A Seamstress to Steal the Logger’s Heart (Preview)

Prologue

1877

The small wagon was packed up tight with luggage and supplies. It would be a long journey, with no real end in sight. Going West was the only hope.

“You have to go.” Clark Turner’s voice was firm and strong, and his daughter Jessa knew that he meant business.

The sun set in the distance, pinks and purples staining the sky over Clark’s ranch Jessa let out a long breath, powerless to disobey. “All right, Pa,” she said quietly, but her heart ached at the thought of being away from him for so long. “I’ll write.”

“No, you won’t,” he said, just as firmly. “Not for a long while, at least. And even when you do, make it a postcard. Don’t put your name on it. You know how Clifton is…”

Jessa’s throat felt tight, tears springing to the backs of her eyes. “Isn’t there any other way?”

“Clifton Scott gets what he wants, come hell or high water, and he won’t get my daughter,” Clark insisted, putting his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently. “You listen to your Pa now. Go.” Clark pressed a stack of folded greenbacks into Jessa’s hand.

“Pa, you’ll need this. The horses need food, the chickens…”

“Don’t you worry about my livestock. I’ve got plenty to last me all winter.” His brown eyes were focused on Jessa’s face, determined, but there was a sadness behind them.

Jessa stared at him, wracking her brain to try to think of any other solution. But Clifton Scott had been sniffing around her for months, and like her father said, he always got what he wanted.

Jessa couldn’t be married to such a man. She didn’t know if she wanted to be married to any man. All she wanted was to stay here with her father and the horses, living her simple life.

“Go now, Jess,” her father urged. “Before the sun sets. I don’t want you to catch your death of cold.”

“I’ll update you as soon as I can,” she promised, and her father nodded, looking down at the ground. There was a vice grip on Jessa’s heart, but she had no choice but to flee. She had never been away from her father more than a couple of days, and now, she might not see him for years.

The tears came as she urged the horse forward, snapping the reins, her vision blurring the pinks and purples of the stained sky.

I will go West. To freedom.

She’d never felt lonelier in her life.

Chapter One

1878

Jessa tossed and turned in her small bed, moaning softly. Her eyelids fluttered, her limbs flailing, brown hair strewn out along her pillow. The sunlight came through the blinds, illuminating her face, tanned from breaking horses with her father in Oklahoma most of her life. The twenty-four-year-old hadn’t ever been away from her father this long, and she missed him terribly.

In her dreams, she ran and ran but didn’t go anywhere. It was like she was stuck in glue. Her feet wouldn’t listen to her brain and when she opened her mouth to scream, nothing came out. She was running toward her father; he had his arms open for her.

“Jessa! Come this way. I’ll save you.”

And she tried to run but nothing was happening. She was stuck, one leg out in front of her. And there he was, in all his glory, stalking toward her with purpose.

Clifton Scott. His salt-and-pepper hair was swept back from his face, that snide grin on his face like always. He was coming for her, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it, because she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe.

She woke with a start, a cry of fear dying in her throat when she took in her surroundings. She was in her small room, not much but four walls and a cot. She took in several deep breaths, letting them out slowly to try and calm her galloping heart.

Jessa took comfort in the smell of dust and dirt in the small boarding house. The breakfast bell rang, and she scrambled out of bed. She didn’t have time to ruminate on the horrible nightmare. If she didn’t head down, Mrs. Bonney would clear the table as soon as the other tenants finished their coffee.

She wore a simple linen dress, pulling her hair back in a low ponytail instead of braiding it and calming her curls like she usually would.

Her throat still felt tight as she descended the stairs, and Mrs. Bonney, always stoic, raised a groomed eyebrow at the sight of her.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Miss Turner.”

“Just a bad dream,” Jessa muttered, hurrying to pour herself a cup of the sludge that Mrs. Bonney called coffee. It would do the trick, even though it wasn’t nearly as tasty and heartwarming as the chicory her father used to brew her each morning.

She felt a pang in her chest. She thought of her father’s full beard that scratched her when he kissed her cheek, missed his warm brown eyes so badly in that moment tears burned at the backs of her eyes.

“Are you alright, Miss Turner?” Mrs. Bonney asked, putting a light hand on her shoulder.

Jessa nodded, blinking rapidly to rid herself of the tears that threatened to fall. “Fine, Mrs. Bonney. Just a bit faint.”

“You need to eat, poor thing. You’re thin as a rail,” Mrs. Bonney fussed. “Mr. Bonney would roll in his grave if he thought I was starving poor girls like you.”

She ushered Jessa to the table before she could say anything else, seating her beside Thomasina Johnson, a woman of just nineteen that she’d befriended. Thomasina smiled at her, and Jessa gave her a weak smile back in return. “Eat up.” Thomasina whispered. “You know Evangeline will steal all the pastries.”

Jessa snorted under her breath. Evangeline Morris was brash, loud, and stick-thin despite her penchant for sweets. She was a force to be reckoned with, and some people found her off-putting, but honestly, Jessa respected her.

Evangeline indeed was taking all the coffee cake that Mrs. Bonney had made, but Jessa managed to grab a couple pieces. Jessa was naturally thin already, and she’d been travelling so much of late she could barely keep anything in her stomach but a bit of jerky and hardtack.

She shuddered to think of the hard crackers she’d had to eat on the road and hoped she never had to again. She had finally arrived in Washington and now it was time to find work.

“I have a lead for you,” Evangeline spoke up as the rest of the tenants came down for the remnants of food left on the table.

“A lead?” Jessa took a bite of coffee cake, chewing slowly.

“A job,” Evangeline explained, her bright blue eyes lighting up. “There’s a logging camp down the road that has a sign up for a seamstress. Or rather, had a sign.” Evangeline handed her a crumpled paper. Jessa looked down at it. It was crudely written and misspelled, but there it was: seamstress needed, good pay.

“You took the sign down?” Jessa asked incredulously, chuckling.

“Didn’t want anyone else to see it and snap the job up,” Evangeline explained. “I’ve got plenty of washing lined up, so I thought I’d pass it on to you.”

Jessa smiled. It was a sweet gesture, especially since come winter, Evangeline wouldn’t have nearly as much work. During the cold months, most people didn’t hire a washerwoman.

Mrs. Bonney said grace and Jessa swallowed her cake, having forgotten that she wasn’t supposed to eat until grace was finished.

Mrs. Bonney held a daguerreotype—one of the first available photographs—of Mr. Bonney tightly in her hand. He looked to be a handsome man in his navy uniform. He’d lost his life in a training exercise twenty years ago, and Mrs. Bonney had never remarried.

“And I thank the Lord for these girls, who help me stay afloat. Mr. Bonney would thank you all too, ladies,” Mrs. Bonney finished, and Jessa felt a stab of guilt that she hadn’t listened to all of grace.

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Bonney,” the girls all said in unison, including Jessa.

It was how they always ended grace, and Jessa brushed crumbs off her linen dress so that no one would notice she’d started eating before it was over.

“The logging camp, you say?” Jessa asked Evangeline.

“Yes. It’s just past the saloon.”

Jessa paled. “Past the saloon? You don’t think I’ll run into any… unsavory characters, do you?”

“You mean like a man to sweep you off your feet?” Thomasina teased, and Jessa felt her cheeks flush.

She couldn’t help but think of Clifton tucking a rose bud behind her ear when she was just sixteen, and she shuddered. “Something like that,” Jessa muttered, but Thomasina dug into her oatmeal and didn’t respond.

“You’re more likely to get courted by the men at the logging camp. You’ll be fixing their britches, after all,” Evangeline piped up, her mouth full.

Jessa picked at her oatmeal and Mrs. Bonney frowned.

“You’d better clean your plate, Miss Turner, or I’ll be offended. It’s your last day here, after all.”

Jessa’s throat tightened. She’d only been at Miss Bonney’s for a week, but she’d already felt welcomed by the community and all the female tenants. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. All of you,” Jessa said, her voice raw with emotion. “I wish I could stay longer.”

Thomasina took her hand, pulling it into her lap and squeezing it. “You’ll visit, won’t you? Oh, say you will!”

Jessa smiled. “Of course, I’ll visit.”

Jessa was sent off by Thomasina, Mrs. Bonney, and Evangeline standing in the back, whooping and hollering as the other two simply waved.

“You’re gonna get that seamstress job!” Evangeline yelled, and Jessa couldn’t help but giggle.

She walked the couple of miles toward the logging camp and came upon a man scratching his balding head, staring at the bulletin board outside.

He was a large man, broad across the shoulders with a big belly, and for a moment, it reminded her of Clifton, and she shrank back. But she had to continue. She needed a job, and this was the first lead she’d gotten since she arrived in Caring, Washington.

“Are you by chance looking for this?” Jessa asked, holding up the crumpled paper.

The man’s beady black eyes lit up, and suddenly he looked less frightening. “Yes, yes! Are you looking for work? Please tell me you are,” he said, sounding almost exasperated.

Jessa smiled, showing her strong teeth. Her father had always said her smile was her best feature. “I am. I can offer you some sample work…”

“No need,” the man said quickly. “Ah, I forget myself. My name is Edgar Young. And you are?”

“Jessa Turner,” she said, and curtsied.

The man smiled at her. “I love a woman with manners,” he murmured, and for a moment Jessa worried he had other intentions, but he didn’t look her up and down the way Clifton did. “You’re hired.”

Jessa blinked. “Hired? But how do you know I’ll be a good seamstress?”

“You need not be a good seamstress to keep our clothes from falling apart,” Edgar insisted, and he gestured for her to follow him into the camp, unlocking the gate and letting her in first.

Jessa waited for him to lock the gate back up and walk ahead of her, watching his broad back. He seemed to be an honest man, but the Lord knew she couldn’t always trust that all men were good. She’d learned her lesson on that front long ago.

“Excuse me, Mr. Young?”

“Edgar. Please, call me Edgar, or Ed if you’d prefer.”

“Edgar,” she said hesitantly, and he turned to her and smiled. “Is there… a place I could stay, possibly? The boarding house I was living at only gave me a week’s lease.”

“Say no more,” he said quickly. “There’s an empty cabin at the back of the camp. It hasn’t been used in years because all the men stay at the bunkhouse. It’s easier to get to and from jobs that way. The cabins are meant for families, but this one is so small…” he trailed off, shrugging. “It’s not much, but it’s a place to lay your head.”

Jessa’s shoulders slumped in relief. She’d been so worried about having to stay somewhere unsavory, but if she had her own cabin…

“I’m grateful, Mr… Edgar,” she said, pausing, and he laughed.

“You’ll get used to it here, Miss Turner. It’s pretty laid back.”

“Call me Jessa,” she insisted, and he nodded, continuing toward the small cabin at the back of the camp.

It was small. Only one room with a small wooden stove, and an outhouse out back, but it felt like heaven to Jessa, who had been sleeping in wagons for the last few months. She started to choke up as Edgar handed her the keys, but he didn’t seem to notice. She lugged her suitcase and bag into the small cabin, while Edgar waited outside.

“Just make sure you lock up at night,” he warned. “I’ll bring you some clothes to mend a bit later. Just get settled for now.”

“Thank you, Edgar. You don’t know what this job means to me. I promise I’ll work hard.”

This job had seemed almost too easy to get, but Jessa wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Her father had taught her that, too.

Edgar simply nodded again and left her to her own devices.

Jessa sighed, laying down on the bed, which was a little bigger than the cot she slept on at Mrs. Bonney’s. She wouldn’t miss all the hubbub around the boarding house. Maybe she could get a little peace and quiet here.

Chapter Two

Hudson Reed brushed his blond hair back from his face, slicking it back with a bit of hair grease he’d gotten from a local merchant. He knew it was a vanity, but he couldn’t help it–he liked to look nice. He spent too many years being dirty and staying in hovels.

He looked into the mirror, deciding he wouldn’t shave today. There was a shadow of blond hair on his jaw, but it didn’t look too bad. He was lucky, he supposed, to have light-colored hair, even dusting his arms and legs.

Hudson walked outside, readying his horses and tying them to the wagon. He was on his way to purchase food and supplies for the month, and he needed the wagon to hold everything. He tied the stallion up easily, but a tree fell nearby, spooking the mare, which whinnied and reared up onto her hind legs.

“Whoa, girly.” He tried to comfort her but she took off, galloping deeper into the logging camp. He sighed and watched her go, his hands on his hips. “Alright, Bennie. We better go get June,” he muttered. He wondered briefly why he was so lonely he was talking to a horse, but that wasn’t fair. He untied Bennie from the wagon, leaving it near the cottage. He saddled Bennie and mounted the stallion, yelling “hey!” as he pushed the horse forward, trying to catch the runaway mare.

There was a young woman walking down the dirt road of the logging camp as June approached, still galloping and looking panicked, but the woman didn’t hang back in fear.

Hudson slowed Bennie by pulling the reins up, curious about what the girl might do. She was wearing a simple white linen dress and low heels, carrying just a small bag on one arm.

“Whoa, lady,” the woman said softly, stepping toward the galloping mare. She took the reins and pulled gently, murmuring comforts. She turned to look at him as he rode up, smiling a bit, and Hudson was struck by her bright green eyes. Her warm brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, falling nearly to her waist.

His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t seem to make words. He had rarely, if ever, seen a woman this pretty in the logging camp.

“Must be yours,” she murmured, releasing the reins.

Hudson smiled slightly, dismounting his horse. The woman flinched nearly imperceptibly as he approached her. “I won’t harm you,” he said quickly, holding up his hands.

“Of course not,” she said, smiling warmly, but there was something behind those green eyes of hers. “I’m Jessa Turner. I’m the new seamstress.”

“Seamstress?” He laughed. “I’ve got plenty of socks for you to mend.”

She flushed, looking down at her hands. “Well, if you’ll talk to Edgar, he’ll get them to me.”

“Edgar?” He tilted his head, confused. “Oh. You mean Ed.”

She nodded quickly and Hudson couldn’t help how his smile widened. “I guess we’ll all be in good hands. You handled my mare less like a seamstress and more like a stable girl.”

“I grew up around horses, back in Oklahoma,” she said, a wistful tone in her voice.

He gaped at her. “Oklahoma? And you made it this far west?”

“Yes,” she said simply, clearly not wanting to elaborate, and Hudson didn’t push. He found himself looking down into her bright green eyes, wanting to know more about her.

“A ranch is a good place to grow up,” he said, somehow not wanting to leave just yet. Besides, June was still spooked. He’d have to walk her back. He didn’t elaborate about his own past, either. He somehow didn’t want her to know his situation; thought it might ruin things.

Jessa peered down the road. “I see your wagon back there. Would you like help walking the horses back?”

Hudson sighed in relief. “Yes, thank you. That would be fine.”

Jessa took June’s reins and pulled her closer, rubbing a hand down the horse’s long neck. She murmured low “shushes” and “it’s alright,” and slowly June calmed, allowing Jessa to walk her back toward the wagon.

“How long have you been in Caring?” he asked as they led the horses back.

“Not very long, Mr…” Jessa trailed off and Hudson’s cheeks flushed as he realized he’d neglected to introduce himself in all his excitement.

What was wrong with him? Yes, she was pretty, with her grass green eyes and her long brown hair, her slim figure, but he’d been around pretty women before. This one was different, though. There was this sadness behind her eyes that he wanted to know more about, something that made him want to make those eyes light up instead with love and laughter.

Hudson cleared his throat. “Reed. But please, call me Hudson.”

“Hudson,” she said, and his throat tightened at the sound of his name on her full lips.

He nodded, trying not to stare at her.. Something in him didn’t want Jessa to know he was married, and he had no idea what to think about that, so he decided not to think about it at all.

“To answer your question, Hudson, I’ve only been in Caring a week. I was staying at Mrs. Bonney’s place.”

“Eliza Bonney?” he asked, and Jessa nodded.

Hudson smiled. “She’s a good woman. Just never seemed to get over her husband’s passing.”

“They had a love that would…” Jessa started, and Hudson finished for her.

“Last all eternity.”

Jessa laughed out loud. “I guess she’s told everyone that, hasn’t she?”

“Indeed she has,” Hudson said, smiling widely.

“I must get back to my cabin,” Jessa said, and gave him a slight curtsy. “It was good to meet you, Hudson.”

“It was good to meet you, too, Miss Turner. Or is it Mrs.?” he asked, his throat tightening again into a pinhole at the idea of her having a husband that worked at the logging camp.

She shook her head. “It’s just Jessa.”

“Alright, just Jessa. Have a safe walk home.”

She gave him a brilliant smile, showing white, even teeth, and waved before setting off in the other direction. Hudson stared after her dreamily for a few moments before he went back to his task. By the time he tied Bennie and June up to the wagon and set off toward the store, Jessa was already gone.

He did his business in town, returning with all the supplies and food they’d need to last them the month, whistling low in his throat when he saw the price of it and paid it reluctantly. He didn’t make much money logging, and of course, taking care of Minnie meant there was another mouth to feed.

And soon to be a third.

His heart felt heavy with guilt as he walked into the cottage he shared with Minnie—a coveted two-bedroom with room for a nursery. Minnie met him at the door, insisting that she help take all the supplies inside. Hudson carried the wood they’d use for the stove around back, making a small pile near the door.

He was dusty from traveling but Minnie took his hands in hers anyway, smiling. “Sorry I couldn’t come with you. The morning sickness, it’ been so bad lately.”

“Did you get some rest?” he asked softly, tucking a strawberry-blonde curl behind her ear.

Minnie was pretty in the most traditional way: blue eyes, reddish-blonde hair, and a voluptuous figure. But she’d never been Hudson’s type. He didn’t believe he was hers, either. He looked into Minnie’s blue eyes and couldn’t stop comparing them to Jessa’s green ones.

Hudson looked down at their joined hands. “Minnie, I have to tell you something.”

Minnie frowned. “What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he murmured, but he wasn’t so sure that was so. “I just… I met the new seamstress. Her name is Jessa.”

Minnie smirked slightly. “What, is she prettier than me?”

“Minnie,” he scolded, and she laughed, dropping her hands. Her laugh quickly turned into a sigh, though.

“I’m not sad or jealous,” she insisted. “I know that we’ve never been in love, Hudson, and that this is all because of… well, because of my mistakes. It’s my fault that you can’t meet a pretty seamstress and fall in love.”

The pregnancy made her quick to weep and Hudson felt heat at the back of his neck from guilt. “I’m happy as a clam right here with you,” Hudson promised, and Minnie looked at him with a smile.

“I hope so. Because we can’t ever tell anyone the truth.” She bit her lip. “Even if you do fall in love with a seamstress.”

“Nobody is falling in love,” he said, even though the words felt hollow to his own ears. For a moment his thoughts trailed off.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Minnie asked, desperation in her voice. “Clifton will be looking for us.”

“Don’t worry, we will be long gone by then. Now, get your bag and wait outside. I will be right behind you.” Hudson said, dropping the oil lamp on the floor.

Minnie sighed and took one last look around the room before collecting her things and walking out the door. Hudson looked out the window, and when he saw Minnie waiting by a large oak tree, he struck a match, tossing it into the spilled oil. As flames ignited, he ran out the door.

She nodded, her eyes downcast, and she seemed a little muted the rest of the day, but no more the worse for wear. Part of the problem, Hudson supposed, was that he wasn’t sure how to act with Minnie in public. He’d never been one for public displays of affection, but he always held her hand, kept close to her. Minnie seemed to have a hard time with it, too. They just weren’t meant to be married, but circumstances—and the baby growing in Minnie’s belly—forced them into this. And he couldn’t tell anyone, not even Patrick.

Patrick Harris was the best man he knew, even though he was vain about that moustache of his. Hudson chuckled just thinking of how they first met. “Looking for work?” Patrick asked, looking up at Hudson curiously as he arrived at the logging camp.

Hudson took off his hat, holding it in his hands. It was supposed to be white, but after the journey, it appeared more graygray from the dust. “I am. My wife and I are expecting,” he said slowly, knowing that he’d need the right kind of lodging for Minnie and the baby.

Patrick smiled. “Congratulations. We’ve got a couple of cottages here to fit families,” he drawled, his accent Midwestern and Southern somehow at the same time.

Must be from travel, Hudson supposed. Everyone around here had lived in a dozen towns, trying to keep work in a failing economy. “I work hard, and I’m strong,” Hudson said, wanting to talk himself up, but Patrick stood, waving a hand.

“You’ve got an honest face. One thing about me, Mr…”

“Hudson. Hudson Reed.”

“Hud,” Patrick mused, and from then on, that’s what he called Hudson. “One thing about me, Hud, is that I see a man and I know his worth just by looking at his face.”

Hudson chuckled, but Patrick’s face didn’t change. He was dead serious.

“It’s a gift,” Patrick went on. “And maybe a curse. I know evil when I see it, too, but no one tends to believe me.” Patrick stood and started toward the gate of the logging camp.

Hudson just stood there, watching him go, head tilted in confusion.

“What are you waiting for, Hud? Let’s go put in a good word with Ed. He’s the foreman around here.”

And Hudson followed.

Ever since that day, Hudson and Patrick had been inseparable, the closest of friends. But Hudson felt more distant as time went on, as his lies compounded. He had said that he and Minnie were childhood sweethearts, both orphans, and while the latter was true, the former simply wasn’t.

They’d never had any feelings for each other, but they had always been friends. And friends they would remain, ‘til death do they part.