Renee Ryan (8 page)

As one, they entered the room together.

Marc Dupree sat behind his desk, wearing a deceptively bland expression on his face. Hunter had never met the man personally, but he remembered him sitting with Trey during his trial on several occasions.

Dark-haired, clean-shaven, Marc was dressed similarly to the last time Hunter had seen him in the courtroom. The red brocade vest and matching tie were made of the finest material available, the kind a banker might choose for his clothing.

With efficient, clipped sentences, Annabeth made the necessary introductions then said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

“Thank you, Annabeth,” Marc called after her retreating back.

Not bothering to turn around, she waved a hand over her head in response.

The moment she shut the door Marc pointed to one of the two worn leather chairs facing his desk. “Please, Hunter, have a seat.”

The man’s tone was as formal as his attire and an uneasy feeling clutched Hunter’s heart. Everything hinged on Marc releasing his guardianship of Sarah.

Or did it?

Again, Hunter made a mental note to seek legal counsel as soon as possible.

Maria had hidden his daughter from him. That couldn’t have been legal, or ethical. Had Marc played a role in the deception? Had the other man known Hunter was the child’s father from the beginning, and done nothing to contact him?

Hunter wouldn’t leave this room until he had his answers.

Clearing his expression, he lowered himself into the offered chair and looked around the office. He took in the decor with one, quick sweep. The room was a man’s sanctuary. The dark furniture and deep, rich colors in the rugs added to the masculine feel. Even the smoky scent coming from the fire in the hearth seemed to proclaim: no females allowed.

Hunter fought back a smile.

Watching him closely, too closely, Marc tented his fingers under his chin and got straight to the point. “I understand you’re Sarah’s father.”

Always appreciative of the direct approach, he nodded. “I found out in a letter penned by Mattie Silks.”

This information didn’t seem to surprise Marc. “Maria never told you about your daughter?”

“No, never.” Hunter forced a casual note in his voice. “Did she tell you?”

Marc shook his head. “No. She didn’t.”

He was so calm, so matter-of-fact, the quintessential man in charge, holding all the power. Hunter frowned as a twinge of resentment took hold.

“Is that standard?” he asked, his tone going low and just short of deadly. “A mother simply hands over her child, without attempting to contact the father first?”

Marc let out a slow, careful breath, as if trying to decide how much to reveal. “Nothing is ever simple or
standard
when a child ends up at Charity House. Some of the women who bring their children to us don’t even know who the father is. Other times, the father is already married. Or, worse, refuses to acknowledge his son or daughter.”

“Unfortunate, to be sure, but none of those describe my situation.” Hunter held Marc’s stare for a beat, then reiterated, “Like I said, Maria never told me about Sarah.”

Marc nodded.

“I’ve come to claim my daughter.”

Not a single reaction from Marc to this statement. Not a shift of an eyebrow, or a twitch of his jaw. Nothing. The man would make a deadly opponent in a gunfight. “How did your first meeting with your daughter go?”

“Better than expected,” he admitted.

“I’m not surprised.” Marc leaned back in his chair, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He looked pleased. He
sounded
pleased. “Sarah is a sweet child with a big heart.”

And Hunter already loved her. One meeting with his beautiful, happy daughter, and he was willing to do anything, give up anything—
everything—
for her.

Feeling as though he’d been gut-punched, he looked down at his hands, found them balled into fists. A fight. He was ready to fight for his child.

“I have always found,” Marc began, his voice falling heavy between them, “that speaking plainly is the best route in situations such as these.”

Yes. Complete, raw honesty, that’s what he’d come here to give this man. “Maria made the right decision,” Hunter admitted. “Choosing not to tell me about Sarah.”

Marc arched a brow. “Why is that?”

“At the time, I was in no position to care for a child.” The truth hurt, but the past was the past, and there was no rewriting history. “I’d already had a pattern of failing everyone I cared about. Sarah would have been no different.”

Memories churned, most of them bad, but Hunter continued, anyway. He explained his relationship with Maria, how they’d met,
where
they’d met, and the volatile lifestyle they’d led before she’d returned to her former life in her mother’s brothel. He left nothing out, refusing to gloss over the worst of his past and the destructive nature of his choices.

When he finished, Marc remained silent for a long time. “And all that’s done now?”

It’d been done years ago. “Yes.”

Marc considered him a moment longer. “So what comes next?”

Hunter’s heart beat fast, his mouth went dry. “I make the right choice, the
only
choice, to be a father to my daughter. I plan to provide a home for her near my parents’ ranch.”

For another long, tense moment, Marc simply held his gaze. No judgment in his eyes, no threats, just thoughtfulness. “Legally, I can’t stand in your way. Laney and I only had a verbal agreement with Maria.”

A range of gut-wrenching emotions spread through him, relief at the top of the list. He could take Sarah away today, now, this very moment.

“But I’m warning you, Hunter.” Marc flattened his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Make sure you have a solid plan mapped out before you take Sarah away from Charity House. Like all children, she deserves stability in her life. I expect you to provide that for her.”

Trey had said something similar to him just this morning. Hunter hadn’t been discouraged then, and he wasn’t now. Nor was he intimidated or cowed or hesitant over the task that lay before him.

He was ready.

Chapter Eight

I
n the guise of supervising the activity in the backyard, Annabeth stood alone on the porch and watched the orphans at play. Desperate to distract her mind from the conversation occurring in Marc’s study, she paid avid attention to each and every child. Two of the older boys had organized a rousing game of baseball. In typical Charity House fashion, there was as much laughter as ball playing.

The sight of so much unfettered happiness should have calmed her nerves. Instead, the idyllic scene reminded Annabeth of all she would leave behind if she agreed to accompany Sarah and Hunter to his family’s ranch. She’d found a home here, and had achieved a level of respectability she’d thought lost to her for good.

She had an important decision to make, one that required time and attention to think through all the details.

If only Hunter hadn’t returned a new man. If only he wasn’t so willing to be Sarah’s father.

If only, if only, if only...

Annabeth inhaled the rich, pine-scented air and prayed for the right answer. Unfortunately, her mind was a vast storehouse of doubts, concerns and an odd quickening of some unfamiliar emotion moving through her soul.

This would not do!

She lowered to the steps and clasped her hands around her knees just as a loud cheer erupted from the team up at bat.

Annabeth released a small smile.

Fifteen-year-old Molly Taylor Scott squealed in delight as the ball she’d just whacked sailed toward the back fence. Giggling, the girl pranced around first base, skipped across second, and kept right on going.

She eventually skidded to a stop at third, did a little jig, and then spun around to wave at Annabeth. “Did you see that?”

Annabeth laughed. “I did, indeed.”

Not through celebrating, Molly danced around the makeshift base, singing a made-up song about female supremacy in all matters concerning a ball and bat.

Smiling at the girl’s antics, Annabeth felt herself relax for the first time since Hunter had arrived at Charity House this afternoon. She’d never met a male or female more secure in her own skin than Miss Molly Taylor Scott.

Annabeth supposed that confidence came from the fact that the girl had a mother and father who adored her, even if they weren’t her real parents.

Sarah had two people willing to step up and parent her, too—one her actual father. But unlike the Scotts, Annabeth and Hunter weren’t married. Could they find a way to provide Sarah with a happy childhood, anyway? What would their lives look like? What sort of arrangement could possibly work for all parties involved?

Annabeth wanted to be close to Sarah, yes, but that now meant unavoidable interaction with Sarah’s big, handsome, rugged father. A man who was proving himself less an outlaw and more the man she’d met ten years ago. Kind and considerate.

Overwhelmed with confusion, she buried her face in her hands and welcomed the blessed darkness that came as a result.

A moment later, a husky voice fell over her. “You gonna hide in there all afternoon or come out and deal with me head-on?”

Hunter. She should have known he would seek her out as soon as he’d finished speaking with Marc.

Not ready to face him yet, she kept her hands firmly in place.

“Annabeth.”

She held firm.

He softened his voice. “Annabeth.”

She sighed. “Give me a moment.”

“Hiding from me?”

No.
“Maybe.”

That earned her a dry chuckle. “I never would have branded you a coward.”

She was no coward. Lowering her hands, she cracked open an eye and found the likable lug watching her from a heavy-lidded, amused gaze.

She shaded her eyes and scowled up at him.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. The man looked good—really good—with the sun backlighting his hair, almost lovingly brushing the tips with a perfect blend of gilded copper and gold.

And then he did it. He smiled. At her.

Her heart skidded to a stop.

“Hello,” he said.

She swallowed. “Hello.”

Be calm,
she told herself.
No need to panic.
So the man was attractive. And muscular. And...and...dazzling in the sun. She’d met handsome men before. It was a real shame none of them had made her heart trip over itself like Hunter managed to do. Every. Single. Time.

He was one big, bad, dangerous man. And that had nothing to do with his past.

His smile still in place, he settled on the step beside her and watched the activity in the backyard. After a moment of careful searching, not only the immediate area, but the neighboring lawns as well, his eyebrows pulled together. “Where’s Sarah?”

“She went upstairs with Camille and Meredith to play dolls.”

“She’s playing...dolls?”

“It’s a typical activity for a girl her age.”

“What do you know? Sarah likes to play with dolls.” His gaze warmed as he considered the idea a moment longer.

Charmed by his reaction, Annabeth felt herself leaning toward him, her heart softening as she studied his profile. Her fingers itched to touch his jaw. Would the beginnings of the light stubble already shading his face feel prickly to the touch?

She resisted reaching up. Just barely.

Her smile suddenly felt brittle on her face.

Still facing the backyard, Hunter placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. His gaze traveled lazily over the ball game, his shoulders less tense. “Marc and I had a good talk.”

“You were in there a long time.” Nearly an hour.

He inhaled slowly. “We had a lot to discuss.”

“Come to any conclusions?”

“A few.”

She waited for him to say more. And waited. And waited.

That was it? He wasn’t going to expand? He was just going to sit there and watch the ball game?

The passing moments seemed to be marked by the loud beat of her heart. Tilting her head, she shifted so she could see Hunter better. In the unfiltered sunlight his skin had taken on a deep golden hue. He’d probably spent many hours outdoors during his time in prison.

What had his days been like? His well-honed muscles spoke of hard physical labor.

Had there been pain, too? Loneliness?

Another cheer rose up from the game, followed by a collective groan from the outfield. Annabeth glanced over in time to see Molly twirl across home plate.

Hunter watched, as well. A flash of something came and went in his eyes, amusement, maybe, then he shook his head and returned his attention to her. “We aren’t going to do this here.”

“Do what?”

“Discuss our future.”

Our future, as if they were a team, a unit. A couple. No, ridiculous. She was overthinking, something she rarely did. “Where would you suggest we
‘do this’
?”

“Somewhere more...private.”

The rough velvet of his voice slid over her and Annabeth couldn’t seem to formulate a proper response.

No wonder. Her future lay in this man’s hands. She could pretend otherwise, but the truth wasn’t overly complicated. If she wanted Sarah in her life, she had to take Hunter, too.

Life is no fairy tale,
she reminded herself, intentionally repeating the words in her mind until they stuck. No handsome prince was going to ride in on his white horse and proclaim his love for her. Oh, she might have achieved a certain level of respectability in her position at Charity House School. But she wasn’t delusional enough to think she was getting her own happy ending.

At least she would have Sarah.

Raising her niece, watching her grow into a happy, healthy woman, was worth every lost dream Annabeth had ever had.

“Annabeth?” Hunter’s voice had gentled. “Did you hear what I said?”

She nodded. “You said we should speak in private.”

“No. Well, yes, I did say that.” He shook his head, masculine exasperation in the gesture. “But I also asked you to dine with me tomorrow for luncheon, at a restaurant, just the two of us.”

Just the two of us.
The words echoed in her mind, threatening to spin out of control.

Hunter took her hand. “A restaurant makes the most sense. I don’t want to endanger your reputation, but I want us to have relative privacy when we discuss Sarah.”

Discuss Sarah.
More words. More chaos in her head. One incoherent jumble on top of another.

“We need to come up with a workable plan.”

A plan. Right.
Right.
They needed to make a plan. For their future together. With Sarah at the core. Annabeth finally untangled her tongue. “I agree, completely.”

“Good.” He unfolded his large frame and stood, pulling her up with him. “I’ll make the reservations for noon tomorrow.”

“Noon, tomorrow.” Tomorrow was Saturday. “Yes, that’ll be fine.”

He continued holding on to her hand. “I’ll pick you up a half hour prior to our reservation.”

“Yes, that’ll be fine,” she repeated, feeling oddly light-headed.

And
still,
he didn’t release her hand.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tugged gently. At last, he let her go.

The sense of loss over the broken connection startled her. She let out a shuddering sigh and did her best to appear completely unmoved. But in the recesses of her mind, Annabeth admitted she was deeply attracted to Hunter Mitchell. She’d been attracted to him from the moment she’d first laid eyes on his handsome face ten years ago.

He’d been larger than life back then, a little scary, a lot dangerous and completely unattainable. Even after Maria had died, he’d been too much
man
for Annabeth.

Now, with time and the wisdom of age, the scary gunslinger was far more human in her mind, a little less menacing, a lot more approachable.

Guard your heart, Annabeth.

The impossibility of a real relationship with him, beyond Sarah, made her want to cry. He’d been married twice. The second time to a woman he’d loved so much he’d set out to avenge her murder.

Guard your heart.
Too, too late, her foolish, rebellious soul whispered in return. Too, too late.

* * *

The next day, Hunter began making preparations for the trip north to his family’s ranch. As much as he wanted to bring Sarah along with him, he should probably make this first venture alone.

He would leave sometime next week, after his appointment with Reese Bennett, of Bennett, Bennett and Brand Law Firm. Although Marc had said there were no legal issues to address, Hunter wanted to be sure. He wouldn’t take Sarah away from Denver unless every detail had been reviewed and ultimately conquered.

There was also the matter of his daughter’s official name change. She wanted to be a Mitchell? Then she would be a Mitchell. Legally.

No shortcuts. No cheating. Everything by the book.

Pacing across the room, Hunter looked out the window. Out of habit, he checked for danger. Off to his left, he thought he recognized a silhouette in the shadows, but when the man came into the light Hunter didn’t know him, after all.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He knew he was being overly cautious, paranoid even, but he’d been caught off guard once before. And Jane had ended up dead.

Although the remaining members of Kincaid’s gang had dispersed long before Hunter had confronted the outlaw in Mattie’s brothel, he would continue to watch his back. Complacency had no place in his world. Even when he left Denver and settled on his own parcel of land he would stay alert, ever watchful. No one would catch him off guard again.

Turning away from the window, he allowed his mind to drift back to the Flying M. Back to his family. Back...

Home.

Comforting thought. As reassuring as the worn Bible he kept close at all times. Even now, he could feel the weight of it in his pocket, reminding him he wasn’t ever truly alone.
With God all things are possible.

Facing his parents would be easy enough. They would welcome him without question and would allow him to find his way back into the family fold in his own time. His younger siblings would be easy on him, too, especially Garrett. Despite the twelve-year gap in their ages, they’d always had a special bond.

Logan, on the other hand...

A bleak heaviness settled on Hunter’s shoulders. His do-good, virtuous brother had never made a wrong turn in his life. Even in marriage, the younger man had gotten it right from the start. Not like Hunter, whose first marriage had been an impulsive decision at best. And his second? Perhaps he’d put more thought into that one, but he hadn’t valued Jane nearly enough. Until it was too late.

In contrast, Logan never took his blessings for granted. He was rock-solid, wise beyond his years, and full of Christian integrity. Hunter had spent a lot of years resenting his younger brother for that. As the older of the two, he should have long since tried to mend their relationship.

He hadn’t.

In fact, the last time they’d spoken directly, Hunter had knocked his brother out cold. He’d never expected—or wanted—Logan’s support during the trial. He suspected Logan had known that, respected it even, and sent Trey Scott in his stead.

The time had come for Hunter to make amends.

He would follow the biblical model and go straight to the source. But not today. Today his attention belonged to Annabeth.

Smiling, Hunter retrieved his hat from the bed where he’d left it earlier, resting on its crown. He made the trip to Charity House in a rented carriage, for Annabeth’s sake, not his own. Although the restaurant was a relatively short walk from Charity House by his standards, it might not be so by hers.

The late-morning air was cool and crisp on his face, the sky clear, the sun a brilliant ball of fiery orange. He’d barely alighted from the carriage and stepped onto the walkway leading to the house when Annabeth appeared on the porch.

Their eyes met across the short distance. Hunter’s heart slammed into the back of his throat and stuck. Looking into those blue-blue eyes that seemed to have gone lavender in the sunlight, he felt as if the world had ground to a halt.

With considerable effort, he unclamped the hinges of his jaw and continued forward. “Good morning, Annabeth.”