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stair. He followed her from below as a precaution and didn’t relax until she disappeared into the room that would serve as her personal quarters.
    Fool woman. She’d rather risk her neck than admit she might not be able to manage something on her own. He jumped up and grabbed hold of one of the higher steps, testing its strength against his dangling weight. It held. The top step, too, remained firmly in place even after all of Miss Richards’s clinging and scraping. Apparently, the only unstable lumber was the step she fell through. Didn’t matter, though. She still should have waited until he checked it out before trudging up the stairs like Joan of Arc on some kind of crusade.
    J.T. pulled another toothpick out of his shirt pocket and wedged it between his molars. His tongue fiddled with it as he stared up through the hole in the staircase. He had to give her credit. Miss Richards knew how to handle herself in a crisis. Not only did she have the presence of mind to latch onto another step to keep from crashing to the ground, but there’d been no screaming, no hysteria, just calm conversation and a polite request to please catch her . Any other woman, his sister included, would have shrieked like a hog at butchering time.
    Shaking his head, J.T. headed back to where he had left the dressmaker’s trunk. The box had tumbled to the bottom of the stairs and now lay upside down. He flipped it over just as Tom came around the corner with the other pink-ribboned trunk hefted on his shoulder.
    “I done finished the blue ones, J.T., so I thought I’d bring this ’un to ya. How come you’re so slow? I expected you’d be done afore me.”
    “Miss Richards had a mishap on the stairs.”
    Tom’s eyes widened in glazed panic.
    “She’s all right,” J.T. hurried to assure him. “She’s up in her room.”
    “W-what happened?”
    J.T. hauled the trunk off Tom’s shoulder and set it down next to his. “One of the steps broke and she fell, but she’s fine.”
    “If she’s fine, how come I can’t see her anywheres?”
    The boy’s breathing came in quick shallow gasps, and his head flew from side to side.
    J.T. squeezed his arm to get him to focus on him. “You know how womenfolk are, Tom. She’s probably up there figuring out what kind of curtains she should hang in the windows and where to put all her knickknacks. She’ll be down in a bit.”
    The boy glanced up at the open door. “You sure?”
    “I’m sure.” J.T. stepped behind him and started steering him across the street. “Now, what we menfolk oughta do is fetch a new plank from the lumber pile in back of the livery and fix that step for her so she doesn’t have to worry about any more mishaps. You think you can find me a good board while I dig up a hammer and nails?”
    Tom’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes, sir.”
    “Good.” J.T. thumped him on the back and moved into place beside him. They walked several yards in silence, but when they reached the livery doors, Tom turned back to look at the building across the street.
    “You know, J.T., since Miss Richards ain’t got no regular menfolk, it’d probably be a good idea for us to look after her. You reckon that’s why God brought her to us? So’s we could take care of her?”
    J.T. chomped down on his toothpick and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to think about the Lord purposefully bringing the dressmaker into his life. He had enough responsibility looking after Cordelia and widows like Louisa James. He didn’t want to be bothered with an opinionated, stubborn piece of baggage like Miss Hannah Richards, even if she did fit in his arms like a pistol in a custom-made holster. No, sir. After he fixed her step and finished unloading her paraphernalia, she’d be on her own.

C HAPTER 4
    Hannah hid out in her living quarters until the muted male voices below faded away. She peeked out the doorway to make sure they were gone, then flopped into the single wooden chair that resided in her room.