It didn’t this time, though.
“You brought that girl to tears more than once, son, and you pestered and teased her with everything in you.”
Hearing his father speak of his past made the blood slow to a crawl in his veins.
“That doesn’t sound like someone who cares for the other person.” The honesty of his own words punched him right in the chest.
His father leaned back and placed his large hands on the table. After a long pause, his father said, “I know it shouldn’t be an excuse for bad behavior, but boys are boys, son. I can’t tell you the number of times I made it my mission to get a particular little girl to notice me. I’d pull her hair, call her names, tattle on her—all in the name of getting a little bit of attention. When I was your age, I was a holy terror to all the girls on Hayward Street. It was the only way I knew to get them to see me.”
It made sense. It sounded awful. “Hearing you explain it makes it seem so much worse.” Hank gave a forced laugh.
“Don’t get me wrong, son, I was a mean little cuss. I deserved the punishments my parents gave me. As did you.”
Hank could easily recall the number of times he’d earned a swat from his father for pulling Tilly’s braids or calling her Teacakes—but the biggest punishment came after Tilly’s accident in the church. When he’d pushed her into the piano bench. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She tripped and was knocked unconscious.
He remembered losing all feeling in his body when he realized what happened. And there was so much blood. For a long moment, he’d thought he killed her. Thankfully, she woke up and turned her nose up at him. Ignoring the blood running down her face, she had calmly asked his father to help her. Tilly spent the rest of the month wrapped in bandages and spitting daggers at him with her beautiful eyes.
Tilly’s scar, the pale, crescent mark right above her left temple, was a stark reminder of his bad behavior.
Hank Sr. let out a long sigh. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.” His father must’ve read his expression, because painful was exactly the right word.
“I only meant to tell you I want you to be happy. I want you to plant roots in this wonderful town. I want you to get married, have children, and live a happy, healthy life.” He leaned forward and gripped one of Hank’s hands. “I want the best for you, son. And if that means you finally getting the one girl you’ve always cared for to actually marry your sorry behind, I’m happy to help.”
“I don’t know what to say.” He really didn’t.
“Say that you’ll court that sweet girl, convince her to marry you, and give me at least two grandchildren to spoil rotten.”
Something deep within him stirred and, in that moment, he knew what had to be done.
“Father, thank you for breakfast.” Hank stood and tossed his linen napkin on the table. Then he smiled. “I must be going. I have a woman to court.”
With that, he turned and headed out of the restaurant and into the hotel lobby. He fought the urge to turn and acknowledge his father’s outburst of parting laughter. Instead, he made his way to the front desk where the well-dressed clerk stood.
“Pardon me,” he spoke and the other man offered a stiff, polite smile.
“Yes, Doctor Bartlett. How can I help you?” the clerk asked.
“I’d like a porter to deliver a note. Do you have paper and a pencil I can use?”
The man grabbed the requested items from the desk behind him. Hank thanked the clerk, Mr. Harlan, then penned a short letter, folding it in half and handing it to the waiting porter. Once the porter had left, Hank made his way to his room on the second floor. There was a skip in his step.
He was going a’ courtin’.
Chapter Six
Tilly closed the back door and moved into the sunlight streaming through the leaves of the large elm tree right off the porch. The warmth of the sun’s late morning rays filled her with a joy that could only be matched by a good book. Like the one in her hand.
She walked to the rocking chair on the other end of the porch, sitting with a contented sigh. This was her favorite spot in the whole world. Here, she could sit in silence, away from her parents, and get lost in the worlds crafted by her favorite authors.
The birds chirped and hopped from branch to branch. The bees hummed and flitted from one flower to another in her mother’s sad, poorly-tended garden. The small, fenced area behind their house contained a garden where her mother had planted squash and carrots. Unfortunately, her mother spent so much time working in the store, her other projects were suffering, including her half-knitted sweater, her half-embroidered skirt, and her sad little vegetable garden.
Tilly didn’t want to be like that—so focused on making money and building a reputation that everything else faded into the background. Like her children.
Though Tilly had determined in her heart to be a success, to create a business she could be proud of, she knew the importance of taking time for family and friends. She believed in patience, moderation, and rest—three things her parents lacked.
Tilly didn’t want to be like them. She made a point of finding time to just be Tilly. Which was why she was on the porch behind her house and not in her still-vacant store cleaning or organizing or agonizing about things she couldn’t do until the shelving and fabrics arrived.
No reason to putter around grumbling. Tilly sighed again, this time without the contentment, and willed her body to relax. Tilly finally opened her book and flipped to the first page…
THE SHOWDOWN IN SHADOW VALLEY
A MARIE HENRY NOVEL
BY H.B. DILLINGER
CHAPTER ONE
Excitement bubbled within her—
“I don’t understand why you waste your time reading those silly things.” Tilly’s mother came through the back door and ruined Tilly’s good mood.
Tilly fought the urge to groan.
“I read because I like to.” Being frank was always the best policy when speaking with her mother, who seemed to think subtlety was a sign of weakness. Her mother rarely minced words, which was a pain to Tilly during her childhood. Nothing was worse than a mother who couldn’t say something nice when you’re a chubby little girl hungry for a mother’s approval.
It was one of the reasons why she dressed in the best clothes and always did her hair just right. She wanted to look perfect so her mother would say something nice about her.
It never happened.
But that didn’t stop her from trying again and again.
On Tilly’s sixteenth birthday, she wore a beautiful green dress she’d spent seven months making. Her mother told her she looked like a Christmas tree without the star. It was then Tilly realized she’d never please the woman.
Now, she didn’t even try. Tilly made sure to always be cordial, respectful, and patient—as was expected of any child. But she’d stopped caring about what her mother thought and said.
Hank returned to her thoughts then, but she quickly put him aside.
“You waste time reading when you could be making lace for the store. You know your father sells it at a premium price. The faster it sells the more we need.” Her mother’s stern, flat gaze disapprovingly roved over her.
Tilly didn’t trust herself not to grumble at her own mother, so she closed the book and stood, hoping to make it to her room before her mother said anything else.
“Tilly, I really wish you’d put these silly notions of running a dress shop out of your mind and start getting serious about your place in the store. You’re a Mosier, you belong in Mosier Mercantile.”
And for the thousandth time in Tilly’s life, her mother pressed the family business on her. The guilt and shame that usually rose in Tilly’s chest to suffocate her didn’t come. Frustration came, instead. Tilly squared her shoulders. “Mother, I love you and Father. I understand the store is very important to you and how you’ve put a lot of time into making it a success. You run the best store in west Texas. But that’s not me. I love making dresses an
d, one day, I hope to have my name on garments from Laredo to Lancaster to London. I love to read. I love losing myself, even for a few moments, in a world that’s not my own. I am Tilly Mosier, your daughter, the seamstress.” She inhaled, held it for a second, exhaled, and then finished. “I will not work for Mosier Mercantile.” Tilly stepped closer to her mother and offered her a soft smile. “Please respect my wishes.”
Tilly had never been so frank with her mother before, a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.
Instead of getting angry, her mother offered her a letter. “Here. I came out here to give you this.”
Tilly blinked at the folded note. “Thank you.”
Without another word, her mother left through the back gate—probably on her way to the store.
Tilly opened the note.
TAKE A WALK WITH ME. TODAY. NOON. SEE YOU THEN.
-H.
Hank?
Who else would send such a presumptuous note? Tilly read it again, fighting the urge to laugh. The rascal worded it in such a way that she couldn’t refuse. Clever and unscrupulous… Suddenly, her body went from being chilled by her mother’s disdain to uncomfortably warm from the note’s ten simple words.
A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Why that scoundrel. What is he up to?”
Why was she excited by the prospect of seeing Hank again? She was supposed to be avoiding him…and the chaotic feelings he created within her.
Will he kiss me again? Her heart fluttered. Tilly glanced down at the book still gripped in her fingers. “Sorry, H.B. Dillinger. Looks like you’ll have to wait.”
Chapter Seven
Tilly lifted the curtain again and looked out the window to see if Hank had arrived yet. His note had said noon. It was two minutes before the hour and she couldn’t relax. She was pacing and listening for footfalls on the porch. When she wasn’t pacing, she was grumbling and disgusted with herself for acting like an overeager yet terrified teenaged girl waiting for the boy she liked to arrive for their first walk out.
She sighed. “Why am I so nervous?” She peeled herself away from the window. “It’s just Hank.” The same old Hank Bartlett who gifted Tilly with a dead spider in a neatly wrapped box when he was sixteen.
She shuddered at the memory. The day of her twelfth birthday, instead of getting the fabric she wanted to make new dresses, her parents gave her a ledger and a set of pencils. They told her they wanted her to start learning accounting and that she didn’t have time to make dresses when she’d be helping out around the store more often, now that she was older. It hurt her deeply.
A knock at the door startled her. She took three steps toward the door and then stopped. She peered down at the soft yellow dress she’d chosen to wear and wondered if maybe she’d been a little too conservative in her choice. Maybe a prettier color would—
No. She refused to think about prettying herself up for Hank Bartlett. He’d told her he was taking her for a walk, so Tilly assumed he didn’t much care what she wore or how she looked. Why she did care how she looked for Hank?
A thrill of something warm and intoxicating shot through her, stirring her senses and making her heart trip in through her chest. “This is just Hank, just Hank…” Repeating the words didn’t help them sink in.
She took a fortifying breath and gave herself no time to chicken out—she pulled the door open. The first things she noticed were Hank’s attractive eyes, gray-blue pools twinkling at her. He had a crooked smile that made him the handsomest man she’d ever seen.
He tipped his hat and winked at her. Winked!
Of all the—
“Good afternoon, Tilly. I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” he drawled, charm oozing from every inch of his tall, well-built frame.
“Invitation, was it? Seemed more like a demand to me,” she challenged. “You always were bossy.”
He cocked a golden eyebrow at her and the corner of his mouth did the same.
Something flipped over in Tilly’s belly. What’s wrong with me? It’s just Hank…just Hank!
Hank leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. “Bossy, was I? I don’t remember that. Charming and courteous, that’s what I remember,” he intoned dryly, a hint of wiliness flavoring his words.
She snorted. “Your memory is suspiciously selective, Hank Bartlett, and very inaccurate.”
He laughed, a throaty chuckle that made goosebumps rise on her skin. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Tilly grabbed her bonnet off the table beside the door and slipped it on. She had to keep reminding herself to stay calm. But Hank made gooseflesh rise all over her body. After she closed the door, she accepted Hank’s arm, once again feeling his well-toned muscles. Should she do this?
He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. They strolled to the north end of town where the raised walkways in front of the buildings eventually ended.
“Where are we going?” she asked. Something about their walk ending somewhere secluded, where he could possibly kiss her again, sent ripples of excitement through her.
“Can’t we just enjoy the walk without a destination in mind? Are you getting tired? Or are you in that much of a hurry to end our very first engagement?” Tilly wasn’t quite sure, but she thought he might’ve purred that last word.
She swallowed. His large hand was hot, his arm was so muscular, and his scent—a mix of leather and shaving cream.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not tired. I like walking, it actually energizes me. Isn’t walking something you’d prescribe to your patients, Dr. Bartlett?” she asked. Tilly couldn’t help smirking. “Hank ‘The Bully’ Bartlett is a doctor.” She giggled. “That seems so strange to say.”
He stopped walking and she nearly tripped at the suddenness. She looked up into his face and gasped. A dark, intense expression met her gaze. Suddenly eager to look anywhere other than Hank, she turned to take in their surroundings.
Their short walk brought them to the edge of town, near Beau du Lac Lake. The teardrop-shaped lake was fringed with elm trees, long grasses, and wildflowers.
“Tilly.” He’d spoken her name as soft as a caress. “Look at me.” His command was followed by the gentle yet determined grip of his fingers on her chin as he turned her face toward his.
“Look at me, Tilly.” His voice was deep, thick, and impossible to ignore.
She did.
His usually carefree smile was gone. His gray-blue eyes had darkened to the color of the prairie sky before a storm. His nostrils were flared out over perfect lips that had widened into a grin of such heated intent that she knew she’d be well and truly trapped if he were to try and kiss her just then.
Please, kiss me…
“What do you want?” Her words registered just as the warm flush rose into her cheeks.
He knew what she wanted, of that she was sure. But Tilly needed to stop thinking of kissing Hank Bartlett!
“I want you to walk with me to the lake. I have a surprise for you,” he said cheerfully as if he hadn’t just turned her upside down.
He offered his arm and she took it without thinking, because if she did think, she’d have made a run for the sanctuary of her bedroom…where she could cover her head with a pillow and, perhaps, suffocate the scandalous thoughts from her brain.
They walked in silence but she could hear the thudding of her own heart. It was racing.
Just breathe. Smile. Make small talk. Easy.
“I’m glad you came with me.” Hank’s voice seemed to come from someplace far away and Tilly turned to look at him.
“You didn’t give me much choice,” she reminded him.
He chuckled and Tilly felt the deep rumble through her fingers along his arm.
“No, I didn’t. I did that on purpose, though,” he said, grinning sheepishly.
She fought the desire to smile back. “Oh?”
He led them around a large clump of long grasses, then headed for a small
patch of trees.
“I didn’t think you’d come if I asked,” he admitted.
Tilly’s heart skipped a beat and a guilt rose to encase her chest. He was right. She hadn’t wanted to come. She’d have torn his note to pieces if he’d requested she step out with him. She would’ve ignored his request and gone about her day as if Hank Bartlett hadn’t made an honest attempt at courting her.
Courting her!
She saw the vulnerability in his face, the need to please, the desire to find a smidgen of forgiveness. A lump formed in her throat. “You’re right,” she began. “I wouldn’t have.”
His expression fell.
“But I’m glad I did,” she blurted. She suddenly felt warm all over. Uncomfortable, yet pleasant?
“I-I mean that I’m glad I didn’t ignore your note.” When his face lit up, she couldn’t help but taunt him a little. “I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of seeing the lake, otherwise,” she finished. She smothered a snort of laughter. Hank’s expression told her he was completely out of his element.
“Well, I’m pleased you are pleased, but that’s not why I brought you here…” He stopped and motioned for her to look, and when she did, she gasped.
Beneath the shady boughs of an old elm tree, Hank had spread a large blue and white checkered blanket. There was a picnic basket on it.
Finally finding her voice, she breathed, “We’re having a picnic?”
Chapter Eight
Hank bowed before her and she couldn’t stop a giggle from bubbling out. Startled at the sound of her laughter, he popped up and grinned. “I hope you like it.” He led her to the blanket.
They both sat down near the trunk of the elm tree. Tilly admired his handiwork, the basket and lovely setting, not to mention the handsome man beside her. A truly troubling thought struck—
He’s courting me.
The reality hit hard. Though Hank had explained his true intentions already, it hadn’t truly sunk in. How could it? After all they’d been through as kids, the good and bad times, Tilly couldn’t believe she was here with Hank now.
The Seamstress (Dry Bayou Brides Book 2) Page 3