A Worthy Pursuit (5 page)

She immediately turned her back on him. Heavens.
She
couldn’t believe what she’d just said. He was no pupil to be ordered about in such a fashion. Why, he could snap her neck with two fingers if he chose. She had no way to enforce her dictate, and they both knew it. Yet he made no move to leave the bed. Nor did he say another word.

He’d submitted to her authority.

Why?

Her pulse flickered. The why didn’t matter. Whatever his purpose, the fact that he didn’t try to dominate her with a show of force proved him to be cool-headed even in his impatience. A man of reason. And a man of reason would listen to reason. Wouldn’t he?

A knock on the door stopped her from analyzing the flaws of that particular conclusion. Probably a good thing. Right now hope was in such short supply, anything that hinted of it needed to be clasped to her breast with both hands.

“I’ve got the water, Miss Lottie.” The older boy stood in the doorway with a pitcher and a slightly damp shirtfront.

Stone frowned as he tried to recall the kid’s name. Stephen. That was it. The littler one who’d been sent to fetch him was nowhere to be seen. Not surprising. Stone didn’t exactly ooze warmth and geniality. Most kids gave him a wide berth.

“Thank you, Stephen.” Miss Atherton took the pitcher and walked it over to the washstand on the far side of the room.

The boy stepped through the doorway behind her. He didn’t
follow her, just braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest. The scowl on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t been so earnest.

“Want me to stay and keep an eye on him for you, Miss Lottie? Mr. Dobson told me he wasn’t to be trusted.”

Stone frowned at the kid. He would have told the boy he wouldn’t hurt the teacher, but he didn’t want to give up his vow of silence just yet. The kid wouldn’t know why he kept his mouth shut, but the teacher would.

Miss Atherton came back around to the front side of the bed and peered at him in a measuring sort of way. “His trustworthiness is yet to be determined.”

Her response shocked him. The woman was no fool. She knew he was there to retrieve Lily. She’d admitted as much to his face. Yet she didn’t paint him the villain.

His gaze met hers and held. After years of bounty hunting, he knew how to read guilt in an outlaw’s face, even when the man protested innocence. Charlotte Atherton’s eyes held no guilt. Fear, yes. Intelligence, for certain. And more than her fair share of stubborn determination. But not guilt. At least not that he could see. What he did see was her silent plea for him to offer her the same courtesy she’d just offered him—an open mind.

“Are you sure, Miss Lottie?” Stephen took another step into the room. “He looks pretty shady to me.”

The teacher moved to the boy’s side and draped an arm over his shoulder. “He’s done nothing to deserve our censure, Stephen. Until he does, we will treat him as our guest. We will tend his wounds and offer hospitality until he feels fit enough to leave.” She steered the clearly unconvinced kid through the doorway and out into the hall. “Now, go find John and keep an eye on him until I’m done here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy grumbled as he kicked the toe of
his shoe against the wall in protest, but he complied. Although he did make a point to shoot a final glare in Stone’s direction before he left.

Stone eyed the teacher as she made her way back into the room, closing the door behind her. What made this woman tick? She seemed oddly determined to be hospitable, even going so far as to scold him into silence when he demanded to see her so-called proof of guardianship. She was stalling, of course, but he wouldn’t challenge her on it just yet. He’d rather see things play out. Besides, his head pounded like the very devil. He’d never admit it to her, but he might actually need a little time to recover. Between the throbbing in his skull and the dizziness that set the room to spinning whenever he moved too fast, he wasn’t exactly at his best. And with his weapons confiscated, he’d need to be at his best to get the girl safely away.

The sound of water splashing into a basin echoed behind him, followed by a gentle swishing and then a dribbling of excess liquid as Miss Atherton prepared her compress. A moment later, she came into view, her strides businesslike, her expression neutral. Still not meeting his gaze, she halted directly in front of him. One hand held a folded handkerchief. The other lifted to touch him beneath his chin, tipping his head back to give her a better view of his injury.

The touch reverberated through him like a battering ram sending shudders through a fortified wall. Her hand was damp and cool from the well water, yet heat, not shivers, coursed through him at the contact. He’d never felt the like. His first instinct was to shove her away from him and gather his bearings, but he forced himself to remain still. No sense in giving her reason to suspect her touch affected him. It didn’t, anyhow. It had just surprised him, that’s all. She was his target, an abductor of children, a destroyer of families, a villain of the worst order.

A villain with a very gentle touch.

Stone’s eyes slid closed as she dabbed the cool cloth against his scalp.

A villain who smelled fresh and clean, and who mothered the children around her with calm authority and kind words.

Her fingers tunneled through the hair at the back of his head, searching for other wounds and sending a wave of unwelcome tingles down his nape. She found the tender spot where his head had slammed into the earth after Dobson unfastened the litter and dropped him. Stone hissed in a breath. She murmured an apology then immediately moved the compress to the offended area and soothed it with a welcome coolness.

“Here, hold this.” She removed her left hand from his chin and reached around to hold the compress in place, freeing her right hand to find his and lift it to the injured spot. “I’ll fetch a second cloth.”

He opened his eyes and watched her disappear around the edge of the bed.

Solicitous. Gentle. Protective. Of the kids as well as of him. He hadn’t forgotten the way she’d forbidden the bloodthirsty gnome from
disposing
of their unwanted guest. She wanted something from him, of that he had no doubt, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quite convince himself she was the villain Dorchester had depicted when Stone had accepted the job.

And if she wasn’t a villain, where exactly did that leave him?

4

Charlotte fisted her fingers to still their trembling. Touching him had been a mistake. It had turned him from a theoretical threat into a flesh and blood man. A man with impossibly broad shoulders and a stubbled chin that rasped against her fingers in an utterly disturbing fashion.

Get ahold of yourself, Charlotte. You’re twenty-eight years old, a dried-up old prune. What do
you care about muscles or broad shoulders or an unkempt
chin in want of a shave?
He was a man, and men couldn’t be trusted. Circumstances had pounded that lesson into her head too many times for her to ignore it now. Besides, this one was working for Dorchester. He’d made no effort to deny it. He was the enemy.

An enemy she desperately needed to win over to her side.

She fingered her mother’s cameo then grabbed a second handkerchief from the pile she’d set on the washstand earlier and dunked it ruthlessly into the water. The icy temperature cooled her thoughts and restored her equilibrium. She had a job to do, and Lily’s future hinged on her success.

Keeping her eyes downcast, Charlotte strolled back to her patient, careful not to look at him until the last possible moment. The man was just too large. And powerful. Looking at him only served to remind her of her own weakness and vulnerability. If he chose to steal Lily from her, she’d be helpless to stop him. One blow from that tree trunk of an arm and she’d be an insensible, crumpled heap.

Wrenching that disturbing image from her mind, she blotted the last of the dried blood from the knotted area at the stranger’s hairline and pressed the compress against the bruised and swollen flesh. The only weapons she could wield against him were kindness and truth. And now that his wounds had been tended, she had nothing left in her arsenal but the truth. She prayed it would be sharp enough to penetrate his defenses.

“What’s your name?” she asked as she stepped back from him and forced herself to meet his sharp-eyed gaze.

“So I’m permitted to speak again, am I?’

Charlotte’s face grew warm, but she offered no apology. She simply nodded and tried not to notice the way his answering half smile softened his amber eyes.

He straightened his posture, wincing only slightly when he removed the compress from the back of his head. “Name’s Stone Hammond.”

Of course. How could the man be named anything other than Stone? He was solid muscle from head to toe and had a hard resiliency about him that projected competence—a competence that would have been rather nice to have around had the man not been hired by her enemy.

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Hammond.” It was ridiculous, really, to act as if he were a simple traveler passing through when Dobson had bashed his skull and dragged him here with
hands and feet bound. But the veneer of civility kept her nerves in check. “I’m Charlotte Atherton, but I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. And since you know why I’m here, I suggest you quit postponing the inevitable and show me those papers of yours. I give you my word that if they’re authentic, I’ll take them into consideration.”

His word? What value was that to her? Men broke their word all the time. Dr. Sullivan at the academy. Alexander with his smooth promises and faithless actions. All the fathers who promised their children they’d attend their end-of-year recitals then failed to appear.
Her
father.

Charlotte severed that line of thought and flung the remains away before they could undermine her purpose. Her back was to the wall here. She had no choice but to show Mr. Hammond the papers and pray for the best.

“Very well.” She turned from him and crossed to the bureau, praying with every step that he would be convinced of the truth. It took only a moment to unfasten the buckle on the case’s strap and pull out the papers secreted inside. Holding them to her chest, Charlotte turned to face him. “Before I show you these, Mr. Hammond, I’d like you to state your business plainly. Who are you and why are you here?”

Stone frowned. What game was this? She’d already deduced who he was, who he worked for. What did she hope to gain by asking him to confirm it?

“I’m a retriever,” he stated. “The best in Texas. Hired by Randolph Dorchester to find and return his lost granddaughter.”

“I appreciate your honesty.” Something solidified in her gaze, as if he’d just passed some kind of test. “It’s more than I ex
pected from a man working for Dorchester.” Her unspoken implication hung heavily in the air. He could sense words piling up in her, words disparaging his employer’s character. Yet they never came.

Interesting.

Most people were quick to justify their questionable actions by placing the blame on another. Charlotte Atherton was tempted. He could read the conflict in the way her lips parted ever so slightly, as if the words pressing from the inside had breached the first level of defense. Until she swallowed them.

Respect for her swelled in him, along with a host of questions he had no ready answer for. Why had Charlotte Atherton taken Lily and the others? She’d asked for no money. And she didn’t seem crazy. The kids were well tended and obviously cared a great deal for her, if Stephen’s earlier attempt at protection was any indication. So what had led an otherwise normal, well-bred woman to abduct three children?

She had gumption, too. Facing him directly. Alone. Unarmed. She hadn’t even taken his boot knife. It still lay untouched atop the dresser. Shoot, under other circumstances, he’d probably actually like the woman.

But liking his target wouldn’t stop him from accomplishing his mission. He’d never failed to retrieve what he’d been sent after. He wasn’t about to start now.

Back straight, the woman walked right toward him. “Your honesty and restraint make me believe you might be a man of honor.” She spoke haughtily, but her eyes revealed a tiny glimmer of hope—a hope that made him wish he’d never taken this job. Let someone else crush her spirit. He didn’t have the stomach for it. But then, his feelings didn’t matter. Completing the job did. “If you are,” she continued, conveying with a lift of her brow that only a dishonorable man would disagree
with whatever rationale she’d concocted to justify her actions, “when you read these documents, I’m sure you will see that this is all just an awkward misunderstanding. Randolph Dorchester is not Lily’s legal guardian. I am.”