Читать онлайн книгу «The Outlaw′s Redemption» автора Renee Ryan

The Outlaw's Redemption
Renee Ryan
Who would guess the most formidable adversary former gunslinger Hunter Mitchell ever faced would be a fiery, violet-eyed female?Now that he’s served his time, Hunter intends to claim the daughter he only just discovered. While the law is on his side this time, his daughter’s devoted aunt certainly isn’t. Annabeth Silks can’t bear to let a one-time outlaw take little Sarah.As the daughter of an infamous madam, she knows the hardship of an unstable home. But every glimpse of Hunter’s reformed character dares Annabeth to look beyond his past…to the family and future she never thought to find.


CLAIMING HIS CHILD
Who would guess the most formidable adversary former gunslinger Hunter Mitchell ever faced would be a fiery, violet-eyed female? Now that he’s served his time, Hunter intends to claim the daughter he’s only just discovered. While the law is on his side this time, his daughter’s devoted aunt certainly isn’t.
Annabeth Silks can’t bear to let a onetime outlaw take little Sarah. As the daughter of an infamous madam, she knows the hardship of an unstable home. But every glimpse of Hunter’s reformed character dares Annabeth to look beyond his past…to the family and future she never thought to find.
“I’ve changed, Annabeth.”
Although he spoke very deliberately, with his jaw tight, it wasn’t hostility she saw in his eyes but some sort of murky promise, something that went beyond words, something personal and solely between them.
“Hunter.” She sucked in a hard breath. “I don’t think—”
“Stop, Annabeth. Stop arguing with me and let me finish.” With a move so swift she didn’t see it coming, he took hold of her hand.
His touch was somehow comforting.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. Warmth spread up her arm.
“I’m not going to hurt Sarah.” He moved closer, too close, and added, “Or you.”
She snatched her hand free, her fingers curling into a fist. “Words, Hunter. Those are just words.”
“Then here are some more words for you to consider. No matter your motivation, I won’t let you stand between my daughter and me.”
RENEE RYAN
grew up in a small Florida beach town. To entertain herself during countless hours of “lying out,” she read all the classics. It wasn’t until the summer between her sophomore and junior years at Florida State University that she read her first romance novel. Hooked from page one, she spent hours consuming one book after another while working on the best (and last!) tan of her life.
Two years later, armed with a degree in economics and religion, she explored various career opportunities, including stints at a Florida theme park, a modeling
agency and a cosmetics conglomerate. She moved on to teach high-school economics, American government and Latin while coaching award-winning cheerleading teams. Several years later, with an eclectic cast of char acters swimming around in her head, she began seriously pursuing a writing career. She lives in Savannah, Georgia, with her own hero-husband and a large fluffy cat many have mistaken for a small bear.
The Outlaw’s Redemption
Renee Ryan


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And He said unto me, “My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
—2 Corinthians 12:9
To my older brothers, Bill, Bob and Noot,
for teaching me how to hold my own in a family
full of alpha males. I’ll never know how to throw
a punch (thanks for sparing me from that), but
I certainly know how to rely on someone who can.
I love each of you with all my heart.
Contents
Chapter One (#u0a758161-e384-5fe6-b5f2-289d81e1783e)
Chapter Two (#ua5342a3b-ed85-5fda-b646-57293be6b965)
Chapter Three (#uf2ef553e-3cc8-557c-92fb-37194bb1a7a0)
Chapter Four (#u01144e6d-6849-5d74-a2cc-1b00bbde80fc)
Chapter Five (#ufc85c8d3-03d1-58e7-844e-f723fec6c823)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado, 1890
Hunter Mitchell was a free man. After two years of hard labor and endless nights of soul-searching, he’d paid his debt to society. His life was once again his own. Countless possibilities awaited him.
And yet, here he stood but a stone’s throw away from where his downward spiral had first begun.
Long before the judge had sentenced him to prison, Hunter had vowed never to return to this house of sin owned by the notorious Mattie Silks. Two years ago he’d made an exception, to take another man’s life.
So much regret. So much hurt.
Just when he thought the worst was behind him, and would stay that way, his past had caught up with him again.
Lips pressed into a hard, flat line, Hunter rolled his shoulders and considered his next move. The most obvious course of action would be to storm through those ridiculously ornate doors and demand what was his. Take what was his.
He had the right. No one would argue that. But Hunter had learned to be a cautious man.
Mattie could have lied to him in her letter. She’d done so before. For no other reason than to see how far she could push a man. What the surly madam didn’t realize was that Hunter was no longer susceptible to her games. He knew Mattie’s well-guarded secret, a secret he wouldn’t hesitate to use against her if she tried to toy with him.
Red-hot determination coiled in his gut. Hunter would get the truth out of the woman tonight.
No mistakes.
No loss of control.
Calm. Cool. Careful.
Melting into the shadows, he blew into his cupped palms. The air had taken on a cold, nasty bite. Hunter couldn’t help but feel he was being watched, a remnant of his former life when he had to look over his shoulder wherever he went. But those days were over, the members of his former gang either dead or living in Mexico.
His breath formed a fine mist around his head, adding a sinister feel to what he’d come here to do.
And yet, and yet, he felt a sliver of hope building inside him. Hope for the future, hope that he could become the godly man he’d once been. And maybe capture some stability along the way.
He lowered his hands and stepped in the direction of the brothel’s threshold. The physical act of moving brought the rest of the world into focus. Sights, sounds, the smells of stale liquor and wet horse flooded his senses.
Music drifted out of the brothel’s open windows. The bawdy songs suited the raucous laughter and coarse shouts. Golden light called to Hunter, the soft glow promising warmth from the cold and a momentary respite from the constant loneliness that plagued him.
An illusion. Nothing but pain and regret followed a night with one of Mattie’s girls.
And Hunter had stalled long enough.
With single-minded focus, he shoved away his dark thoughts, then took the steps two at a time. As he shouldered into the vine-covered building, a sickening dread crept through his stomach.
Nothing had changed. Not the hideous decor. Not the musky odor of cigar smoke mingled with cheap perfume. Not the seedy clientele. The brothel wasn’t as bad as he remembered. It was much worse.
Mattie Silks was nothing if not obvious.
The gaudy red velvet furniture stood in stark contrast to the gold filigree wallpaper. Tasteless rugs with bold, floral prints covered the wood flooring. Vulgar paintings hung on the walls. Their vivid colors and shocking themes gave Hunter a new perspective on past sins.
Only recently back in the habit of praying, he lifted up a silent request.
Forgive me, Lord.
A simple prayer, born from a lifetime of bad choices and wrong living. Shaking free of the thought, Hunter stepped deeper into the brothel and caught sight of Mattie’s right-hand man striding toward him, a scowl on his mean, ugly face.
“Jack.” Hunter took in the big brute’s broad shoulders, flat nose and bad attitude. “Still the ever faithful servant, I see.”
Jack smiled in response, not a real smile, more a baring of teeth. “You were told to come by tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well.” Hunter stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m here now.”
“Nevertheless.” Jack crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Miss Silks isn’t expecting you.”
“I say we let Mattie decide if she’ll see me tonight.”
Eyes locked with his, the big man dug in his heels. “She won’t like that you’ve come during business hours.”
Of course she wouldn’t like it. Neither did Hunter. But he wanted answers more than he wanted to appease a difficult woman like Mattie Silks. “Either you inform her I’m here, or I tell her myself.”
Finished with the standoff, Hunter started forward.
Jack stepped into his path. “Wait here.”
“Whatever you say.”
Frowning, Jack disappeared into the crowd.
Left to cool his heels, Hunter shifted out of the main traffic area and looked around. Business was booming.
He heaved a heavy sigh. The curvy blondes, willowy brunettes and pouty redheads perpetuated the cycle of sin and degradation. All had similar expressions on their faces, blank, distant, slightly separated from the moment, as if they’d given up hope a long time ago.
Hunter understood such brokenness, such pain. Understood all too well.
A small commotion broke out near the back of the room, saving him from further reflection. Low, excited murmurs filled the air, followed by a quick straightening of female shoulders, a widening of male eyes. All heads turned. A beat passed. And then...
Mattie made her entrance.
Dressed in a blue silk dress with layers of cream-colored, frothy lace, the infamous madam sauntered through the main parlor of her brothel like a queen lording it over her realm. She ignored everyone but Hunter.
With a half smile on her lips, she took her time crossing the room, striking a pose every fifth or sixth step. She carried a flute of champagne in her hand. A prop, nothing more. Mattie never indulged in alcohol, especially not during peak business hours.
Her head was always the clearest in the room, and the reason she’d been able to run her business for the past thirty years with alarming success.
Hips swaying, her face overly painted, Mattie stopped her approach inches shy of running into Hunter, close enough for him to get a whiff of her cloying perfume.
“Hunter, darling.” She struck a final, dramatic pose—one hand on her hip, glass poised at shoulder-level, eyes lowered to half-mast. “What a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope.”
“Time will tell.” She angled her head to the side. “Greet me properly, you rogue, and maybe I won’t hold your impertinence against you.”
“But of course.” He leaned down and touched his lips to the plumped, curved cheek she offered. “Hello, Mattie.”
“Hunter.” She pulled back and studied him with narrow-eyed precision. “Now. Let me look at you.”
Having been through this routine before, he stood completely still, eyes cast forward. Her gaze traveled from the top of his head, down to his toes and back up again.
“The years have been kind to you,” she decided, then reached up and ran her fingers along his jaw. “It’s really unfair, you know, that you should look this handsome when you are so decidedly in need of a shave.”
Without waiting for a response, she continued her scrutiny, seemingly oblivious to his tense shoulders and stiff smile. He worked to contain his need to speed things along. This was Mattie Silks, after all. The woman had her own set of rules. If he wanted answers, he had to play her game. For now.
“If memory serves,” he said in a low, confidential tone, “you like your men a little scruffy.”
“Oh, I do.” She circled around to his other side and plucked at his sleeve. “I really, really, really do.”
Hunter watched the madam out of the corner of his eye. “You’re as pretty as ever, Mattie. I must say, you don’t look a day over twenty-nine.”
She laughed in delight, then leaned in closer, her hand clutching at his arm. “You always were a silver-tongued brute. Is it any wonder I like you better than that holier-than-thou brother of yours?”
Of course she liked Hunter better than Logan. Hunter had spent most of his adult years on the wrong side of the law. While his brother was a former U.S. marshal, a man bent on seeking justice by legal means only. Hunter had no such compunction, as evidenced by his two-year stint in prison. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.
“Tell me, Hunter, my dear boy—”
“Boy?” He gave a humorless laugh. He hadn’t been a boy for a very long time.
Grinning at his reaction, Mattie walked her fingertips up his arm, squeezed his biceps. He swallowed his distaste. All part of the ritual, he reminded himself.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine evening? Dare I hope you’ve returned to your old ways?” She looked him over yet again, this time with obvious intent in her heavy-lidded gaze. “Shall I order you a bath, a shave, a friendly chat with one of my girls?”
Hunter stiffened. Enough. “You know why I’ve come.”
“Yes, well.” She dropped her hand and sighed in disappointment. “A girl can always hope a big, handsome man such as yourself hasn’t turned completely good.”
Games. The woman couldn’t help playing her games. “Let’s not forget you summoned me, with quite a convoluted tale.”
Her chin jutted out. “Not a tale. The truth.”
“So you claim.”
Breaking eye contact, Mattie tracked her gaze through the room. As if she’d only just become aware of the interested stares, her entire demeanor changed. The tiny lines of worry around her mouth were impossible to miss. Interesting.
“Perhaps we should continue our conversation in private.”
Unexpected. And yet, he realized, greatly appreciated. “A sensible suggestion.”
“Follow me.”
Spine stiff, head high, she led him through the main parlor toward the back of the brothel. Hunter knew the way, for all the wrong reasons. He kept his eyes on Mattie and his senses trained on the activity around him. The air of forced revelry was palpable, depressing. Sounds and bodies moved past him in a whirl, sometimes brushing against him, sometimes steering clear. Some of the patrons knew him, a few too many feared him.
He’d once cultivated that reaction. Now he wondered if his past would ever be forgotten.
He sighed.
In uncharacteristic silence, Mattie bypassed the kitchen and directed Hunter down a darkened corridor that ran along the southern perimeter of the first floor. A few more twists and turns, then, at last, she stopped in front of a nondescript door and indicated he take the lead.
Reaching around her, he opened the door then stepped inside the room. He had to blink furiously to accustom his eyes to the burst of light. Memories of the last time he’d been in this room warred with his attempt to remain outwardly calm.
The decor was different in here, at complete odds with the rest of the brothel. Homier, full of plush, comfortable furniture and a pleasant, floral scent.
Mattie had redecorated in the past two years.
With leaden feet, Hunter made his way to the mantelpiece on his right. Despite his efforts to stay in the present, his vision tunneled down for an alarming moment where all he could see was the past.
Gritting his teeth, he dug his toe in a small groove along the edge of the stone hearth. Just over two years ago he’d faced off with Cole Kincaid on this very spot, at nearly this exact hour of the night. Cole had proved soulless and without mercy, even in that final showdown. Ultimately, Hunter had prevailed in the ensuing struggle.
At the cost of his freedom.
He had no remorse. Cole had deserved to die after he’d murdered Hunter’s beloved Jane in cold blood. She’d been so young, so full of God’s goodness. Knowing her had made him a better man.
Losing her had nearly destroyed him.
An eye for an eye, a life for a life.
He couldn’t change the past. But could he start anew? Could he become the man Jane had thought him to be, a man worthy of raising a child?
Not a child, he reminded himself. His child.
Maybe.
If Mattie was to be believed, Hunter had a nine-year-old daughter as a result of his brief first marriage to Maria Bradley. Their union had been a disastrous, impetuous mistake on both their parts. But where Hunter had been utterly captivated and painfully naive, barely two weeks off the ranch, Maria had been three years into her profession as a prostitute and had married him for the thrill of corrupting an innocent.
She’d succeeded beyond her wildest expectations.
He swallowed back a wave of bitterness. “Tell me about the child.”
Mattie set down her glass and moved to the other side of the room. She dragged her fingertips across the top of a wingback chair. “Her name is Sarah.”
Sarah. Pretty. Biblical. Had Maria named her, or someone else? “All right, then. Tell me about...Sarah.”
“As I said in my letter, she recently celebrated her ninth birthday.”
For the hundredth time since discovering he had a daughter, Hunter did a mental calculation. The numbers added up. The timing was right. Sarah could very well be his child. That didn’t mean she was. Maria had “officially” returned to her chosen profession less than a year after their wedding, but she hadn’t been faithful for months prior to that. Any number of men could be Sarah’s father.
But if the child was his, Hunter would...
What? What would he do with the knowledge?
One step at a time.
“...a pretty child.” Apparently, Mattie had continued talking while Hunter had been lost in thought. “She has your unusual golden-amber eyes and her mother’s dark, Mexican coloring.”
Something passed in the madam’s gaze as she spoke, something not altogether kind. Was she threatened by Sarah, a mere child?
That made no sense. Except...maybe it did.
Maybe this was as personal for Mattie as it was for Hunter, if in a far different way.
“You say the girl has my eyes. I want to see for myself.” He strode across the room, stopped within inches of Mattie and used his superior size to make his point. “Get her.”
Mattie blinked up at him. “She isn’t here.”
“Where is she?”
“Charity House.”
Sudden, unexpected relief buckled his knees. He had to reach out to steady himself on a nearby chair. Hunter knew all about Charity House, the orphanage Marc and Laney Dupree had created for the abandoned boys and girls no other institution would touch. Because of the Duprees’ noble efforts, children of prostitutes were welcomed into a loving, safe home without question. And given a solid, Christian upbringing.
Some of the bitterness Hunter had harbored toward his first wife released its brutal hold on his heart. Maria might have left Hunter for her former life and died less than a year later. She might have kept the knowledge of his child from him. But she’d had the sense to provide a good, Christian home for Sarah at Charity House.
He should be grateful.
And he was, on one level. But he was also confused. Why was Mattie Silks involving herself in the matter?
Surely not out of the goodness of her heart. Mattie had always hated Maria. That much Hunter remembered. As the illegitimate daughter of Mattie’s bitter rival and the outlaw she’d once considered her man, Maria had been a physical reminder of Mattie’s folly. Of the madam’s mistaken belief she’d found a man to take her away from this life.
“What could you possibly hope to gain by telling me about the child?” he wondered aloud.
But deep down he knew. The situation just turned a lot more complicated.
“Now, Hunter, darling, I’m a traditional woman at heart.”
“Of course you are.”
“Don’t be snide.” She brushed aside his sarcasm with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I believe families should be together whenever possible.”
“Except when it comes to your own.”
Her gaze narrowed to two mean slits.
Hunter remained unmoved. “Don’t forget, Mattie. I know your secret.”
“You have no right to pass judgment on me.”
No, he didn’t. His list of past sins was a long one. “You’re right.” He inclined his head. “Forgive me.”
“Yes, yes. Now, where were we?” Not quite meeting his gaze, she redirected the conversation back on its original course. “Maria was wrong to keep your own child a secret from you. She should never have—”
The door swung open with a loud bang, sufficiently cutting off the rest of her little speech.
“How could you, Mattie? This time you’ve gone too far.” A whirlwind of tangled skirts and angry female rushed into the room. “You have no right to interfere in my life, or in Sar—
“Oh.” The woman’s pursuit ground to a halt. “I didn’t realize you were...entertaining.” Her gaze settled on Hunter for a fraction of a second, swept past him, then returned with lightning speed, widening in shocked recognition.
His sentiments exactly.
Feeling as if he’d just been smacked in the head with a board, Hunter fell back a step. Beneath his skin, his muscles twitched and tightened.
Memories took hold, memories of another woman with the same startling blue eyes, the same Mexican heritage.
But this wasn’t Maria blinking up at him in obvious shock. This had to be her half sister, Annabeth. The last time he’d seen her had been at Maria’s funeral. But she was a woman now, no longer a girl.
Pieces fell into place in his mind.
Mattie’s unusually timed letter. Her interference in a matter that had nothing to do with her.
Except, it did have to do with her. Indirectly, at least.
“You...” Long, silky eyelashes fluttered rapidly as Annabeth’s small, plump mouth tightened. “I thought you were in prison.”
“I served my time.”
The initial shock in her pale blue eyes turned to something else, something resembling alarm. Tinged with fear.
More pieces fell into place.
“I...don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice cracking over the words, her gaze chasing around the room.
“Good evening, Hunter would be a nice place to start.”
“Yes, of course.” She twisted her hands together in front of her waist. “I... Good evening, Hunter.”
“Good evening, Annabeth. Or would you prefer a more formal address? Perhaps I should call you...” He paused, making sure he had both women’s attention before continuing. “Miss Silks.”
Chapter Two
Miss Silks.
Miss. Silks. Two simple words, spoken in that gravelly, deliberate tone and the carefully constructed life Annabeth had provided for Sarah and herself imploded. All because Hunter Mitchell knew her name. Her real name.
He knew she was Mattie’s daughter.
An avalanche of emotion crowded inside her. She could hardly breathe, could hardly make sense of the moment.
She wanted to pray—needed to pray—but the words refused to form in her mind.
Shivering, Annabeth lowered her gaze and stared at her entwined fingers.
She shouldn’t have come here tonight, shouldn’t have risked being seen in her mother’s brothel at such an hour. She’d made a mistake that could ruin everything.
If a man recently out of prison knew about her connection to Mattie, it was only a matter of time before the rest of Denver discovered the truth. Everything would change then, just as it had a year ago, when Annabeth had been released from her position at Miss Lindsey’s Select School for Girls.
The good people of Denver would know her private shame. Then what? No godly, moral man would want Annabeth as his wife, not when her mother was the most celebrated madam in town. She didn’t care so much for herself; she’d given up hope for a respectable marriage at this point in her life. But Sarah. Poor, dear, beautiful Sarah.
“You may call me Annabeth.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Annabeth Smith.”
“Smith.” The silky, ironic tone had a dangerous note underneath. “Not very inventive.”
Annabeth stared straight into Hunter’s glittering eyes. His expression had grown fierce, ruthless even. A man on a mission, determined to get answers by any means necessary.
She forced herself to think fast, to sort through every possible solution to the threat he presented to her and the child she loved as her own.
What if he wanted to take Sarah away?
A chill ran up her spine.
There had to be a way to forestall the inevitable. But Annabeth couldn’t make her mind work properly, not with Hunter’s gaze locked so securely with hers, waiting, measuring, gauging her every reaction.
He stood over six feet, all broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. And those eyes. Piercing, intense, full of suspicion.
His lips curved at an ironic angle. “Finished with your inspection?”
“I...” She jerked her chin at him. “Almost.”
For a split second, humor filled his gaze. Then he gave her a slow, mocking perusal of his own. “You are looking well, Miss...Smith.”
He was intentionally trying to throw her off balance. Sadly, he was succeeding.
If only he wasn’t so handsome, so masculine, so rugged, so...so...handsome.
“Thank you, Hunter.” She resisted touching her hair, smoothing down the riot of curls she’d not bothered to tame before leaving Charity House. Another mistake on her part. Her desperation had made her careless. All she could do now was grasp for some semblance of control. “You, too, are looking well.”
His big shoulders shifted, flexed and then went still. Dangerously still. She should take care. She knew what Hunter Mitchell was capable of doing when pushed. If even half the stories were to be believed, the man was deadly. Yet beneath the day-old stubble, his chiseled features looked entirely too wholesome for a man who had spent two years in prison for manslaughter.
Could he be trusted?
Was his life of sin behind him?
So many unknowns. Too many to allow her guard to slip.
Why, oh why, had Mattie followed through with her threat to contact him? Why had she ignored Annabeth’s pleas to stay out of the matter?
Her mother would answer for her interference. Later.
For now, Annabeth had a very determined man to appease. No matter what happened next, he could not be allowed to take Sarah away with him.
He’s her father. The thought whispered through Annabeth’s head, filling her with renewed guilt. She’d come here tonight determined to do whatever it took to hide his child from him.
What did that say about her?
That she was cautious? Protective? Or simply selfish?
Silence grew thick in the room, making the air feel heavy, stifling. Even Mattie seemed to be rendered momentarily speechless, her gaze darting between Annabeth and Hunter.
More seconds ticked by. And still, Annabeth couldn’t stop looking into Hunter’s mesmerizing eyes. The impact of all that concentration directed solely on her was like a physical blow. And not entirely unpleasant.
For a brief moment, he looked as agonized as she felt. She wanted to soothe his anguish, to offer him comfort, to—
What was wrong with her?
Hunter was an unsafe man, one who knew her secret.
He could ruin everything she’d built in the past year.
“It’s been a while since we last met,” he said, breaking the silence with his deep, velvety voice.
She nodded. “At least eight years.”
Mattie sprang back to attention, snapping her head from one to the other. “You two have met before?”
“Yes, Mattie.” A slow smile spread across Hunter’s mouth, making him far too appealing. “I am acquainted with your daughter.”
“But...” Mattie released a hiss, the sound equal parts hostility and warning. “That’s impossible.”
Annabeth understood her mother’s shock. Through the years, Mattie had shielded her from men like Hunter.
“How...how did you two meet?” Mattie didn’t bother hiding her horror at such a prospect, or her outrage. “Where? When? I demand to know every detail.”
A sigh leaked out of Annabeth. “Does it matter now?”
“Yes.” That one word, spoken through clenched teeth, said so much. “It matters a great deal, Annabeth.”
She supposed so, at least from Mattie’s perspective. Her mother had worked very hard to protect Annabeth, sending her far away to school where she could learn the precepts of Christian charity and proper behavior. No drinking allowed. No gambling. And definitely no friendly acquaintances with gunslingers recently released from prison.
Bad character corrupts good morals.
A noble ideal, to be sure, straight from the Bible.
But life at Miss Lindsey’s had proved just as hazardous as the one Annabeth would have had in Denver, the people just as unforgiving once the truth had come out about her mother. She’d been guilty by association. Her dream of respectability gone, gone, gone. Her reputation not quite in tatters, but close enough to warrant leaving Boston for good.
“Annabeth.” Mattie crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “I am waiting for an answer. Where did you meet this man?”
Despite the tension of the moment, Annabeth had to fight back a smile. Now he was this man.
Oh, the irony. Hunter Mitchell wouldn’t even be in this room if Mattie hadn’t contacted him.
Annabeth cast a quick glance in his direction. The expression in his eyes was kind now, encouraging, reminding her of the first time they’d met. She’d been more than a little dazzled by the attractive, broad-shouldered rancher her sister had married so impetuously. He’d been twenty-one at the time, more man than boy, full of charm and humor and determined to save Maria from herself.
Much had changed since then. Everything had changed.
“Annabeth. Stop staring at the man this very instant, and answer my question.”
She sighed again. “We’ve met twice before tonight. The first time, a few days after he married Maria.” He’d taken them shopping and had been so patient, so generous, even to her. “We met again at Maria’s funeral.”
“Her funeral?” Mattie’s stunned expression precipitated her sinking into a nearby chair. “I forbade you to go.”
Annabeth remembered the day well. She’d been fifteen at the time, home from school on holiday, and saddened over her sister’s death, a sister she’d hardly known, who’d been born the daughter of Mattie’s bitter rival, Emma Bradley. Her mother had been adamant Annabeth stay away from the funeral.
She’d gone, anyway.
“Maria deserved to have family present.”
She’d been glad she’d gone, too. Only one other person had attended the funeral besides Annabeth. Maria’s estranged husband, Hunter.
“Family?” Mattie spat out the word in derision. “She was that horrible woman’s daughter.”
“She was my sister.”
“Your half sister. She had no relation to me.”
“Regardless, Maria was always good to me,” Annabeth defended. “She was my blood kin. I loved her and she loved me.” Turning to look at Hunter, she added, “She loved you, too.”
He showed no reaction to the declaration, other than a careful narrowing of his eyes. “Did you know about the child when we met at the funeral?”
The question brought them back to the real issue at hand. Hunter might have been kind to her, once, long ago, when they were both much younger. But she knew what sort of man he’d become since then. Lawless, tough, a member of a ruthless gang.
Tread carefully, Annabeth.
“No, I didn’t know about Sarah at the time,” she answered truthfully. “Maria kept her existence a secret from me, too.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
So had Annabeth. She’d been terribly hurt when she’d discovered the truth. But that hadn’t stopped her from building a life with Sarah once she’d discovered her niece’s existence. A safe, respectable existence now threatened by this man’s inopportune arrival.
How had matters gotten so quickly out of hand?
“Who knows what was in Maria’s head at the time of her death.” Annabeth closed her eyes against the image of the last time she’d seen her sister alive. Her beauty gone, the sunken cheeks and eyes, the despair. “She was sick, Hunter, and delirious most of the time in her final days.”
“Yet she was lucid enough to send the child to Charity House instead of telling me about her.” Hunter’s voice cut through the room like a dagger. “I wonder why.”
Didn’t he know? “She was protecting Sarah, from you.”
“From me.” He spoke softly, his amber eyes lit with raw emotion.
“By the time she became ill you weren’t exactly a model of good behavior.”
“True.”
Annabeth sighed at the regret in his voice, and the remorse. Such remorse. Had he changed?
Dare she hope?
“I understand why Maria didn’t tell me about the child, but why didn’t she tell you?”
Annabeth lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps she was protecting Sarah from me, too.”
“You? No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”
“What could I have done for her at the time? I was a child myself, spoiled and selfish and—”
“I don’t remember you that way.”
He didn’t? How did he remember her? Had he thought of her through the years like she’d thought of him? Did he...
No. Oh, no. She could not let down her guard like this. “I was certainly too young to raise a child by myself.”
“Perhaps.” He fell silent then.
So did Annabeth.
Mattie eyed them both, gave a little sigh, then entered the conversational void with gusto. “Hunter, you must know it’s not too late to change the situation. You can retrieve your daughter from Charity House and start fresh. You can—”
He raised a hand to silence her. “Stay out of this, Mattie.”
She scowled. “I’m only trying to help.”
“Yes, yes.” He tossed a dismissive flick of his fingers in her direction. “Now hush. I need a moment to think.”
“Of course.” Mattie pressed her lips tightly together and, surprisingly, didn’t speak again.
The groove between Hunter’s eyes dug deep, his mind clearly working through the various revelations of the past few moments.
Maybe, when he thought the matter through to the end, he wouldn’t want the responsibility of a child.
Oh, Lord, please. Let him walk away tonight.
Spearing his fingers through his hair, Hunter paced the room with hard, clipped steps. Back and forth he went, moving with the lethal grace of a large, menacing cat. Every few steps his hands clenched into fists, as though he were trying to control his pent-up emotions.
Understandable.
While he continued walking off his thoughts, Annabeth followed his progress with her eyes.
He’d changed since she’d seen him last and none of the changes were for the worse. His lean, long-legged body had filled out with the muscles of a man used to physical labor. His skin was a little weathered, and his hair had darkened to a rich, sandy-blond, the tips burnished by the sun.
He was dressed in stark black from head to toe. And even without a pair of six-shooters strapped to his hips, he had the swagger of a gunslinger. His square jaw, defined features and the shadow of a beard made him look threatening.
A formidable foe under any circumstance.
Her rebel heart found that bit of insight beyond exciting. Not that she’d actually choose to pursue a relationship with a man like him, but she could certainly allow her mind to...wonder. Perhaps she had a little more of her mother in her than she cared to admit.
A hideous discovery that couldn’t possibly be true.
Unused to giving up control of a situation for long, Mattie rose from her chair and stepped into Hunter’s direct path. “Yes, well, facts are facts. You have a daughter. You must take on the responsibility of raising her and—”
“No.” Annabeth rushed forward, moving in front of her mother, fighting desperately for the right words to steer Hunter away from what Mattie suggested. “You can’t just show up and claim Sarah as your child. She doesn’t even know you.”
“An oversight I plan to rectify immediately.”
“But—” Think, Annabeth, think. “She’s happy at Charity House. It’s the only home she’s ever known. She has friends there, people who love her, people who care for her.”
“People like you?”
“Yes. People like me. Please, Hunter.” She reached for his arm, then pulled her hand back before making contact. “Think this through. Now is not the time for hasty decisions.”
“No. It’s not.” He looked torn, confused and maybe—dare she hope?—ready to concede.
Could it be this easy?
Annabeth pressed her advantage. “What can a man like you offer a nine-year-old little girl?”
“Family,” he whispered after a long pause. “I can give her a real family.”
Of course.
Of course.
Annabeth shut her eyes against a surge of panic. She’d forgotten who this man really was, and where he came from.
Regardless of his lawless ways and time spent in prison, Hunter was a member of a prosperous ranching family that included both parents, loads of brothers and sisters and a former U.S. marshal thrown in for good measure. The Mitchells personified respectability and, better yet, were a close-knit group. They would welcome Sarah into their midst without question. And love her unconditionally.
An ideal solution from any angle.
Unless, of course, Hunter chose not to return to his family’s ranch. Unless he took Sarah to some unknown destination, to live among unknown people.
Annabeth couldn’t take that risk. “You don’t even know she’s yours.”
She was grasping for any argument now. She knew that, felt the shame of it. But Sarah’s future was at stake. And Annabeth was desperate to protect her niece as best she could. She owed that much to the sister she’d lost before truly knowing her.
“Not mine? That’s easy enough to determine.” He pushed past her and headed toward the exit, seemingly convinced one look at Sarah would settle the matter.
Which, of course, it would.
“Wait. Just wait.” She caught his arm and was stunned at the strength of the hard muscles beneath her fingertips, like a rock, solid and unyielding.
“Let go, Annabeth.”
She released him at once. “You can’t possibly think to see her tonight.”
Brows lifted, voice low and rough, he said, “Because?”
She really had to spell it out? That alone proved how ill prepared he was to take care of Sarah on his own. “Because it’s nearly midnight.” She swept her hand toward the clock on the mantelpiece to make her point. “She’s been asleep for hours.”
“Asleep for hours.” He cracked a smile, as if amused by his mistake. Glory. Annabeth couldn’t deny the man was devastatingly attractive when he smiled like that.
She almost sighed. Almost. There was too much at stake to show weakness now.
“Oh, honestly, you two are acting worse than children. Step aside, Hunter.”
His big shoulders shifted and then Mattie appeared from behind him. When Hunter didn’t move completely out of her way she shoved and pushed for position. Satisfied at last, she slapped her hands on her hips and scowled at them both.
“You—” she pointed her finger at Annabeth “—will not stand in this man’s way.”
Annabeth opened her mouth to argue, but Mattie had already spun around to face Hunter. “And you—” she poked him in the chest “—will wait until morning to go to Charity House. It’s the polite thing to do.”
“You’re right.” He conceded quickly, graciously. “I will follow your advice and wait until tomorrow to meet my daughter.”
A momentary glimmer of pleasure flashed in his eyes, sending another burst of panic through Annabeth.
What if he wanted to do right by Sarah? Could she stop him? Should she stop him?
He represented everything she distrusted in a man. He was a former outlaw, a gunslinger, and had spent two years in prison for killing a man. By no stretch of the imagination could he be considered respectable.
Then again, he’d served his sentence. Didn’t that mean he deserved a second chance? How could Annabeth claim to be a Christian and not wish for Hunter to have a fresh start?
She studied his face, searching his gaze for something that would ease her mind.
He looked tired, ready to drop on his feet.
Clearly, he needed rest. And maybe someone to care, someone to understand what he’d endured these past two years. No condemnation. No judgment.
A portion of her trepidation subsided, replaced with something softer and far more complicated. Perhaps Hunter would turn out to be a decent man, after all. Wasn’t that more important than something as tenuous as respectability?
His appearance in their lives might be a good thing.
Faith. Annabeth just needed to have faith that all would turn out well.
“You will stay here, tonight, Hunter, free of charge. I’ll accept no argument on the matter.” Mattie pulled him toward the door leading into her brothel. “We’ll set you up with a hot bath first. Then I’ll send one of my girls to—”
“No.” His refusal was immediate, too immediate to be questioned. “I appreciate the offer, Mattie.” He smiled down at her, even as he extricated himself from her hold. “But I’ll find my own accommodations for the evening.”
“If you change your mind—”
“I won’t.” He inclined his head. “Thank you for telling me about my daughter.”
“How could I not?” Mattie’s gaze traveled to Annabeth and stuck. “It was the right thing to do.”
Annabeth swallowed back a retort. They both knew Mattie hadn’t written Hunter out of the goodness of her heart. She’d done so to protect Annabeth, unwittingly endangering Sarah in the process.
How could Mattie have been so shortsighted? So reckless?
They didn’t know Hunter Mitchell, not really. He could turn out to be a hard, cruel man bent on destroying himself and those around him.
The responsibility of protecting her niece had never felt so heavy. Whatever it took, no matter what she had to do, Annabeth would protect Sarah. Even if that meant keeping the child from her own father.
Chapter Three
Hunter watched the steady stream of emotions advance across Annabeth’s expressive face. He was able to track her thoughts easily enough. She didn’t trust him to take care of his own daughter. Not that he blamed her. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself.
How many times had he almost broken free of his past, only to be dragged back, sometimes willingly, sometimes not?
This time would be different.
Because this time he wanted something new, something within reach, something he’d never really wanted before—stability. Not only for himself, but for his daughter, as well.
I have a daughter.
Tenderness filled him, followed by an unbearable churning of the most terrifying emotion of all. Hope. That dangerous, slippery belief that all would turn out well in the end.
Perhaps, for once, it would. Hunter simply had to believe. He had to do his part, then let go and trust the Lord with the details.
His biggest obstacle was blinking up at him with those large, round eyes. Annabeth’s gaze had turned a startling shade of lavender in the muted light and Hunter’s gut clenched with...what? What was this feeling? Anticipation? An awakening?
Something far less pure?
A distraction he didn’t need right now.
Ignoring her for the moment, he turned his attention on Mattie. She smiled up at him, the gesture full of warmth. Few people knew this softer side of Mattie Silks. He smiled back, grateful she’d taken the time to contact him. He knew she’d done so for her own purposes, but the result was the same.
Partially to see what she would do, and partially out of impulse, he yanked the ornery woman into a hug so tight her feet lifted off the floor.
“You rogue.” She twisted and tugged and came up sputtering. “Put me down this instant.”
Grinning at her reaction, he set her back on her feet. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Mattie.” He tapped her on the nose. “You may count on it.”
“Yes, yes.” Cheeks flushed, she dismissed him with a curt shake of her head. “Go on with you now.”
Satisfied in the knowledge that he’d finally found a way to disconcert the unflappable Mattie Silks, he gave her a formal bow. Politeness personified, with a hint of mockery around the edges.
The woman deserved to lose some of her prideful composure. She’d contacted him in a letter, with the shocking news he had a nine-year-old daughter, leaving him to wonder for a full month what to do with the information.
He still wasn’t sure.
What he did know was that Mattie had insinuated herself in the matter for a very personal reason. Her daughter, Annabeth. Sarah’s aunt.
Hunter turned his attention back to the girl.
No. Not a girl, he reminded himself, a full-grown woman, one with a delicate bone structure, soft curves and a rich, throaty voice. Something about her calmed his soul. Even Jane hadn’t been able to do that, not for want of trying.
Blinking at the betraying thought, he ran a hand over his face. He was bone-tired, and surely that explained the disturbing direction his mind had taken.
As if somehow sensing his agitation, Annabeth touched his arm. “Come, Hunter.” He felt himself relax beneath her soft voice. “Let me walk you out.”
When had she developed that confidence in her manner? The last time he’d seen her she’d barely looked him in the eye.
Now she held his gaze with conviction.
“All right,” he said, realizing she still had something to say to him, something she didn’t want her mother to hear.
Hunter found himself intrigued.
Walking into the hallway ahead of him, Annabeth stopped short and looked over her shoulder. “I’ll only be a moment,” she said to her mother. “When I return, we’ll...talk.”
“I’ll be right here, darling.” Mattie Silks in an accommodating mood?
Curious.
“This way, Hunter.” Without waiting to see if he followed, Annabeth headed out. She directed him along a narrow corridor, past a row of closed doors and out into the moonlit night.
He drew in a lungful of fresh air, looked to his right then to his left. They were standing on the deserted street directly behind the brothel. A sense of foreboding took hold. Again, he felt eyes on him as if someone was silently tracking him, biding their time before pouncing.
He’d made enemies, but most were either serving their own prison sentences, or too busy watching their own backs to come looking for him.
A low-level hum of chatter, music and laughter flowed from somewhere in the near distance, probably from one of saloons down the lane, or a rival brothel. Another quick check of the surrounding area and Hunter relaxed, slightly. Other than a stray dog pawing at the ground, they were completely alone. No one was waiting for him, nor were there prying eyes to misunderstand this late-night meeting.
Clearly, Annabeth didn’t want anyone to see them together. Not that Hunter could blame her. With a mother like Mattie Silks and an outlaw father known as one of the meanest cutthroats in the territory, the woman had a lot to hide from the world. Cavorting with an ex-convict, no matter the reason, wouldn’t do her reputation a lick of good.
He looked down at his companion, noted how her troubled gaze went through a series of minor contortions. At the sight of her obvious worry, he felt an unfamiliar need to offer comfort, to let her know he wasn’t here to hurt her.
He touched her arm. “Annabeth.”
She took her time looking up at him. The ethereal beauty of her upturned face took his breath away. Leached of color in the silky moonlight, her exquisite features could have been carved from marble.
He could hardly bear to hold her gaze. He wanted to smooth away her concerns. But he didn’t know what they were, not entirely, and as he’d never been a gentle man, he knew nothing of tenderness or affection.
Perhaps she was concerned he would reveal her personal connection to Mattie to the rest of Denver. In that, at least, he could ease her mind. “Annabeth, I—”
“Hunter, I—”
They both fell silent.
“You first,” he said.
She took a quick, shallow breath and forged ahead. “I meant what I said earlier. Sarah has a good life at Charity House, safe and respectable. With me living there as well and teaching at the school, she’s not on her own. She’s...”
Her words trailed off, as though she wasn’t sure how much more to reveal.
Hunter smiled at her, the gesture inviting her to continue.
She did not.
He waited her out, taking note of how the soft glow from the streetlamp brushed her dark hair with golden light. For a long, tense moment, her eyes flickered over him, too, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t frightened of him, that much was evident, but she was wary.
For the first time since she’d barged into Mattie’s private rooms unannounced Hunter considered what his presence meant to Annabeth. How involved was she in Sarah’s day-to-day life?
With me living there and teaching at the school...
“How long have you been at Charity House?”
“Almost a year.”
She had more to say, but he saw her hesitation as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Go on, Annabeth.” He gentled his voice to a mere whisper. “Say your piece.”
“About tomorrow. I...don’t want you upsetting Sarah. I...” Not quite meeting his gaze, she drew to her full height before continuing. “What I mean to say is that she isn’t expecting you.”
Easy enough to put right. “Then you’ll tell her I’m coming.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Her chin shot up, her gaze full of challenge, the pose reminiscent of her notorious mother. “The situation is more complicated than that.”
At a loss for a reason behind her hostile tone, he eyed her closely. “Then maybe you should explain the situation to me.”
She braided her fingers together at her waist, a gesture Hunter was coming to recognize as a nervous habit, one that reared whenever she had something unpleasant to say.
He braced himself.
“Sarah doesn’t know she has a father.”
“You haven’t told her about me?” His voice was raw in his own ears. He hadn’t expected this, wasn’t sure how he felt about this new bit of information. Angry?
No. Disappointed.
“Try to understand. I didn’t want to disrupt her life, or give her false hope, in case you didn’t—” she spread her hands in a helpless gesture “—you know, want her.”
Now he was angry. The hot burst of emotion made his breath come in fast, hard spurts. He forced himself to speak slowly, to remember Annabeth didn’t know anything about the man he’d become since the judge had sentenced him to prison. “What made you think I wouldn’t want her?”
She looked pained and stressed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a father didn’t claim responsibility for a child living at Charity House.”
Was she speaking only for the children now, or was she thinking of herself, as well? Her own father had been a Mexican outlaw that hadn’t been known to stick in one place, or remain loyal to one woman, for long.
Hunter’s anger dissipated, turning into something close to sympathy. Considering her past, Annabeth’s reasoning made sense. But this wasn’t about her father. This was about Hunter, and whether or not he would make the moral choice. “Would you have told me about Sarah if Mattie hadn’t done so?”
“I don’t know.” Annabeth lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’d like to think that I would have, eventually, but I just don’t know for certain.”
Appreciating her honesty, Hunter absorbed her words. For all intents and purposes, Annabeth had conspired to keep his daughter a secret from him and would have done so indefinitely if not for her mother’s interference. Did he blame her?
No, he didn’t. He knew countless men who’d walked away from far less responsibility than a child. At one point in his life, Hunter had been one of them.
That was then. This was now.
A swell of emotion spread through him, seeping into the darkest corners of his soul. After all he’d lost, dare he hope for this new beginning, this second chance to get it right?
He had to try, had to go at this logically, rationally. Anything was possible with God. Or as his mother was fond of saying: We can’t out-sin the Lord’s grace, or His forgiveness.
A good reminder.
Hunter needed to be alone, to think, to plan, to work through the particulars of what came next. “I’ll call at Charity House first thing in the morning.”
“Better make it after school,” she said. “Say, four o’clock?”
“Good enough.”
He turned to go.
“Hunter, wait.”
He stopped, but didn’t pivot back around.
“I think it best we don’t tell Sarah who you are, at least not at first.”
It was a good idea, a wise suggestion, all things considered. However, a part of him rebelled. He’d spent the past two years being told when to wake, when to work, when to eat. He’d had enough. “I’ll make that decision when I see the child for myself.”
“Hunter, please.” She hurried around him. “You can’t just show up out of the blue, claim a daughter you never knew you had and then make promises you can’t be sure to keep.”
He bristled at her unwarranted accusation. Hunter never made promises he couldn’t keep. Except once. Two people had ended up dead, one an innocent, one a very bad man.
Beneath his calm exterior, Hunter burned with remembered rage.
This time would be different, he told himself. Because he was different.
No more death, no more loss, no more bad decisions. “I didn’t say anything about making promises.”
“But—”
“One step at a time, Annabeth.” He flexed his fingers, stopped short of making a fist. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”
“One step at a time.” She repeated his words through tight lips. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan.”
He moved a fraction closer, inexplicably drawn to her despite the tension flowing between them.
Chin high, she held her ground. For three long seconds. Then, she scrambled backward. One step. Two.
Hunter had seen that same look in many gazes through the years, some he’d deliberately cultivated. Annabeth thought him a threat.
She was right.
If Sarah was his daughter, no one—not even her devoted aunt—would keep him from claiming her as his own.
* * *
Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Annabeth watched Hunter disappear around the corner of her mother’s brothel. Nothing had prepared her for her first encounter with the man after all these years. She’d expected to meet a hardened criminal, an outlaw who’d earned his place in prison.
Annabeth had been wrong.
Ice-cold dread shivered across her skin. Hunter Mitchell was a man full of remorse. And hope. Yes, she’d seen the hope in him. It was that particular emotion that made her the most troubled. Ruthless and cruel, she could handle.
But a man with a desire to do the right thing?
How did she fight against that?
Was she supposed to even try?
She shivered, and not merely because Hunter could take Sarah away from her. In the depth of his eyes Annabeth had seen an aching loneliness that had called to her, one human to another, two lost souls searching for their place in a world that had dealt them cruel blows.
Now she was being fanciful.
Annabeth was never fanciful. She was practical, down to the bone. In that, at least, she was her mother’s daughter.
Speaking of Mattie...
Annabeth spun on her heel. Retracing her steps, she paced through the darkened corridors of the brothel, back into Mattie’s private suite of rooms. She drew in a soothing pull of air and then shut the door behind her with a controlled snap.
One more calming breath and Annabeth turned to face her mother.
Mattie had moved from her earlier position by the bookshelves. She now stood next to the fireplace. Her stance was deceptively casual, while her gaze remained sharp and unwavering. She had the attitude of a woman whose high opinion of herself far outweighed her place in the community. That regal bearing, along with her business acumen, had kept her at the top of her chosen profession for thirty years.
Annabeth resisted the urge to sigh. If only Mattie had used her many talents for legitimate purposes, maybe then Annabeth’s shame at having a madam for a mother would not exist. Nor, perhaps, would she crave respectability so desperately, to the point of setting aside all her other hopes and dreams.
A familiar ache tugged at her heart.
Oh, she knew Mattie loved her, without question or reservation. It was that knowledge that turned Annabeth’s shame back on herself.
The Bible taught that she should be sympathetic and love as Christ loved, to be compassionate and think of others before herself. That included her mother.
“Did Hunter get off all right?”
“Yes, fine.” And not at all the point. “How could you have contacted him, when I specifically asked you not to do so?”
“He’s the child’s father.” Mattie lifted her chin in defiance. “He deserved to know of her existence.”
Another bout of shame took hold. She’d been willing to keep a man’s own daughter from him, never mind the reason. “Maria didn’t want him to know about Sarah.”
“She didn’t want you to know about her, either.”
True. Annabeth had found out quite by accident. She’d been home from Miss Lindsey’s less than a week, humiliated and at a loss about what to do with her life after her expulsion from her position at the school. Mattie had insisted she return to Boston and make her fresh start there, going so far as to threaten to cut off financial support if Annabeth didn’t abide by her wishes.
At the time, Annabeth hadn’t seen the point. One city was as good as another to start over, and who needed Mattie’s money, anyway?
She’d been so naive, so headstrong.
Following that initial argument, there’d been many more heated discussions on the subject. A slip of the tongue on Mattie’s part, a bit of investigation on Annabeth’s part, and she’d discovered Sarah’s existence. One look at the child had been enough to give her a new purpose in life. And so she’d set out to provide a stable home for her niece.
Unfortunately, Mattie had followed through with her threat and had pulled all financial support. Annabeth had been forced to take a job teaching at Charity House. Neither of them had expected Annabeth to fall in love with her new life.
But now, with Hunter’s appearance, all her hard work of the past year stood on the precipice of collapsing.
Fear swept through her. “You should not have interfered,” she said again, more forceful than before.
“I stand by my decision.”
“He might take her away with him.”
Mattie dismissed the comment with a sniff. “It would be within his rights.”
Yes. It would. Hunter was Sarah’s father; Annabeth merely her aunt. Her half aunt, as Mattie constantly reminded her.
Giving into despair, Annabeth pressed her back against the shut door, slid to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest.
“I can’t lose her.” She tangled her fingers in her skirts. “I just can’t.”
“I understand, far better than you realize. But listen to me, Annabeth.” Mattie tried to smile, but her blue eyes, the same color and shape as Annabeth’s, had turned earnest, anxious, a little desperate. “I did not send you to Boston for an education alone. I sent you there to provide you with a better life than the one I could offer you here in Denver. No one knows me there, who I am, what I am. It was supposed to be your chance for a clean break.”
Sighing, Annabeth lowered her forehead to her knees. “I know all that. But things didn’t turn out so well, did they?”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t still go back and—”
“Mother, please.”
In a move completely out of character, Mattie joined her on floor. “You’re my daughter, Annabeth.” She squeezed her arm. “You know I love you.”
Annabeth swiveled her head to look at her bossy, annoying, pigheaded mother and a roll of affection spun in her stomach. Why did their relationship have to be so complicated? “I know you do. I...love you, too.”
The words were far easier to say than she’d expected. Regardless of what Mattie did for a living, she was Annabeth’s mother. Flawed and the source of much embarrassment, she’d done her best. What more could a daughter ask from a mother?
“I sent for Hunter for your protection. You’ll ruin your life over that child if you don’t have a care.”
Annabeth knew that, too. “I’m twenty-three years old.” Long past the first blush of youth. “I’m quite capable of knowing what’s best for me. And contrary to what you think, I’m happy.”
“You’re wasting your education.”
“How can you, of all people, say such a thing? I’m helping break the cycle of sin in those children’s lives.”
“I—”
“No, hear me out. I’m providing a solid, Christian education for boys and girls in desperate need of love and unconditional acceptance. It’s really no different than if I’d stayed on at Miss Lindsey’s and continued teaching there.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Annabeth.” Mattie spoke in her most patronizing voice, the one she reserved for rebellious employees. “You’re at Charity House because of Sarah.”
It might have started that way, but Annabeth had changed. Her desires and goals had changed, too. Where once, everything had been about her, she now acted for the benefit of others.
A blessing she couldn’t have imagined a year ago.
“If Hunter takes his child away with him,” Mattie continued, “you could return to Boston and marry a good man.”
“So that’s what this is all about? That’s why you contacted Hunter? You’re counting on him to take Sarah away, thereby giving me no reason to stay on at Charity House?”
“It’s the best solution for all parties.”
How could her mother look so casual, so unconcerned, when her interference was tearing apart the life Annabeth had made for herself?
“What if I never go back to Boston?”
“Now, Annabeth, let’s not be too hasty. You could still—”
“What if, Mother, I don’t leave Charity House after Sarah is gone?” Her voice hitched as she spoke, the reality of all she was about to lose settling over her like a millstone tied to her neck. “What if I choose to stay and teach at the school indefinitely?”
Mattie’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Oh, but she would. Not to spite her mother, but to fulfill her calling, a calling she hadn’t realized existed a year ago. Better still, she’d achieved a level of respectability she’d thought lost to her for good.
“This discussion is over.” Annabeth jumped to her feet.
Mattie followed suit, a little slower, but with surprising agility for a woman her age.
“Move aside, Mother.” Annabeth looked pointedly at the door behind Mattie’s head. “I have an early day tomorrow.”
“Now, Annabeth, don’t do anything rash. I know Hunter better than you do. Don’t make the mistake in thinking he won’t fight for what belongs to him. And like it or not—” Mattie leaned forward “—Sarah belongs to him.”
“Is that supposed to frighten me?”
“I’m simply warning you to be careful. If the man wants to claim his daughter, there’s nothing you can do to stop him.”
Perhaps. But he hadn’t taken Sarah away yet. There was still time for Annabeth to prepare.
One thing was certain. Hunter Mitchell knew nothing about raising a nine-year-old daughter on his own. All Annabeth had to do was make him realize that before it was too late.
It was all very simple, really. If Hunter wanted to be reasonable, she would be reasonable. But if he wanted a fight, well then, she would give him the fight of his life.
Chapter Four
Hunter jolted awake from a restless sleep. His pulse scrambled through his veins as if he’d been running all night, heading toward a shadowy image in the distance. He reached out even now, unable to stop himself, but came away empty.
Only a dream, he told himself, the same, mind-numbing nightmare he’d had every night since Jane’s murder.
Would he ever find peace? Would he ever be free of the guilt? Did he deserve such mercy?
Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he lowered his head back to the pillow and shut his eyes.
The sounds in the room slowly separated from one another, each one becoming distinct and specific. The rhythmic tick of a clock. The slap of a shutter banging against a brick wall. A lone coyote howling for its lost mate.
Hunter hauled in another pull of air. The scent of clean linens stood in stark contrast to the usual stench of the state prison. Memories of the past week surged. Once he’d been released he’d traveled north as quickly as possible, stopping only long enough to earn the money necessary to make the journey to Mattie’s brothel and beyond.
It was the beyond part that had him sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. The gray dawn light had spread its fingers of gloom into every corner of the room. Long shadows danced sinisterly along the walls, shivering across the white plaster like dark secrets woven inside whispers.
Whispers. Secrets. Lies.
The events of the previous evening slammed through his mind. Mattie Silks and her exposure of Maria’s duplicity. Annabeth’s unexpected arrival. The shocking reality of meeting again the girl he remembered better than he should, all grown up, her exotic beauty and soft nature enough to make a man stop and evaluate every wrong choice he’d ever made.
By all appearances, Annabeth was sweet and innocent, yet full of backbone. Fiercely loyal, too. During their brief encounter, she’d made Hunter’s heart ache for something...more. Something he could never have. Stability was the best he could hope for now.
Or so he told himself. Annabeth Silks had surprised him. She’d made him feel things he’d thought long dead, things he had no right feeling.
Leave it alone, Hunter.
Solid advice. But he couldn’t seem to shove the mesmerizing Annabeth Silks out of his mind. He wanted to know her more. Wanted to know where she’d been these past eight years. Was she at Charity House solely because of Sarah? Or had something else driven her to the orphanage?
Too many unanswered questions. Too many uncertainties.
The fact that Annabeth was heavily involved in his daughter’s life might make matters complicated.
Hunter was used to complicated.
Frowning, he tossed off the covers and made his way to the window overlooking the street below. Hands flat on the glass, he squinted into the colorless morning mist. He could just make out the shapes of vendors setting up their wares for the day. A pair of dogs darted between the carts, probably scanning for fallen scraps of food.
He turned his back on the scene, his mind moving to more important matters. Today marked his first step toward making a new life for himself, because today he would meet his daughter.
His daughter.
Pleasure surged from the bottom of his soul, adding just enough force to pound ruthlessly behind his ears. He still had hours before he could make the trek across town to Charity House. He knew exactly how he would fill the time.
Once he’d washed, shaved and was sufficiently fed, Hunter stood directly across the street from his destination. He studied the unassuming brick building with growing unease. Even from this distance he was able to read the words embossed on the plaque nailed to the door. Sheriff’s Office and Jailhouse.
He’d come full circle. But this time he had nothing to hide, and no sin to atone for. He’d served his time.
Yet he still felt as if he was being watched, hunted by some dark force. He checked his perimeter, rolled his shoulders and glanced to the heavens.
The sun had fully risen in the sky, shining so bright Hunter’s eyes watered, and his head throbbed. Even his throat ached as he swallowed the foul stench of Denver’s underbelly that wafted on the cool, March breeze.
Nothing had changed on this side of town. A depressing discovery. He jammed his hat on his head, then froze at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind.
Instinct had him reaching for the gun at his hip, the gun he hadn’t worn in years. Forcing his fingers to relax, Hunter let out a slow hiss of air and reminded himself he had nothing to hide, nothing to defend. His outlaw days were over.
“Looking for me?”
At the sound of that low, amused drawl, Hunter spun around to face the man he’d come to see. Trey Scott. Smiling that half smile of his. On any other man, the gesture would have softened his face. Not Trey. There was nothing soft about the seasoned lawman. His hair was still black as midnight, his eyes nearly as dark beneath the brim of his hat, his presence as menacing as ever.
Hunter remained motionless, refusing to give an inch of ground, or to show any sign of weakness. Trey did the same.
This was a ritual of theirs, this stare down. Welcoming the familiarity of the routine, Hunter settled in, keeping his mind on his goal—pay off the debt he owed this man. Not in money. But in words.
Money would have been easier, cleaner.
Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Hunter flexed his fingers. “Sheriff,” he said in a bland tone. “Been a while.”
“Too long, by my estimation.”
Hunter didn’t disagree.
He hadn’t seen Trey since the other man had handed him over to the U.S. marshal assigned to escort him to the Colorado State Prison in Canon City. In the weeks leading up to his trial, Trey had shown Hunter what it looked like to live as a man of integrity, what it meant to show mercy where it wasn’t deserved. To understand God’s forgiveness in all its infinite wonder.
The irony that Trey had made such an impact on his life wasn’t lost on Hunter. Logan, Hunter’s estranged brother, looked up to this man, as well. They’d served together as U.S. Marshals for years, with Trey teaching Logan everything he knew about law enforcement. On principle alone, Trey should have been Hunter’s enemy. Instead, the sheriff had turned into his greatest ally during the trial and his confidant in the endless hours of waiting for a verdict.
Hunter owed the man his life.
He’d never be able to repay him, not in worldly measures. Nevertheless, he was here to try. But first...
“I have something of yours I need to return.”
Trey nodded solemnly, showing no surprise at this. “Come with me.”
The other man stepped off the sidewalk into the busy street. Hunter kept easy pace with the sheriff as they wove through the morning traffic. At the threshold of the jailhouse, Trey swung open the door, then stepped back, indicating Hunter should proceed ahead of him.
He paused a fraction of a beat, then entered the building first. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the stark interior. Cold, bleak memories took hold. He’d spent a lot of time in this jailhouse, specifically the cell on the far left.
Like always, a fire crackled and spit in the black stove on his right. The air beyond the fire’s reach shimmered with cold, all the way into the dank, empty cells.
“Slow week?”
“Blessedly slow.” Trey shifted around him.
Rubbing his palms together, Hunter moved deeper in the room, too, then dropped a cursory glance at the desk cluttered with unruly piles of paper. “Still ignoring your reports?”
Trey let out a low laugh. “What can I say? Got an image to uphold.”
Brow arched, Hunter cut his friend a speaking glance. They both knew Trey’s legendary reputation had nothing to do with filing late reports.
Trey simply studied Hunter in return, with that quiet, reflective air of his. “This your first stop?”
“No.” Hunter shook his head. “I went to see Mattie Silks last night.”
Trey stared at him, infuriatingly calm as always.
Hunter stared back, reminding himself—again—that he had nothing to hide. Even though his past was littered with the wreckage of his mistakes, Hunter was a new man.
A changed man.
Still, he waited for Trey’s expression to fill with disappointment, waited for him to say something about the ills of stopping in a brothel his first night in town. But Trey’s gaze never changed. There was no lecture forthcoming, no leaping to conclusions. The complete lack of censure proved he had more faith in Hunter than Hunter had in himself.
“That couldn’t have been easy,” Trey said at last.
“You have no idea.” Hunter paused, remembering. No, it hadn’t been easy at all, walking into Mattie’s last night. There’d been painful moments of self-recriminations, a lot of regret, guilt, raw emotions he hadn’t been able to sort through then, or now. “I went to Mattie’s because of this.”
He dug in his jacket and pulled out the letter the interfering woman had sent him last month—bless her ornery soul.
Trey accepted the paper without looking down.
“Go ahead,” Hunter urged. “Read it.”
Trey lowered his gaze. A moment later, he drew in a sharp breath, looked up, then back down at the letter.
He continued reading in silence, flipped over the paper and scanned the back. When he was finished, he refolded the letter along the well-worn creases and handed it back to Hunter.
A thousand words passed between them, reminding Hunter of the last day he’d been in this building, and their final conversation. He’d spilled his guts to this man, admitting his deepest anger at God for forsaking him, at Jane for dying on him. Most of all, he’d raged over the dream that had vanished with the death of his infant son and murder of his wife a few days later.
After too many years on the wrong side of the law, Jane had been Hunter’s chance for a new, wholesome life that had lasted barely two years.
Trey was the only person in the world who knew Hunter’s desperate wish for a family of his own, why he’d married Jane in the first place, and why he’d sought revenge for her murder. He wanted the stability he’d denied himself for years, but had been snatched from him so ruthlessly. Now, here he was, on the brink of achieving that dream, after all. Answered prayer, if in a different form than he’d ever dreamed.
“I take it you had no idea about the child until Mattie contacted you.”
“None.”
“You’re sure she’s yours?”
The question of the hour. “Not completely. But Mattie claims the child resembles me enough to eliminate any doubt.”
He went on to explain the circumstances of his brief first marriage, leaving nothing out, including Maria abandoning her vows to return to her former life.
“So the child might not be yours.”
Hunter hesitated, fighting off a wave of alarm. What if Sarah wasn’t his daughter? What then? “I’ll know more when I see her for myself.”
His mouth pressed in a thin line, Trey pulled out a chair and indicated Hunter take the seat.
By the time he did as requested, Trey had already disappeared through a door behind his desk. He reappeared with a steaming mug of coffee. “You look like you could use this.”
Grateful for the distraction, Hunter took the offered mug and buried his nose in the strong aroma.
Perching on the edge of his desk, Trey dived back into the conversation. “Where’s the child now?”
“Charity House.”
Other than a slight widening of his eyes, Trey didn’t outwardly react to the news. “Then she’s in good hands.”
“Yes.” The relief was still there, a reminder that Maria hadn’t been completely duplicitous. Enough, though, and now Hunter had to build a relationship with a nine-year-old child who didn’t even know he existed.
Temper reared, dark and ugly, but he shoved the emotion down. What good would it do to become angry with Maria? What was done was done. Hunter had to focus on the future, not the past. “I’m heading over to the orphanage this afternoon to meet my daughter.”
The joy was still there, too, riding alongside the relief, reminding Hunter he had a chance to redeem his past, to prove he was more than his mistakes, by becoming a loving, responsible father to his child.
He’d once lost hope of ever achieving such a blessing. He wouldn’t muck up this opportunity.
“You’re going to claim her as your own.” A statement, not a question.
“That’s the plan.”
As soon as he spoke the words, all the tension in his shoulders disappeared. He’d thought long and hard last night, blinking up at the cracked ceiling of his hotel room. His mind had worked through the multitude of problems—and the possibilities—facing him. Hunter still didn’t have a concrete plan of attack, not yet. But there was no doubt he was going to step up and become the child’s father. In every sense of the word.
Assuming, of course, she was his.
His gut roiled. Surely, the child was his.
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Sarah.” Hunter’s heart thumped as he said her name, surreal and yet not at all. “She turned nine years old a few weeks ago.”
Trey fell silent, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were sorting through the faces of every nine-year-old girl in residence at Charity House. The likelihood of Trey knowing Sarah was high. He had several personal connections to the orphanage. Not only was he related to Marc Dupree, Trey’s wife, Katherine, was the custodian of Charity House School.
“There’s only one child around that age named Sarah. But, if I remember correctly—” his eyebrows slammed together “—she’s not alone in this world, nor is she without family.”
“I know. She has an aunt. Annabeth...” Hunter paused, wondering how much Trey knew about Annabeth’s connection to Mattie. Deciding not to risk exposing either woman’s secret, he gave Annabeth’s alias instead of her real name. “...Smith. Her aunt is Annabeth Smith.”
“You know Annabeth? How?” Icy stillness fell over Trey.
“She was Maria’s sister.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t go into the details of how he’d discovered Annabeth’s connection to Mattie Silks. Although he hated lies and had vowed to avoid them at all costs, this particular secret wasn’t his to tell.
“Right. Of course.” Again, Trey’s face crumpled in a look of concentration, and then a spark ignited in his dark eyes. “Annabeth is very devoted to Sarah. Is that going to be a problem?”
Such a loaded question. Such a loaded situation. All of this would be so much easier if Annabeth wasn’t so deeply involved in Sarah’s life. But she was.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” No, that was a lie. “Probably.” Definitely. “All I know for certain is that I’m going to do right by my daughter.”
He was ready for a second chance at a new life. Nobody was going to stand in his way of providing a safe, stable home for his daughter, and himself, not even Sarah’s devoted aunt.
“Noble, to be sure, but let me give you a piece of advice.”
Hunter knew that look in his friend’s eyes. Trey was about to say something profound. Hunter silently prepared himself.
“Think long and hard about what you want, both in the long term and the short, before you go charging over to Charity House and make your claim.”
“Understood.”
“I mean it, Hunter.” Trey leaned forward, hands on his knees, his gaze intent. “Make sure you have a solid idea of what the future looks like in your mind before you start formulating plans. Your actions will impact a lot of people at Charity House, some good some bad.”
“I get it, Trey.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Awash with joy, with terror, with expectancy, he continued, “You’re telling me I need to be in this for the long haul. And whatever I do, make sure I don’t hurt Sarah, or Annabeth, or anyone else at Charity House. That about cover it?”
“I’d say we’re on the same page.”
“Good. And Trey...” Hunter carefully set the mug in his hand on the desk and let out a slow breath of air. “Thank you.”
Trey shrugged. “Happy to help.”
“I wasn’t referring to my current situation, though I certainly appreciate the advice.” Mostly. “I meant, thank you for what you did for me two years ago. You helped settle some things in my mind, including the matter of my salvation.”
“You came to your own conclusions.”
That might be true, but Trey had guided him toward those conclusions. He’d patiently explained the difference between godly justice and worldly justice. He’d explained the notion of giving mercy where it wasn’t deserved, as only a man who’d sought vengeance with his own hands could do. In that, they’d shared a common bond. Trey’s first wife had been brutally murdered by a man as evil as Cole Kincaid.
Trey had moved past his anger at God. An example Hunter wanted to follow but still wasn’t sure how. Not completely.
“I also came here today to return this.” He dipped his hand in one of the inner pockets of his coat and retrieved the small Bible Trey had lent him during the trial. The book was frayed at the spine, nearly falling apart in places.
“I see you spent some time in there.”
Hunter attempted an easy smile. “A bit.”
Giving him a long look, Trey took the Bible, flipped through a few pages at random, then offered it back to Hunter. “Keep it.”
Hunter didn’t overthink the suggestion. He simply accepted the offered gift with a single nod of his head.
They spoke a while longer, both settling into the conversation as they had years ago. The fact that this man regularly chewed up outlaws and spit them out like a used-up wad of tobacco wasn’t something Hunter tended to forget. Not while sitting in the man’s jailhouse.
But Trey was more than a tough, dedicated lawman. He was a family man, too, equally devoted to his wife and three children.
“Our daughter is fifteen now.” He shuddered. Trey Scott actually shuddered. “She was always a handful, even as a child, often one step away from open rebellion, but now she’s downright...difficult.”
Hunter remembered his own sisters at that age. Both had been...difficult, too. “I’m sure it’s just a phase.”
“A phase?” With a visible effort, Trey unclenched his jaw. “A man can certainly hope so.”
Hunter smiled at his friend’s obvious discomfort. Talk of Trey’s daughter brought his mind back to Sarah. Would she hit a phase, too? Would Hunter be ready for that eventuality? Would they navigate Sarah’s teenage years with ease, or awkwardness, or a combination of both?
Something remarkable and completely unexpected moved through him as he pondered the questions running through his mind. Anticipation. Followed immediately by dread.
Hunter’s heart nearly split open at the thought of parenting a female. What did he know about raising a girl? What did he know about parenting at all? His gut spun into a ball of sickening doom. He checked the clock above the door, noted the time and slowly rose to his feet.
He had some serious thinking to do before he made the trek to Charity House. “I should go.”
Trey followed him out of the building. “How long are you in town?”
As long as it takes to win over my daughter. “I haven’t decided.”
“Make it a point to stop back by. Coffee’s always on.”
“I’ll do my best.” He turned to leave.
Trey stopped him. “Hunter. God has given you a well-deserved second chance in life.” Trey clapped him on the back and smiled. “Pray for guidance in the coming days and the Lord will direct your path.”
Translation: keep his head on straight, his eyes on God and his priorities properly aligned.
With that in mind, he left for Charity House.
Chapter Five
By late afternoon, the wind had picked up, swirling cold air beneath Annabeth’s collar as she stood on the front porch. She hardly noticed the discomfort. She was too busy watching Hunter’s approach from halfway down the block.
Just looking at him did something strange to her insides. His walk was all his, a smooth, even gait with easy strides that ate up the ground with remarkable speed. He’d taken off his hat and now held it in his hand, swinging it loosely by his side. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d shoved his fingers through it more than once. Eyes dark with banked emotion added to the whole menacing gunslinger look.
Helpless against the pull of him, Annabeth sighed. Apparently, she had a thing for the whole menacing gunslinger look.
He’s not here for you. She told herself this, repeated it several times, but her heart still skipped a few unwelcome beats. And her head grew far too light for her peace of mind.
A clock from inside the house marked the hour. Four distinct chimes. She’d known he’d arrive on time. Hence the reason she’d taken up her post on the front porch of the orphanage.
Hunter hadn’t noticed her yet. He looked solemn and maybe a little nervous, his gaze darting around as if he was looking for trouble. Did that come from his former life on the run, that constant checking of his surroundings, even on the safest side of town?
For some reason, the thought made her sad. Every muscle in Hunter’s back and shoulders seemed tense. He raked a hand through his sand-colored hair and then opened the short wooden gate with a jerk.
He took a few more steps before his gaze caught hers. He stopped. A silent message filled his amber eyes, one she couldn’t quite decipher. There was a lot going on in the man’s head, and she wasn’t entirely sure all of it had to do with Sarah.
What was she supposed to do with that?
She forced a cheerful note in her voice. “Good afternoon, Hunter.”
He didn’t reply. Just nodded, once, abruptly, then traveled his intense gaze over her face once again. She shifted slightly under the bold perusal. When he still didn’t speak, she sought to still the beating of her heart.
There was no reason to be alarmed, she told herself. She’d had all day to prepare for this meeting.
Nevertheless...
She felt an odd pain in her heart, an ache that had nothing to do with the thought of losing Sarah and everything to do with this man.
Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Whether she was voicing a plea or a prayer, Annabeth wasn’t certain.
She was, however, convinced that standing out on the porch, staring at Hunter Mitchell like a lovesick cow was getting them nowhere.
“Come inside,” she said, pleasantness personified. “I have someone I wish for you to meet.”
* * *
Annabeth directed Hunter into the house and then down a darkened corridor. Shadows swirled around them as they walked, their footsteps filling the silence between them—hers light and graceful, his clipped and efficient. Despite the nature of this visit, the atmosphere in the quiet house was oddly comforting, as if the orphanage was welcoming Hunter into its world.
Or maybe it was Annabeth’s presence that was soothing him, little by little. Whatever the cause, a sense of well-being spread through his hollow soul. He didn’t understand how or why, but this woman soothed him. Relaxed his restless heart.
His throat tightened and he swallowed, hard.
Not the direction his thoughts should be taking.
Annabeth led him into a small parlor overlooking the back of the house. Hunter set his hat on the closest chair and moved to the window. He looked out just as a burst of warm, golden light washed over a pack of children at play in the wide, manicured yard. A group of boys was tossing a ball between them, while some girls were holding hands and spinning in a fast circle. Was Sarah among them?
This time it was his heart that tightened. With expectation, hope, jumpiness.
“I thought you and Sarah would have your initial meeting here.” Annabeth’s voice came from directly behind him. “Will that be acceptable?”
He turned slowly around, taking in the parlor with a practiced eye, locating the exits first then the rest of the room in stages. He ignored the fancy furniture, and focused on the textures and nuances. The attention to detail was impossible to miss, the small area elegant and stylish.
On the surface, this parlor was far too formal a setting to meet a child in for the first time. But if a person looked past the Persian rugs, the expensive furniture, and the crystal vases filled with fresh-cut flowers, there was warmth in the decor.
Another sense of homecoming filled him. He felt at ease. “This room is perfectly acceptable.”
Eyes wide, Annabeth’s face went through a series of odd little contortions.
He stifled a chuckle at her reaction. “You thought I’d find the room too fancy.” He made a point of sitting on the most delicate piece of furniture he could find. “You wanted me to feel uncomfortable.”
“I... Yes. I suppose I did.” Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink as she made the admission.
Well, well. The timid girl had turned into a scrappy fighter. Rather than finding her tactics insulting, Hunter found himself amused at her attempt to gain the upper hand in such a sneaky manner. And maybe he was a bit impressed, too. Not that she needed to know any of this. In fact, best to keep her on the defense. “Badly done, Annabeth.”
“Yes, it was. I—” she tangled her fingers together at her waist “—apologize.”
Feeling gracious, he inclined his head. “Apology accepted.”
The tension between them lessened. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t come to see her. Or so he told himself. Yet here they were, holding one another’s gazes, both breathing slowly, something good and right swirling between them.
He cleared his throat.
At the same moment, Annabeth threw back her shoulders.
“I... I’ll just go fetch Sarah now.” She sounded practical and brisk, but sorrow pooled in her eyes, a sadness so deep Hunter drew a sharp breath.
He went to her.
Not sure what he meant to do, he took her hand. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, a sure sign she’d endured a sleepless night.
He tightened his hold on her hand. A moment of shared pain passed between them, so raw, so fresh, neither pulled away. He must have stared too long, seen too much, because she frowned, then yanked her hand free of his. “Wait here.”
“Of course.”
Alone with his thoughts, he felt a bout of nerves kindle and fire through his blood until he could remain in one place no longer. Letting out a hiss, he paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. Back. And. Forth.
Hope squeezed in his chest. If he played this right, if he stayed on the narrow path and settled down once and for all, he could have the life he’d always wanted, the one he’d nearly achieved with Jane.
Dare he try again? Did he deserve to have a family of his own, not in the role of a husband to his wife, but as a father to his daughter? Or were there too many mistakes on his ledger to hope for a smooth, uncomplicated existence?
The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled, sending alarm tripping down his spine. The same sensation had kept him alive in more than one gunfight. Motionless, afraid of what he would see, he didn’t turn around to face the parlor’s entrance. He closed his eyes and opened his other senses instead.
Holding steady, he sorted through the sounds coming from various points throughout the house. He focused in on the high-pitched prattle of a young female voice mingling with an older, more familiar one. The rapid staccato of the conversation made it impossible for him to decipher the words.
But he knew those footsteps.
Annabeth. Her return was a mere seconds away. That meant the other voice must belong to Sarah.
Sarah.
Hunter’s hand started to shake. Flexing his fingers, he opened his eyes and resolved to keep his emotions contained.
No mistakes.
No loss of control.
Calm. Cool. Careful.
The wait was endless, an eternity. The voices grew louder, closer. The individual words were muffled as they mingled with the footsteps, but there was obvious affection in both female voices. Love, too.
Hunter’s throat closed shut.
His daughter—if she was his daughter—was well loved. By Annabeth. And no doubt others who lived in this house. His shoulders shifted, then went still again. He forced himself to turn toward the doorway, to remain calm as he did so.
With his arms hanging loosely by his sides, he planted his feet a little apart and tried not to hold his breath.
Another moment passed.
And then...
Annabeth entered the room, her jawline tight. The moment their gazes connected her eyes deepened to a dark violet, the color of thunderclouds. The unmistakable warning beneath the turbulent expression was easy enough to read.
A wasted gesture. Hunter had no intention of hurting his own daughter. Or Annabeth. Regardless of what she thought.
A young girl suddenly shifted into view. And smiled directly at him.
He fell back a step.
Oh, Lord. Lord.
Restraint shattered. Calm evaporated. Well-thought-out speeches died on his tongue. The only emotions left were shock, and longing. Painful, heartrending longing for something always just out reach.
He hurt, at the core of his being. The sense of loss was overwhelming, loss over all he’d missed in his daughter’s life.
And, yes, this happy child was his daughter. He had absolutely no doubt. Her hair was the exact color of her mother’s, her dark coloring the same. But it was his eyes staring back at him in that small, thin face.
His daughter had his eyes. And his tall, lean build, mostly lanky at her age. He’d been lanky as a child, too. As had all of his brothers and sisters. It was a Mitchell trait.
This girl was a Mitchell, through and through.
What was he supposed to say now? Nine years ago he’d created this beautiful child with a woman who hadn’t wanted him, who’d rejected him. Lied to him, prevented him from knowing his own flesh and blood.
Feeling mildly desperate, torn between anger and distress, he glanced at Annabeth for assistance. She was studying her feet as though all the secrets of the world were in the flowered rug beneath her toes.
No help there.
Sarah solved the problem for him. “Hello.” She continued beaming up at him. “I’m Sarah. Who are you?”
There was no nervousness in the child, no fear. Just innocent curiosity. And a welcoming smile that cut straight to the bottom of Hunter’s black heart. The child had his smile, too.
“Hello, Sarah.” He swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again. His voice sounded too raw, too hoarse with emotion. He swallowed one last time and tried again. “I’m your fa—”
He cut off the rest of his words, something preventing him from declaring himself, something that ran deeper than his silent vow not to act on impulse. Perhaps he simply wanted the child’s easy manner to continue, didn’t want to watch that beautiful smile disappear when he declared who he was, and why he’d come here today.
“My name is Hunter Mitchell. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”
Not entirely true, but he had so little to work with here. He’d planned poorly for this moment, he realized that now. Annabeth wasn’t helping matters. She was now staring fixedly at some point over his shoulder, not acknowledging Hunter at all, as if afraid to give him an ounce of encouragement.
“Did you say you were Hunter Mitchell?” Sarah’s dark eyebrows drew together slowly, her mind working fast, her eyes lit with excitement. And the sweetest emotion of all. Acceptance. “I know several people with that same name.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Let me see.” She pressed her fingertip to her lips. “There’s Garrett, the twins and little Janie. Miss Megan.” She paused, her little eyebrows scrunching together. “Did you know Miss Megan used to live here, at Charity House, just like me?”
Hunter smiled. He might not have kept his family abreast of his life, but he’d managed to keep up with theirs. “Actually, I did know that.”
“And did you know that Miss Megan is married to Mr. Logan, and—” She stopped talking midsentence, her eyes wide. “Hey.” She moved closer, staring up at him with a fierce, concentrated gaze. “Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Mr. Logan?”
Despite his turbulent history with the man in question, Hunter felt a slight smile tilt up one corner of his mouth. “He’s my brother.”
“No!”
“It’s true.”
“Does that mean you grew up on a real ranch? With horses and cows and...and everything?”
“I did. My childhood home is called the Flying M, the largest cattle ranch in Colorado.”
“Oh, oh.” Sarah clapped her hands together in glee. “How exciting.”
“Very exciting,” he agreed. And he’d been fool enough to scorn the blessing of his birthright, to run away from it, to seek adventure wherever he could find it, no matter the consequences.
No more running.
He leaned down and set his hands on his knees, capturing Sarah’s attention as he did. “Visitors are always welcome at the Flying M.”
“You think I could go there one day? For a visit, I mean.”
He wasn’t going to take her for a visit. He was going to take her to live there, permanently. The future unfolded in his mind, starting with the small ranch house he would build on the land he would lease from his folks, the cattle he would eventually raise, the mended relationships he would enjoy.
But again, he held back from telling Sarah all this. One step at a time. “I think a trip to the Flying M is definitely in your future.”
Sarah squealed in delight. Her joy was contagious.
Hunter smiled at Annabeth, wanting—needing—to include her in this moment. She stared back, unsmiling, looking positively morose as she smoothed a hand across Sarah’s hair. “We’ve discussed this, Sarah. It isn’t polite to invite yourself to someone else’s home.”
Striking an exasperated stance, Sarah frowned up at her aunt. “I didn’t invite myself. He offered.” She gestured at Hunter with a jerk of her chin.
So. His daughter had a stubborn streak. Another trait they had in common. Charmed by the discovery, he had to fight very hard not to laugh.
* * *
Annabeth struggled to maintain her composure, while she noted Hunter was trying not to laugh. At her? Or the situation? Either way, he’d been in the room with Sarah for a total of five minutes and was already making promises. What happened to taking this one step at a time?
Worse yet, Sarah and Hunter were getting along rather well. Really well. Annabeth had counted on the opposite. At the very least, she’d expected this first meeting between father and daughter to be awkward.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Hunter had overcome his initial shock at seeing the child and was now conversing with her as though he spoke to children on a regular basis. Which made an odd sort of sense when she worked the notion through her mind. He was, after all, the eldest in a large family of brothers and sisters.
But that had been a long time ago. Ten years to be exact. Before he’d become an outlaw.
Except...
He didn’t look much like an outlaw now. His eyes exuded kindness as he spoke to Sarah, genuine interest, too. In fact, he looked very much like a loving father. And a man of integrity, both trustworthy and constant. He suddenly laughed at something Sarah said, a low, deep rumble of amusement, and Annabeth realized she’d missed a large portion of their conversation.
She forced herself to pay better attention.
“...and my newest, bestest friend is Molly Taylor Scott. She’s Sheriff Trey’s daughter. She’s teaching me how to turn my plain bonnets into pretty masterpieces.”
“Masterpieces?” Hunter turned the word into a question he lobbed in Annabeth’s direction. His mouth twitched slightly, presenting a momentary dimple in his cheek so fast she nearly missed it. The floor shifted beneath her feet for a brief, disorienting moment.
Focus, Annabeth.
“I had no idea bonnets could become masterpieces,” he added when she continued to stare at him, unresponsive and dumbfounded.
Unclamping her lips, she said, “You have no idea.”
His smile widened.
Oh, perfect. The man was incredibly charming and appealing when he smiled like that. All big and charming and muscular and handsome. And...and...charming.
Annabeth strove to match her detachment of moments before. An impossible feat when she couldn’t take a decent breath.
She suddenly felt brittle, on the verge of breaking.
As if sensing the change in her, a shadow crossed over Hunter’s face, giving him a concerned expression. The face of a man Annabeth could see putting the people he loved first, protecting them and bearing their burdens at times.
What would that be like, she wondered, to know she was safe, always, never needing to fear the unknown? What would it be like to no longer worry about the future, or her reputation? To have someone stand by her side, no questions asked, a man who knew who—and what—her mother was but didn’t care? Who maybe enjoyed Mattie, accepted her, understood her even.
Shifting impatiently between them, Sarah tugged on Hunter’s arm. “Want to see one of my bonnets?”
“I would indeed.” The smooth amusement was back in his voice and Annabeth let go of some of her hostility toward the man. Sarah was so happy.
“I’ll be right back.”
The child skipped out of the room, leaving Hunter to stare after her. For a brief moment, he didn’t bother hiding his expression. Shadows swirled in his gaze, dark and emotional, full of longing, hope and pain. So much pain.
Annabeth felt like an intruder, watching him this closely, and yet pulled toward him, too. The need to comfort stronger than the need to keep up her guard, she took a tiny step toward him, reached out and touched his arm. She didn’t expect to feel anything, but the impact was like a physical blow.
She quickly dropped her hand.
Seemingly unaware of her disturbing response to him, Hunter slowly turned his head in her direction. His face was paler than usual, his features taut and intense. “She’s really my daughter.”
Why deny the truth? “Yes.”
“I— She—” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and cleared his throat. “It’s...astonishing. She has my eyes.”
That had been the first thing Annabeth had noticed when she’d met Sarah a year ago.
“And my smile,” he said, wonder in his voice.
“She has your build, too.”
He nodded absently. “Tall and lanky, like all the Mitchells at her age, even the girls.”
He looked fierce and proud as he spoke, and completely unashamed of the joy spreading through him. But then his expression changed, bursting with other emotions. Determination, conviction. Unrelenting resolve.
Hunter Mitchell was going to claim Sarah as his daughter. Annabeth tried to follow all the threads to their logical conclusion, knowing the gesture was a waste of time. She’d already lost the niece she’d grown to love as her own child.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
How would Annabeth ever survive without her niece?
Sarah was so sweet, so eager to please, so willing to accept a stranger in her life without question.
Annabeth sighed. It hurt to love this much.
Breaking her train of thought, Sarah darted back into the room, her hands overflowing with ribbons and pieces of silk, her smile full of excitement.
An identical expression spread across Hunter’s features.
Again, Annabeth felt like the intruder.
“Here it is, Mr. Mitchell, my latest creation.” Sarah hopped from one foot to the other. “Look, see, right here. And here. And here. I sewed all the ribbons on myself.”
“I’m thoroughly impressed.” The words were mild enough, but his eyes glistened with emotion, and not just any emotion. Love. The man was already bursting with love for his daughter.

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