PART 2: THE STRANGER WHO BOUGHT THE ENTIRE SHOP

Abby froze.

The man standing in her doorway was enormous.

He wore a black wool coat dusted with trail dirt, heavy leather gloves, and a battered Stetson pulled low over his brow. His shoulders nearly filled the entrance, and a thick, dark beard concealed most of his face.

A long scar ran from his left temple toward his jaw.

Abby recognized him immediately.

Everyone in Wyoming knew the name Silas Blackwood.

At thirty-eight, he was the wealthiest rancher in the northern territory, owner of the enormous Blackwood Ranch, and a man whose temper had become the subject of countless saloon stories.

He lived forty miles beyond Oak Haven, in a valley surrounded by mountains.

Some said he had once fought three armed rustlers alone.

Others claimed he hadn’t spoken more than twenty words to another human being in an entire month.

Women avoided him.

Men respected him.

And nobody in Oak Haven willingly crossed him.

“Mr. Blackwood?” Abby whispered.

Silas removed his hat.

“Miss Higgins.”

His pale gray eyes traveled around the shop, examining the dresses hanging from the wooden racks.

“You’re closing?”

Abby swallowed.

“Unfortunately, yes. The mayor intends to evict me.”

Silas glanced at the emerald gown resting inside the trunk.

“Who made that?”

“I did.”

“How long?”

“Three nights.”

He approached the dress and examined its intricate embroidery.

“How much?”

Abby blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

“The dress. How much do you want for it?”

Abby hesitated.

“Forty dollars.”

Silas nodded.

“I’ll take it.”

He turned toward the other dresses.

“That blue one too. And the cream-colored one. And those four hanging beside the window.”

Abby stared.

“Mr. Blackwood, those are all handmade.”

“I can see that.”

“There are twenty-three dresses in the shop.”

“Then I’ll take twenty-three.”

Abby thought she had misunderstood him.

“All of them?”

Silas reached into his coat and placed a thick leather money pouch on the counter.

“Count it.”

Abby opened the pouch.

Inside were gold coins.

More money than she had earned in the previous two years.

Her hands began trembling.

“Mr. Blackwood, this is too much.”

“Then make me something worth the difference.”

“But why?”

Silas looked at her.

“Because I’ve spent six months looking for a woman who can sew.”

Abby frowned.

“Surely there are hundreds of seamstresses in Cheyenne.”

“Not the kind I need.”

He walked toward the emerald dress again.

“Can you make fifty dresses in six weeks?”

“Fifty?”

“Perhaps sixty.”

Abby shook her head.

“One woman cannot make sixty dresses in six weeks.”

“One woman doesn’t have to.”

Silas pulled a folded document from his coat.

It was a contract.

He placed it on the counter.

“I need a head seamstress at Blackwood Ranch. You’ll have a proper workshop, ᴀssistants, good materials, and a salary of forty dollars a month.”

Abby’s mouth fell open.

Forty dollars?

That was more than thirteen times her current monthly income.

“Why would you offer me such a position?”

Silas studied her for a moment.

“Because I need someone who understands that a woman deserves clothing that fits her body, not clothing that forces her into somebody else’s idea of beauty.”

For the first time that morning, Abby felt something other than humiliation.

Hope.

But before she could answer, the shop door burst open.

Clementine Montgomery entered with her two companions.

“Well, well. I see the merchandise is finally being cleared out.”

Her smile disappeared when she noticed Silas.

“Mr. Blackwood!”

She immediately straightened her dress.

“I wasn’t aware you were visiting Oak Haven.”

Silas barely acknowledged her.

Clementine’s eyes moved toward the money pouch.

“Are you purchasing Miss Higgins’s dresses?”

“All of them.”

She laughed.

“Surely you cannot be serious.”

Silas slowly turned.

“Do I look like a man who makes jokes about business?”

Clementine’s cheeks colored.

“I only meant that Miss Higgins’s work is rather unusual. The proportions, the cuts…”

She glanced deliberately at Abby’s waist.

“Well, you understand.”

Silas looked at the emerald gown.

Then he looked back at Clementine.

“I understand that this dress took three nights to make. I understand that the sтιтching is finer than anything I’ve seen in Cheyenne. And I understand that you walked into this shop yesterday without buying a single thing.”

Clementine stiffened.

“My father owns this building.”

“Then your father should learn the difference between collecting rent and stealing someone’s livelihood.”

The room went silent.

Silas picked up the contract.

“Miss Higgins, I have a carriage waiting.”

Abby looked at the document.

Then at her father’s old sewing machine.

“I need a little time to think.”

“You have until noon.”

“Why noon?”

“Because I intend to leave before the storm reaches the pᴀss.”

He placed his hat back on his head.

“And Miss Higgins?”

“Yes?”

“Bring your sewing machine.”

He walked out.

Clementine waited until the door closed before laughing.

“Don’t tell me you’re considering it.”

Abby carefully folded the contract.

“I haven’t decided.”

Clementine leaned closer.

“Do you honestly believe a man like Silas Blackwood wants a woman like you working at his ranch?”

Abby lifted her chin.

“I believe he offered me a job. Something you have never done.”

Clementine’s smile vanished.

And for once, Abby was the one who walked away.

By eleven-thirty, Abby had packed her father’s sewing machine, three changes of clothing, and a small wooden box containing his old tailoring tools.

She locked the shop for the final time.

As she climbed into Silas’s carriage, she noticed something strange.

Two other wagons were waiting behind it.

Both were filled with bolts of expensive fabric.

“Mr. Blackwood,” she asked, “what exactly are we making?”

Silas climbed onto the driver’s seat.

“Clothes for women.”

“How many women?”

He looked toward the distant mountains.

“Thirty-seven, last I counted.”

Abby frowned.

“Thirty-seven women live at your ranch?”

“Forty-one, including the four who arrived last week.”

Her fingers тιԍнтened around her little wooden box.

“Why are they all there?”

Silas didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he handed her a folded list.

At the top were thirty-seven names.

Beside each name was a measurement.

Bust.

Waist.

Hips.

Height.

And beneath the list, someone had written a sentence in careful handwriting:

NO WOMAN WILL BE TURNED AWAY BECAUSE OF THE BODY SHE WAS BORN WITH.

Abby looked up.

Silas was already driving toward the mountains.

She had expected a job.

She was beginning to suspect she had been hired for something much bigger.