sense after all.
How could she have been so senseless? Hannah swallowed a moan. She’d been aware of Warren’s return to town earlier in the week, but with her nose to the grindstone at the dress shop, she hadn’t spared him more than a passing thought. Now she’d practically thrown herself into his path with her silly matchmaking efforts. There was no telling how long he’d been spying on Cordelia, stewing about her burgeoning relationship with Ike. His fuse was already lit, and she’d walked right into the explosion.
Defiance burned in his eyes as he bent his head close to hers. “Father’s sending me away, you know.” He spoke conversationally, as if they were passing time in the aisles of the mercantile. “Says it’s time for me to stand on my own two feet and run a store of my own, but I think there’s more to it than that.” He pressed the flat edge of the knife against her cheek.
Hannah whimpered and shut her eyes, afraid to move as he trailed the cool metal downward. The pointed tip caught slightly on her skin as it reached the edge of her jaw. She squeezed her eyes tighter.
God, help me!
Warren laughed at her, a quiet little huff, but it was enough to goad her pride. Then, as if the Lord himself were speaking to her, a verse rang in her head.
“God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power.”
It was time to tap into that power. She’d quivered enough for this little weasel. No more.
Hannah opened her eyes and glared at Warren. The snide grin on his face slipped for a moment, but he recovered quickly. He held the blade before her eyes as if inviting her to examine its sharpness, but when her eyes stayed fixed on him instead of the knife, his lips curled into a snarl.
“Cordelia should have been mine,” he spat. “Ever since we were kids together, I knew we would marry. Then you swept into town with your fancy ways and started changing her. Changing everything.”
Hannah shook her head, the bark of the tree scraping against her scalp. She mumbled a denial against his hand, but he ignored her.
Warren glanced at a spot beyond the tree—probably the Tuckers’ porch—and his eyes softened. Sadness dulled the rage.
“She liked me,” he said, an undeniable wistfulness in his voice. “
Me
. People always see the mark on my face, never me. But Cordelia was different. She looked me in the eyes when we talked. She brought me gifts and baked cookies on my birthday. She would’ve made me the perfect wife.”
But you would’ve made her a terrible husband.
Warren pierced her with a glare as if he’d heard her thoughts. “You stole my future from me,” he accused, his face mere inches from hers. “You dressed her up in showy clothes, made her do those ridiculous exercises until she no longer even resembled herself, and started throwing her at every available man in town.”
If Hannah could’ve found a way to open her mouth, she would’ve bit him for that. How dare he describe Cordelia like some kind of hussy? And her like a madam in a bordello? Hannah scratched at his eyes. The fiend!
Warren jerked his head back and swore.
“Maybe you need to see what it’s like to have people stare, to whisper behind their hands when you walk by.” He brought the knife back up to her face, this time the sharpened edge pressed against her skin. She froze. Her eyes slid to the corners of her lids as she tried to monitor the threat. Would he really cut her? Hannah’s heart throbbed, swollen with fear. She’d pushed him too far.
Her chest heaved, yet she struggled to draw sufficient air into her lungs with her mouth still covered and her nose suddenly too small for the job. Her vision began to blur. Through a sheen of tears, she refocused on Warren, pleading silently.
His wicked smile taunted her. “Just one slice is all it would take. Just a little pressure . . .”
The blade pricked her cheek near the corner of her left eye. Hannah winced. A drop of something warm trickled past her ear.
Warren’s eyes rounded in horror. His grip loosened. “I . . . I’m sorry.” He yanked the knife away from her face and stepped back, releasing her. “I only meant to scare you. I never intended to actually—”
A growl from behind him cut off his words as Jericho wrenched Warren away from her and flung him to the ground. The knife tumbled into the grass and leaves at Hannah’s feet. She braced herself against the tree trunk, sucking in fresh, sweet-smelling air as tremors quivered through her limbs.
“You all right, Hannah?” Jericho called without taking his eyes off Warren.
“Yes.” Her first attempt came out in a wisp of breath. She cleared her throat and said it again, stronger. “Yes. I’m fine.” When she trusted her legs to support her, she bent to retrieve the knife in case Warren thought to use it on Jericho. With shaky hands, she folded it shut and slipped it into the pocket of her skirt.
“You need someone to take your frustrations out on, Hawkins? Try me.” Jericho’s low voice rumbled the challenge. Back on his feet, Warren crouched, apparently preparing to take Jericho up on his offer.
The two men paced in a circle, shooting each other wary glances as they moved deeper into the cover of the surrounding mesquite brush. Hannah guessed neither of them wanted to draw Cordelia’s attention or Ike’s interference. The house was a good fifty yards away, but if the couple happened to look up, the old oak would only block so much of their view. The denser brush would afford a more private place for the men to pummel each other. Hannah followed, determined to keep an eye on Jericho as well as conceal her position from her friend. Cordelia had a tendency to blame herself for Warren’s attacks. She didn’t need guilt plaguing her tonight of all nights.