A Tailor-Made Bride (38 page)
Despite his smaller size, Warren was the first to make a move. He launched himself at Jericho with surprising speed. Hannah bit back a cry as Jericho stood his ground and let the man come. Warren landed a blow to Jericho’s midsection an instant before Jericho wrapped a muscled arm around his neck and tossed him aside.
Warren shook it off and charged again. This time Jericho sidestepped the assault and kicked out a leg to trip his opponent. Warren stumbled to a knee but jumped back to his feet. He spun around and made another pass. And met Jericho’s fist with his belly. He doubled over with a moan.
“Are you done?” Jericho asked.
Although he was obviously no match for Jericho’s strength and skill, Warren shook his head no.
Hannah cringed as the man slowly straightened and turned to face Jericho. Did he actually think he could win? Or was he welcoming the pain as some kind of punishment?
As much as she longed for justice after Warren’s foul treatment of her, his repeated humiliation was becoming a torture to watch.
Warren staggered forward again, swinging his arms widely. Jericho struck a clean blow to the man’s chin, felling him like a hewn tree. He lay still for a moment, then rolled to his stomach and pushed up to his hands and knees. Jericho gripped him under his arms and put him to his feet. Drooping and bent, he swayed sideways, but still managed to advance once again.
Jericho sighed.
Hannah couldn’t take it anymore. Warren hadn’t really meant to hurt her. The look of horror on his face when he realized what he’d done had proven that. It was an accident. One brought on by his idiotic refusal to accept that he couldn’t have what he wanted, but an accident nonetheless.
“Catch him and hold him, Jericho. He’s had enough.”
Jericho did as she asked, swiveling the fellow around to trap his arms behind his back. He held him fast, and by the way Warren sagged, Hannah got the impression Jericho was holding him up more than pinning him down.
Hannah walked up to Warren, no longer compelled to demand justice but to offer mercy. “Go home, Warren,” she said. “Start your new store. Leave all this bitterness behind and give yourself a fresh start. It’s over.”
Warren tugged his arms free and, with effort, managed to straighten to his full height. He made no further apology, yet something shone in his eyes she didn’t remember seeing before. The seeds of a newfound maturity? She prayed it was so.
Jericho dusted the man’s back, sending a shower of dirt and leaves to the ground. Then he moved to Hannah’s side. “When do you leave, Warren?”
Warren stretched out his neck and looked Jericho in the eye. “Monday.”
“I expect you to keep your distance. If I catch you anywhere near Miss Richards or my sister between now and then,” Jericho growled in a voice laced with steel, “I’ll wire the county sheriff and have you brought up on charges. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Jericho jerked his chin in the direction of the road. “Now, get out of here.”
As Warren trudged back to the road, Hannah nestled into Jericho’s side. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her tight as he watched Warren disappear around the corner. She buried her face in his shirt and breathed deeply, the scent and nearness of him soothing away the last of her agitation.
He pulled back slightly and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Then he touched his lips to the cut below her eye. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and held it to her face. “It doesn’t seem too deep. I think it’s already clotted. We can wash it up at the house.”
“Do you think Cordelia will notice?”
“Probably, but that can’t be helped.”
Hannah sighed. “Well, let’s get going, then. Cordelia’s waiting on us.” Hannah stepped out of his embrace and tugged on his arm when he didn’t move fast enough for her. “Come on, Jer . . . I mean, J.T. I’m starving.”
“What did you just call me?” J.T. raised a brow and refused to budge. The words had come out more like an accusation than the simple question he’d intended. But then, that was probably due to the fact that his insides were still churning.
I could have lost her.
The image of that knife slicing into her cheek would haunt him for weeks. Years, maybe. It had taken all the self-control he possessed not to thrash Warren to a bloody pulp for putting his hands on her and accosting her with that blade. The man could have put out her eye or slipped and nicked a vein in her neck. The very idea made his blood run cold.
Hannah looked at the ground and kicked at a fallen acorn, the simple motion a reminder that she was safe. The danger had passed.
“I thought you preferred being called by your initials,” she said.
“By everyone else, sure. But not you.”
Her head snapped up. “Not me? Why?”
J.T. closed the small distance between them and cupped her jaw in his hand. He brushed his thumb over her lips, delighting in the breathy sigh that whispered past his knuckle. “There’s something about the sound of my given name coming from you that makes me proud to own it.”
A mist settled over the deep blue of her eyes, and the knot in his chest began to unravel. He slid his hand from her neck to her shoulder and gently massaged the muscles beneath his fingers. “Do you remember telling me that the name Jericho suited me?” He pulled a wry face. “I think you were trying to jab my pride at the time with a rather uncomplimentary comparison, but you were right. It does suit me. Or at least it has since the day I met you.”
For once, Hannah seemed to be the one incapable of speech. She just stared at him, a cautious hope shimmering in her eyes. J.T. trailed his hand from her shoulder to her wrist and twined his fingers with hers. He’d not disappoint her. Not this time.
Glancing down at their joined hands, he cleared his throat. “I wanted to protect myself from making the same mistakes my father made. He let a beautiful woman into his heart only to have her tear it to shreds. I couldn’t fall into the same trap. So I built a wall—a wall like the one that surrounded the city of Jericho in the Bible.”
Her breath caught.
J.T. squeezed her hand and lifted his eyes to meet her love-filled gaze. “You were beautiful, fashionable, and independent—everything I considered a threat. Yet you laid siege to my heart anyway. You walked circles around me, Hannah, and somewhere along the way, that wall of mine crumbled, and you captured my heart.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Her chest rose and fell between them, her breathing uneven. Slowly, he slipped his fingers free of hers, drawing out the touch as he watched her eyes darken. He cradled the sides of her face, the softness of her skin heaven in his hands.
“I love you, Hannah.”
He touched his lips to hers in a delicate kiss, sealing his love chastely upon her. But as he drew back, the feisty, independent woman in his arms clasped his face with both hands and pulled his mouth back down to hers. Willingly surrendering his freedom, J.T. yielded to his captor, claiming victory himself as the taste of her filled him. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. His mind, his heart were consumed with her as he gave all of himself, holding nothing back. She answered in equal measure, and a moan rose in Jericho’s throat. He pressed her close, marveling at the way her soft curves conformed to the angles of his arms, the way her lips fit so perfectly against his, the way her love erased all his past hurts. She’d been tailor-made for him.
Slowly, he pulled away and watched as her light brown lashes fluttered open. Her mouth curved in a satisfied smile that warmed his blood.
“So you really don’t mind if I call you Jericho?”
“Nope.” He held up a cautionary hand. “On two conditions.”
Hannah blinked up at him.
“First, you have to marry me. I can’t let just anyone go around calling me Jericho, after all. Only family gets that privilege. Second—”
“Wait a minute.” Hannah pressed her fingers against his lips to silence him. “Was that a proposal? Did Jericho Tucker, the man who disdains fashion and all its trappings, just ask a dressmaker to marry him?”
J.T. gazed into her beloved twilight eyes and shook his head. “No. Jericho Tucker, the man who thanks God every day for bringing beauty back into his life, is asking a dressmaker to marry him.” He inhaled a shuddering breath and captured her hands between his own. “Will you, Hannah? Will you marry this grouchy old liveryman who loves you more than life itself?”
A radiant smile burst across her face as she nodded again and again. “Yes, Jericho. Oh, yes!”
Triumph and joy shot through him. With an exultant shout, he lifted her from the ground, her feet kicking back behind her. She laughed, and the sound sprinkled over him like a gentle summer rain, refreshing his soul. She was his. Really and truly his.
J.T. lowered Hannah until her toes touched the earth, and for a moment they just grinned at each other like a pair of empty-headed fools. A pair of very happy empty-headed fools.
“What’s the second condition?” Hannah asked, finally breaking the silence.
J.T. squinted in confusion. “What?”
“I agreed to marry you. What else do I have to do in order to call you Jericho?”
Ah, yes. He’d nearly forgotten. Wrestling his smile into a more subdued, serious line, he placed his hand over his heart. “You must vow never to name any of our sons after Canaanite cities. I may have developed a new appreciation for
Jericho
in recent months, but no boy should be saddled with a name like Gezer or Eglon.” His body convulsed in an exaggerated shudder.
Hannah’s lip protruded in a delicious little mock pout. “Oh. But I had my heart set on naming our firstborn Megiddo.”
A chuckle vibrated in J.T.’s chest as he steered Hannah back toward the road and the house he would soon share with her. Life with this vibrant woman was sure to be filled with rich colors, frequent laughter, and bountiful love. What could be more beautiful?
KAREN WITEMEYER holds a master’s degree in Psychology from Abilene Christian University and is a member of ACFW, RWA, and the Texas Coalition of Authors. She has published fiction in Focus on the Family’s children’s magazine, and has written several articles for online publications and anthologies.
A Tailor-Made Bride
is her first novel. Karen lives in Abilene, Texas, with her husband and three children.
M
ORE
F
ROM
Karen Witemeyer
Adelaide Proctor, longing for a real-life hero to claim as her own, is a recovering romantic when she goes to work for a handsome ranch owner.
Gideon Westcott left his privileged life in England to make a name for himself in America’s wool industry, never expecting to become a father overnight.
And five-year-old Isabella hasn’t uttered a word since losing her mother.
When Isabella’s uncle comes to claim his niece— and her inheritance—Gideon and Adelaide must work together to protect Isabella from the man’s evil schemes. And soon neither can deny their growing attraction. But after so many heartbreaks, will Adelaide be willing to get her head out of the clouds and put her heart on the line?
Head in the Clouds
C
OMING
O
CTOBER
2010
www.karenwitemeyer.com
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