Free A Tailor-Made Bride by Karen Witemeyer Page A

she was unaware of it, now, could she?

C HAPTER 7
    J.T. entered the bank just as the clerk set the Closed sign in the window. The fellow nodded a greeting to him before scurrying back to his teller’s cage. The proprietress of the local boardinghouse stood at the counter impatiently tapping her foot, apparently displeased by the interruption of her transaction.
    “Is Paxton in?” J.T. asked.
    The clerk disappeared behind the counter, then opened the gate of his window and met J.T.’s eye around a bent plume in the lady’s bonnet. “He’s with a customer at the moment, but you can take a seat on the bench outside his office. He should be finished shortly.”
    “Thanks.”
    J.T. fingered his hat and nodded to the woman, who glared at him over her shoulder before swinging her accusing eyes back to the unfortunate clerk. After sharing a commiserating look with the two cowhands standing in line, all three males grateful to be on the customer side of the counter, J.T. took his cue and meandered over to the bench.
    Too restless to sit, he propped a foot on the seat of the bench and braced one elbow on his thigh. He didn’t like sneaking around behind Louisa’s back, but the woman didn’t leave him much choice. The Good Book taught that a man should give without his left hand knowing what his right was doing. Louisa was just playing the role of the left hand. Still, the secrecy grated on him, made him feel as if he were doing something disreputable.
    The quiet swish of a well-oiled door opening drew J.T.’s attention. He dropped his foot to the floor and straightened his stance.
    Floyd Hawkins and his son, Warren, emerged from Elliott Paxton’s office. The elder Hawkins chatted amiably with the banker while his son separated himself from the conversation.
    Warren pushed his overlong hair out of his face and caught sight of J.T. His eyes widened a bit, and his neck stretched as if his collar had suddenly grown too tight.
    The kid was always nervous around him. Never used to be. But lately, Warren had been acting different, like he was trying to impress him or something.
    Not that his efforts had been paying off. The kid had a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar’s Rock. He wasn’t a bad egg, just irritating with his sullen looks and woeful attitude. Seemed to think the world owed him something because he was born with a mark on his face. J.T. could sympathize with the embarrassment and frustration that went along with schoolyard teasing, but Warren wasn’t a boy any longer. Time to stop the pouting and start acting like a man. Respect wouldn’t come any other way.
    As if Warren had heard his thoughts, he straightened his shoulders and approached.
    “J.T.”
    J.T. cocked his head. Either his ears needed a good scrubbing or Warren had just lowered the timbre of his voice a couple of levels below normal. J.T. fought the urge to roll his eyes.
    “Warren.”
    The kid tugged on his coat lapels and pushed up on his toes. “Dad and I are considering an expansion of the business. Mr. Paxton is helping us plan the finances.”
    “That so?” J.T. really had no particular interest in the Hawkins family’s business endeavors, but Warren seemed to expect some kind of reply.
    “I . . . ah . . . thought your sister might like to join us for dinner one evening to discuss the expansion. Since the change will affect her. . . . I mean, because we sell her baked goods and all.”
    J.T. arched his brows and shot Warren a look that must have communicated how senseless he thought that comment was, for the kid dropped his gaze and scuffed his toe against the wooden floorboards.
    Why would Delia care about them opening another store somewhere? It wasn’t like she was going to bake anything for it. Hers was strictly a local operation.
    Still, Delia considered Warren a friend, and she wouldn’t want J.T. giving the kid a hard time—no matter how much he deserved it. So he cleared his throat and came as close to an apology as he