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“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.”
