Chapter Nine
The little bell over the shop door jingled as soon as Josie opened it. Her heart was beating like a drum in her chest. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous, but she was.
She tried to focus on the little things like the scent of the fabric and the starch, and the candle wax from the burning candles. It was all so familiar, and yet so foreign. She had worked most of her life in seamstresses’ shops, but none of them were like this shop.
It was small but beautiful. There were bolts of fabric stacked neatly up and down the walls—large rolls, beautifully stacked.
Floor-to-ceiling racks of spools of thread, arranged by color.
There were patterns and shades so fresh and vibrant, unlike anything she’d seen in Lockhart.
There were even finished garments hanging about the entire perimeter of the shop.
Despite her nerves, a smile came to her lips.
She loved clothes. She always had, even when she was just a girl.
She had spent hours of her childhood watching Mother mend clothes, studying how her fingers flew over stitches with more ease than seemed possible.
She was grateful Mother had taught her, though she wasn’t nearly as good at mending clothes.
She and Amelia would both try on garments Mother had made, or even sometimes ones she’d mended for richer clientele. It was something they all enjoyed. Every woman felt more beautiful in a flattering dress—the bigger, the better, Josie had always believed.
She adjusted Samuel’s weight on her hip and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head as he fussed. “Shh, sweetheart. Just a little longer…”
“Hello, there!” chirped a voice from the furthest end of the shop behind the long wooden counter.
Josie looked over in surprise to see a woman standing there where there hadn’t been before, smiling brightly as she tossed honey-blonde curls over her shoulder.
“You must be Miss Josie Tate,” she said.
“Luke Montgomery said you would be coming by.”
Josie nodded, shifting awkwardly under the woman’s gaze as she held Samuel close. “And you must be Miss Whitmore. Luke told me you were looking for help.”
The woman smiled and walked around the counter, wiping her hands on her white apron as she stepped forward.
Her smile sure was warm. “Please, call me Clara. And yes, I was certainly in need of help. I won’t lie—there’s a lot of work to be done.
But it’s not exactly easy work. I need someone with quick hands—and not just that; I need skilled hands. ”
Josie lifted her chin, feeling a faint tremor of pride. “I can sew. I can mend, tailor, even embroider. I’ve done it since I was a little girl.”
Clara looked at her keenly for a long moment, then nodded toward the worktable behind the counter. “Show me.”
Josie nodded and walked past the counter, feeling the worries return. She sat down at the small stool, shifting Samuel carefully in her lap. She was suddenly so nervous that her palms were sweating, and her gut fluttered like butterfly wings.
She tried to reassure herself. You’ve done this before. Don’t worry.
“Here’s a torn shirt,” Clara said, handing her a man’s white button-down.
It was simple enough. Just a rip along the shoulder seam. Nothing Josie hadn’t fixed a hundred times before. But she sure was nervous… and her hands were beginning to shake.
The moment she started to reach for the needle and thread, Samuel let out a wail.
“Shh, baby, please,” she murmured, bouncing him slightly. But he was already squirming, little arms flailing as his cries grew louder.
Clara hesitated. “Would you like me to—?”
“No,” Josie replied quickly, shaking her head—almost a little too quickly. I can do this.
I have to do this.
But her hands shook, and the needle slipped between her fingers as the baby’s cries got louder. She could feel Clara watching her. All of a sudden, she felt horribly vulnerable.
She was being tested. And she was failing.
She was failing at a lot of things lately.
By the time she finally managed to thread the needle and make the first stitch, she knew. This isn’t going to work.
She swallowed hard.
“Would you like to just put him down somewhere?” Clara asked gently. “He’s old enough to be settled on the floor.”
Josie nodded, and as soon Clara took him from her, she felt a load disappear from her shoulders. Like she could breathe again, almost as though a pillow was being lifted from her nose and mouth.
She felt guilty as soon as she realized it, but the difference was unmistakable. By the time Clara had settled herself down on the floor with Samuel and a large blanket, the stitching was already done.
“Finished,” Josie said, looking down at Samuel. He looked content, and somehow that made her feel more guilty to realize how relieved she was at not having to hold him.
Clara sighed almost tenderly. She stood up, leaving Samuel on the floor to play with an empty spool, and placed a gentle hand on Josie’s shoulder. “You’re talented, I can see that. But with the baby… it might be difficult.”
Josie swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’s right.
It would be difficult with a baby. She had been naive to think this wouldn’t be impossible with him around her constantly.
“I just need a chance,” she said pleadingly.
The blonde seamstress hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll think about it. But I need someone who can work quickly.”
Josie blinked back tears and nodded. She understood.
What else is there to say?
***
She was glad to have borrowed a horse. And she was even more glad that the horse she’d borrowed was Red—the gelding she’d calmed the night that all the horses got cut loose. Red was a good horse. A little skittish at times, but he never bucked, and she felt a connection to him.
She stared at the plains as she galloped back toward the ranch, Samuel tied safely in a sling against her chest.
The ranch hand, Hank, had said that he could watch Samuel for her interview with Clara, but she had declined. She couldn’t bring herself to let her nephew out of her sight. And besides, she didn’t know Hank.
Maybe I should’ve taken his offer…
But she shooed that thought away quickly.
You just can’t trust people.
No matter how nice they seemed.
And besides, even if she had accepted, she wasn’t sure it would have made a difference. Perhaps the meeting with Clara would’ve gone no better without Samuel.
Just thinking about it, she felt guilty all over again for feeling relieved that someone else had been holding Samuel. She clutched him close now and refocused on the road ahead, trying to distract herself.
It was incredible how far the land spread out here.
As far as the eye could see. The wide-open plains were beautiful…
but they weren’t exactly comforting. In fact, the longer she gazed out at the horizon, the more unsettled she began to feel.
The emptiness was setting her teeth on edge.
She felt even smaller than she had ever felt before… and even more lost.
She urged Red on faster, and was grateful when the ranch house finally came into view a few miles later.
***
Supper was the same as always—hearty food, loud conversation, and a whole lot of banter between the boys.
Despite her cautiousness, Josie was starting to enjoy the company of them all—though perhaps that had something to do with Samuel always sleeping through supper. Normally, mealtimes were nice. Every now and then, she almost felt like she sort of belonged there. Like she was just part of the family.
But tonight, she didn’t want to touch any of her food. Her gut was in nervous knots.
The interview with Clara had rattled her, reminding her about the truth.
This wasn’t her home. This wasn’t her family.
She couldn’t stay here forever, and she still had no plan or money—only a tentative “yes” from a seamstress who needed a reliable worker, a worker who didn’t have to devote a lot of time and attention to a young child.
Luke nudged her out of her thoughts, offering a lopsided grin. “You alright, Miss Tate?”
She forced a smile. “Just tired.”
But Cash didn’t seem to be as satisfied with her answer. She felt his eyes on her for the entire meal, sharp and assessing. The kind of look that was starting to appear more and more. A knowing sort of look.
She’d been here for over a week now, and he was starting to look at her more knowingly every day.
That was dangerous. More than dangerous, even.
After the meal was over, the men went outside to take care of the evening feeding, and Josie washed up their dinnerware.
She’d planned to slip away to her room as soon as she was done, before they came back inside, but she hadn’t made it halfway down the hall before Cash called her name from the sitting room.
“Miss Tate.”
She closed her eyes briefly before turning and walking, with dragging feet, to the sitting room door.
Cash was standing by the fireplace, his big arms crossed over his broad chest. Those blue eyes looked at her darkly. “Talk to me.”
It was quiet—not authoritative, simply inviting. But Josie didn’t want to obey. She swallowed hard. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
His jaw tightened. “Hogwash.”
The word hit her hard, and before she could stop them, sudden tears spilled over, hot and unrelenting—tears of anger, resentment, desperation. “I can’t do it,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I thought I could, but I can’t.”
His expression went from suspicious to faintly alarmed. “Do what?” he asked, stepping forward. “What happened?”
Josie swiped furiously at her tears, shaking her head.
“I went to see Clara Whitmore. I tried to work, tried to prove myself—but I can’t hold a needle with Samuel in my arms. I can’t work; I can’t make money; I can’t—” Her breath hitched and she hiccupped out another sob.
“I can’t give him a life. Not by myself. ”
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Miss Tate.” His voice was oddly calm, for someone who had spoken so harshly just moments before.
Josie let out a bitter laugh. “No, I’m being realistic. I have nothing. No home, no money, no family.”
The words hung heavily between them.
Cash studied her, his gaze locking with hers. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “You have your son.”
Josie’s chest went tight.
He was right, in a way. She did have Samuel. And he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
But Samuel can’t solve my problems.
She took a shaky breath and forced herself to say, “He’s—not my son.”
Even that wasn’t quite true. Amelia was gone, after all. Who else could be a mother to him?
And he has no father. Randall’s furious face appeared in her head.
Cash’s brows pulled together. “What?”
She closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself before meeting his gaze. “He’s my sister’s,” she whispered.
Cash didn’t move. For a long moment, he just stared at her, as if trying to make sense of the words. “Your sister’s—so… where is—?”
And then he saw the tears brimming in her eyes, and he stopped. Understanding flickered across his features He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat.
“My sister died some weeks ago,” Josie said faintly. “And like I said… Samuel’s father will come eventually.”
Silence thickened between them.
Cash’s shoulders slumped suddenly. “So… Randall Pierce… is not your husband?”
The question sent a sharp chill of revulsion through her. “No!”
His jaw clenched. “Then why is he after you?”
Josie’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. “Because I have something he thinks belongs to him.”
Cash’s expression darkened. “Did he hurt your—?” Once again, he caught himself, but he didn’t need to finish. Josie met his gaze desperately, nodding before the words even left his mouth.
He didn’t press her further. But something in his expression changed—a look she hadn’t seen often on his face before, something that made her breath hitch.
Understanding.
And anger. Not at her. At the man who had hurt her sister.
She looked away, blinking rapidly. “I know I can’t stay here forever. I know I have to figure things out. I just—” Her voice wavered. “I just don’t know how.”
No words came after that, not for a long moment. When her eyes finally went back to him, she saw that he was still looking at her.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said almost gently, “You don’t have to figure it all out alone.”
Josie’s breath caught in her throat so tightly that she felt like she was choking. She stared at him, searching his face. “What do you mean? I really don’t have—”
“I am going to help you, Miss Tate,” he said resolutely, as if answering some kind of challenge. There was something about the way he said it that sounded like he was being tortured—as though somebody was strangling the words out of him.
Josie scoffed, a choked cry caught in her chest. “You don’t need to do anything else,” she said. “You’ve done enough.”
His lips pressed together. “I haven’t done enough,” he mumbled, almost bitterly. “Because you still need help.”
Josie let out a shaky breath. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Every day that you have us here—”
“I know,” he said with finality. “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.”
Josie shook her head. “You don’t.”
Cash Montgomery had no idea what kind of man Randall was. He had no idea what a scumbag like that was capable of.
“I do,” Cash insisted. “And I want to help you.”
“Why?” she asked, anger beginning to bubble up. “What good does it do you?”
He shrugged. “Might not do me much good,” he said matter-of-factly, taking another step toward her. “But it’s the right thing to do.”
Josie sighed in frustration and looked down at her feet.
“Miss Tate.”
His voice was so gentle that she looked up, surprised, to see those blue eyes resting on her face. “You don’t have to be alone.”
She closed her eyes, letting a tear slide down.
It was horrible, looking vulnerable like this, in front of him… but it seemed that Cash Montgomery was capable of bringing out in her emotions she didn’t even want to think about.
And it was more than that—he was causing changes she didn’t quite understand.
For one, he was starting to earn her trust. And she didn’t know how she felt about it.