A Worthy Pursuit (39 page)

Charlotte’s mother had been unable to get away since her opera company was mid-season in Vienna, though the woman promised to come for Christmas to meet her new son-in-law. Charlotte had known her mother wouldn’t be able to attend
when she’d agreed to the early wedding date, but it had been obvious to Stone that she’d still felt the loss. He’d vowed that day that Jeanette Atherton would be in Texas for Christmas, even if he had to cross an ocean and retrieve her himself.

“C’mon, Hammond. I haven’t got all day,” Dobson grumbled.

Stone set aside his thoughts and pulled himself up onto the roof. Once he had his feet beneath him, he ascended the slope to where Dobson crouched between two L
-
shaped support brackets that had been nailed into the roof beams.

“Hold that end there,” Dobson said, pointing to the bracket on the right, “while I nail this side in. I can’t keep the dad-blamed thing straight with one hand.”

Stone picked up the far end of the long, narrow sign that had been delivered that morning and held it flush against the bracket. Looking around him, he located Dobson’s crate of tools and grabbed the level. He placed it atop the sign so he could make the necessary adjustments to ensure everything was straight as Dobson fastened his end with a few well-struck nails. They couldn’t have “The Hammond Academy for Exceptional Youths” sign sitting crooked on their roof. Wouldn’t be very exceptional. Even if the Farleys were the only ones they intended to impress.

When Stephen’s parents had finally arrived to collect their son last summer, Charlotte sat them down and told them the full truth of all that had happened. Mrs. Farley had been outraged to learn that her son had been subjected to such dangerous scenarios and vowed never to let him out of her sight again. Mr. Farley, on the other hand, kept staring at Stone with an odd, calculating gleam in his eye.

Mr. Farley, as it turned out, had made his fortune by manufacturing rifles. The Henry repeater in particular. The same rifle a certain pair of bounty hunters were reported to have
used during the escapades published in a series of exceedingly popular dime novels. When Stephen had begged his father to let him stay and be schooled by Miss Lottie, Mr. Farley had made him a deal. Get Stone to endorse the rifles coming out of the Farley manufactory, and he could spend the school terms with his teacher and friends. It had only taken one look at the wistful expressions on both Stephen’s and Charlotte’s faces for Stone to give in. He’d let his photograph be taken holding one of Farley’s rifles and proclaimed it “the most reliable gun on the frontier.” Not that there was much frontier left these days. But it
was
a fine weapon, so he didn’t begrudge the man a little aggrandizement.

Mrs. Farley had protested at first, until her husband reminded her of all the society engagements they’d already committed themselves to for the upcoming year. In the end, she had agreed on the condition that the school have a formal name, one equally as prestigious as the one that scoundrel, Dr. Sullivan, had established.

Hence the sign.

Dobson, four nails between his teeth, hobbled over to Stone’s side and hunkered down behind him. “Hold ’er steady now.”

Stone grinned. As if that wasn’t what he’d already been doing. “Got it.”

Dobson pounded the nails into place then grabbed the sign and gave it a strong tug. It held. “What do ya think, Mrs. H?” he called down to Charlotte, who stood in front of the house, a hand upheld to shade her eyes.

Stone held his breath. His wife had rather exacting standards, and the gnome knew it. If she didn’t think the sign straight enough, Dobson would gleefully cast the blame on the assistant holding the level.

“It looks splendid,” she called, a bright smile illuminating
her features. “Mrs. Farley is sure to be pleased when they arrive next week with Stephen. Be careful coming down, now.” Her warm gaze lingered on Stone, roaming from his face to his chest, over his bent legs and down to the toes of his boots. His pulse accelerated. “You’ve gathered enough scars in my service. I’d rather you not collect any new ones today.”

“Crazy female. Always making a fuss when there’s no need,” Dobson grumbled after Charlotte disappeared back under the porch overhang. He tossed his hammer into the tool crate and grimaced. “As if a man can’t get himself down off a roof without falling on his head—”

Just then, a loose shingle slid out from under his foot. Dobson’s leg shot out from under him. In a blink he was sliding toward the edge.

Stone lunged after him, throwing himself flat against the roof. One hand clasped the top of the sign, the other snagged Dobson’s wrist at the last instant. The gnome’s legs dangled over the side, leaving only his shoulders and head visible.

Grunting against the pain radiating through his stretched back, Stone strained and slowly pulled the older man away from the edge.

“Stone?” Lottie’s voice drifted upward from the porch.

Dobson had just gotten his thighs and knees back onto the rooftop.

“Hurry, man,” Stone grit out between clenched teeth. “If she sees you danglin’, she’ll never let . . . either one of us . . . up here . . . again.”

Stone gave a final tug, and Dobson scrambled up. He flipped at the last moment to a seated position and Stone matched him, yanking on the sign to give him the leverage he needed to spin himself around and plant his boot heels in front of him. By the time Charlotte emerged from the porch and peered up at them, they sat companionably side-by-side as if nothing were amiss.

“Everything all right?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “I heard a dreadful scraping sound from up there.”

Stone waved off her concern. “We’re fine. Just testing out the sturdiness of the sign. Looks like it’s gonna hold well.”

She frowned, obviously not convinced that there wasn’t more to the tale. But since they were both safe and sound at the moment, she couldn’t really challenge them, could she? “Don’t stay up there too long,” she finally conceded. “It’ll be suppertime soon.”

“Just gonna enjoy the view for a minute or two,” Stone assured her. “Then we’ll be down.”

Once Dobson had his breathing under control, he turned to Stone. “Testing out the sign’s sturdiness, huh?”

Stone chuckled and thumped the old caretaker’s back. “If that board can support the weight of two grown men, I figure it deserves to pass the sturdiness test. What do you say?”

Dobson grinned up at Stone. “I say, I’m a right fine carpenter!”

The two broke into laughter, releasing the last of the tension of the near miss to float away on the autumn breeze.

When the laughter died down, Dobson turned to Stone, a cautious look in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure he should ask what was on his mind.

“Spit it out, Dobson.” Stone thumped him on the shoulder again. “I won’t bite.”

The man stared at him for a moment then finally broke the silence. “I noticed you got a letter from that Ranger friend of yours down in Austin. Should I be expectin’ more trouble up this way? Don’t seem right to welcome the Farley boy back if Dorchester is gonna be causin’ us more grief.”

Stone met the man’s gaze. “There’ll be no trouble. Dorchester’s got enough on his plate with all the charges piling up
against him. Walt Franklin’s been released, though. Ashe wanted me to know.”

Dobson scowled, his bushy white brows nearly erasing his eyes. “Will he come after ya, do ya think?”

Stone shook his head. “I doubt it. Ashe convinced him to testify against his former employer in exchange for a reduced sentence. He’s been sharin’ all he knows about Dorchester’s business dealings, helping them build a case for fraud, blackmail, and extortion.”

Dobson harrumphed. “About time that old goat got his comeuppance. Still, that’s no guarantee Franklin won’t try something against you and the missus when he’s done spillin’ his beans to the Rangers.”

“I expect he’ll be busy with other occupations.” Stone pushed to his feet and held out his hand to help Dobson up as well. “With me retired from the retrieving business, Franklin’s now at the top of the pecking order. No more competition.” Stone dusted off the seat of his britches then picked up the tool crate. “And if a job offer with an attractive price tag happened to have been passed along to him on my recommendation, well, that should go a long ways toward soothing his temper.”

Dobson eyed him dubiously. “Where’s this job located, exactly?”

Stone winked. “Montana.”

Dobson grinned. “I knew I liked you, boy.”

“Was that before or after you clocked me on the head with your rifle butt?”

“After.” Dobson chuckled. “Though your noggin did have a good, solid feel to it when I butted you. Sturdy. Kinda like my sign.”

Stone guffawed and then, together with Dobson, made his way—
carefully
—back down to the ground.

His feet had been connected with the earth for only a handful of seconds when Lily’s excited voice drew his head around toward the parlor window.

“Stone! Come see. Hurry!” She waved him over frantically, her shoulders and head thrust through the open window as she knelt backward on the sofa cushions. She held out the latest novel in the Dead-Eye Dan series, her finger pointing to a page at the end of the book. “See? It’s you!”

Stone took the book from her and frowned down at Mr. Farley’s advertisement. Somehow the man had gotten Stone’s likeness with the Henry repeater transposed into the back of the book. He bit back a sigh. If Dan ever got a gander at this, he’d take Stone’s head off. Oh well. Family took precedence, and Stephen was family.

Stone glanced over at his daughter. “I don’t suppose you could forget you saw this, could you, squirt?”

She grinned. “For you? Sure.”

“That’s my girl.” Stone tossed the book back to her, his heart full of fatherly affection. An affection that only grew when he saw John standing quietly in the shadows of the porch, his eyes following Stone’s every move.

Months of puzzling out the boy had finally started paying dividends. He was learning to read the quiet kid like he would a Comanche’s trail. And right now the little Comanche wanted to fly.

“Come here, you!” Stone swooped down and snatched John out of the shadows. Holding the boy aloft, he ran down the porch steps and into the sunlight. He tossed him in the air then spun him in circles until his giggles made a finer music than any piano ever could.

When the play ended, Stone hunkered down so the boy could clamber onto his back. With John’s arms around his neck and
legs around his waist, Stone headed up to the house and the supper that would be nearly ready.

Charlotte met him in the doorway, smiling. She ruffled John’s hair then helped him dismount before sending him off to wash his hands. Stone she kept in the doorway, one dainty palm pressed against his chest.

“You can’t go in yet.”

He raised a brow. “No?”

She shook her head. “Not until you pay the toll.”

“Ah.” He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her close. “And what toll does the lady require?”

Her blue-green eyes lit with desire and love and a trust so deep it wrapped around his heart like an unbreakable tether, binding them together, making them one. “I think a kiss would suffice. For now.”

Stone’s lips curled upward in anticipation. “Then a kiss it shall be.”

As his lips met hers, he thanked God for the circumstance that had set him off in pursuit of this woman so many months ago. She’d turned his life upside down, filling it with music, a ragtag bunch of kids, a grizzled gnome, and a love so profound he’d be forever changed.

No longer was he the hardened man who lived from bounty to bounty. No longer was he the orphaned boy who craved only a piece of land and enough money to keep it. He’d learned the joy of pursuing a greater prize. The prize of love, family, and a woman who would hold his hand through good times and bad and never let him go. A most worthy pursuit.

Two-time RITA finalist and winner of the coveted HOLT Medallion and the ACFW Carol Award, bestselling author
KAREN WITEMEYER
writes historical romances because she believes the world needs more happily-ever-afters. She is an avid cross-stitcher and shower singer, and she bakes a mean apple cobbler. Karen makes her home in Abilene, Texas, with her husband and three children.

To learn more about Karen and her books and to sign up for her free newsletter featuring special giveaways and behind-the-scenes information, please visit
www.karenwitemeyer.com
.

Books by Karen Witemeyer

A Tailor-Made Bride

Head in the Clouds

To Win Her Heart

Short-Straw Bride

Stealing the Preacher

Full Steam Ahead

A Worthy Pursuit

A Cowboy Unmatched
from
A Match Made in Texas: A Novella Collection

Love on the Mend: A Full Steam Ahead Novella

www.karenwitemeyer.com