A Worthy Pursuit (7 page)

The teacher shrugged her shoulders, obviously unwilling to confirm or deny his suspicion. Not that he needed her to. He had a clear enough picture of how she’d made her initial escape. It was the destination that had stumped him for so long. No train tickets. No innkeepers who remembered seeing a woman and three children. Stone had thought for sure he’d be able to track them with someone as distinctive as John Chang in the group. Chinamen weren’t all that plentiful in Texas outside of the railroad camps. Chinese kids even rarer. But the woman had been too clever to room in a public place. She probably rotated the kids, too, letting different ones nap in the back so no one would see the same combination of travelers as they made their way across Texas.

“I don’t want Lily to be afraid,” the teacher said at last. “I want her to be happy and carefree without shadows of hurt and uncertainty hanging over her head. That’s no way to grow up.” Something in her adamant tone prickled Stone’s intuition. Is that how Miss Atherton had grown up? With shadows and hurt?

“I’m not sure she really understands the threat her grandfather represents,” she continued. “All Lily knows is that her mama told her I would take care of her and that she wasn’t to return to Dorchester Hall because her grandfather couldn’t be trusted. If she learned that same man was coming after her . . . well . . . it would change her. And not for the better.”

Stone recalled the laughing girl, squealing and playing with Stephen as the two youngsters ran about the yard. He wasn’t so cold-hearted as to wish that carefree spirit away, but at the
same time, he wouldn’t be doing the girl any favors letting her live in ignorance, either. Dorchester had the kind of wealth that would ensure the girl never lacked for anything tangible. Even Miss Atherton herself admitted that she didn’t know why her friend hadn’t wanted her daughter in his custody. In Stone’s meetings with the man, he’d seemed the same as all other rich men—self-important, arrogant, expecting people to jump to do his bidding—but he smiled a lot, too, and seemed a charming sort. Not the type to hurt a child.

There was no way around it. Whether Miss High-and-Mighty liked it or not, he needed to talk to the girl. Stone set his jaw. Separating a child from family was a serious matter. Even if the teacher’s documents proved legitimate, a man had the right to see his grandchild. Lily was the only one who could give any insight into why Dorchester should be kept in the dark. If, in fact, he should.

“I’m going to talk to her.” When Miss Atherton inhaled—no doubt working up a full head of steam to blast his hide—Stone held up his hand. “Cool your kettle, teach. I won’t mention who I work for or why I’m here. It’ll take at least a week to get a response from my man in Austin. So in the meantime, I’ll hang around the place, help with the chores, let the kids get comfortable with me. Ask a few questions here and there, but mostly just listen and watch. They’ll tell me what I need to know. Probably without even realizing they’ve done so.”

Her mouth snapped closed. Her eyes studied him. Stone held her gaze. He didn’t need her trust, but it would make things a whole lot easier.

“All right, Mr. Hammond. I’ll consent to your
subtle
questioning of Lily.”

Stone nodded, grateful for her cooperation.

“But before you leave this room, I need two things from you.”

He should have known there’d be conditions. There always were with women like her—women who used their heads for more than just a place to hang their hair. They always gave as good as they got.

“All right. What do you want?”

He didn’t think it possible for her to straighten that poker of a spine any more, but somehow she managed it. “First, I want your solemn oath that you will not try to steal Lily away from me before you hear back from your man in Austin.”

Stone nodded. “Done.” He held her gaze a long minute. He could feel her doubt, her fear, and tried to combat it with sincerity. “I’ll not make a move until I hear back from Austin.”

She took his measure, looking him up and down as if evidence of his trustworthiness could be determined as much by his clothing as his face. The gun belts, even with empty holsters, probably didn’t help much. Nor did the sheaths for his knives or the well-worn duster that made him resemble a gunslinger. The uniform served a purpose when he was working, intimidating men into speaking the truth and keeping unsavory characters from making ill-conceived attempts to steal from him while on the trail. He really preferred not having to shoot or knife some group of idiots who thought a man alone was an easy target. But none of that did him any good in this female’s bedchamber, surrounded by lacy curtains and dresser doilies.

Then her eyes rested on his feet. Stone grimaced as he unconsciously wiggled his toes. A man should be wearing his boots when someone took his measure. Not be standing around in his stocking feet. Especially when one sock had a hole on the outer edge. A woman who took the time to line up his boots in a straight line against the wall would probably condemn him outright for that hole.

Yet it was that hole that took just a touch of the starch out
of her bearing. She raised her chin back up to face him, acceptance, if not trust, lining her features.

“Very well, Mr. Hammond. Then I only have one other question for you.”

Stone shrugged. “Shoot.”

Blue-green eyes zeroed in on him. “Does Dorchester know where I am?”

6

Charlotte’s heart beat so rapidly in her chest she had to fight to keep her equilibrium. She widened her stance to secure her footing but kept her attention locked on the man in front of her.

“No,” he finally said, and for a moment Charlotte felt so light with relief she thought she’d float to the ceiling. Then he clarified. “But he knows exactly where
I
am.”

Her mind froze mid-process, somehow unable to grasp what he was saying. Or perhaps not wanting to. All she could manage was to blink dumbly at him.

“I told him of the lead I was tracking down, a property registered under the name of Charles Atherton outside of Madisonville.”

How had he uncovered
that
piece of information? She’d never told anyone at the academy about the small home her parents had left her. Her father spent all his time in New York. Her mother traveled from opera house to opera house in Europe. No one in Austin knew about the little rustic bungalow they’d purchased for the daughter who’d had no love for the stage.

“I haven’t had the chance yet to report my findings to him.” The gruff statement almost sounded like reassurance, as if he sensed the dissonant harmony her fear had released and was trying to adjust one of the notes to resolve the chord. Compassion? From
this
man? Charlotte peered at him more closely, but as she did, his eyes shuttered against her. He lifted a hand to his forehead. “Ran into the butt end of a rifle before I could get back to town.”

Irony. Sarcasm. That must have been what she’d heard. Not compassion. How foolish to think otherwise.

“Will you be reporting your findings anytime soon?”

If so, she’d have to pack up the children and leave immediately. But where would she go? She’d have to take the boys back to St. Peter’s and try to start over with Lily in a new town, maybe even a new state, somewhere nobody knew them. Use assumed names. Alter their appearances. Hide their talents so as not to be memorable. No recitations for Lily.
No music for me.

No music. The very idea scalded her heart like acid. But she’d do it. For Lily, she’d do it.

A large hand touched her arm, slicing off her spiraling thoughts. “Rein it in, teacher. No need to plot your escape just yet. I can put off my report for a couple days. Maybe longer if I can come up with some kind of excuse to explain my lack of findings or some tidbit to tide Dorchester over until I hear back from Austin.”

Time. In this situation there was no greater gift. “Thank you,” she said, making no effort to disguise her true level of appreciation.

He dropped his hand from her arm and cleared his throat, his gaze darting away from her face. “Yeah, well, don’t go all mushy on me. Dorchester ain’t the type to be put off for long, and I ain’t the type to play hero just because a pretty lady looks
at me with gratitude in her eyes.” He stepped around her, and Charlotte made no move to stop him. How could she when her entire body was frozen with shock? This virile mountain of a man thought her pretty? Mercy. Mr. Dobson must have struck him harder than she’d originally suspected.

“I’ve got a sizable paycheck, not to mention my reputation as a retriever, on the line,” Stone Hammond grumbled as he grabbed his boots with one hand and shoved her documents back at her with the other. “You’re getting a reprieve, teacher, but I ain’t surrendering.” One long stride took him to the door. He turned the knob and wrenched the portal open. “Not by a long shot.”

The reverberation of wood banging closed punctuated his parting statement, but Charlotte didn’t flinch. She smiled.

Mr. Hammond might have a rock-hard exterior, but hard shells were known to harbor soft insides, and he’d just given her a glimpse of his. It was reason enough to hope.

Stone stomped his feet into his boots then strode down the hall toward the kitchen. He might be sprouting a goose egg on his forehead, but he was done letting Miss Atherton play nursemaid. No porcelain basins with purple flowers painted on the side. No frilly bedcovers. No female fussing over him every time he tried to move. Especially a tall one. One who could fit far too well against his side and whose mouth was at just the right height for kissing without giving a man a crick in his neck.

And just
what
was he doing thinking about kissing? She was his target, for pity’s sake. A kidnapper and probably crazy to boot. She simply hid it well under that righteous all-I-want-to-do-is-protect-the-child act of hers.

Stone entered the kitchen, so caught up in his inner rant he almost didn’t spot the gnome until it was too late.

“What do ya think you’re doing?” The whiskered fella set the strip of wood he’d been whittling on the table and stood, the knife in his hand waving in Stone’s direction.

“Stayin’,” Stone announced, jaw firm, eyes hard. To make his point, he stripped out of his duster, folded it over, then dropped the heavy coat onto the tabletop. “Miss Atherton invited me to stay for a while, so you might as well get used to seein’ me around.”

The gnome shot him a glare so hot Stone was surprised his skin didn’t start sizzling. Dobson would bear watching. Of course, Stone was pretty sure the man would be watching
him
as well, so it shouldn’t prove too difficult to keep tabs on the fellow.

“I need to use the privy,” Stone snapped, already plotting ways to escape Miss Atherton’s guard dog. “This place got a back door?”

Dobson jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

Stone followed the direction the man indicated then traipsed out the door and onto the porch. After clopping down the stairs, he found the path leading toward a weathered outhouse standing a short distance away, half hidden beneath an overhang of branches from a pair of oak trees.

Once out of the direct sight path of the house, Stone veered sharply to the left and circled back toward the cabin. He needed eyes on the teacher. She’d be going to get the girl. Stashing a child somewhere for an hour or two was one thing; leaving the girl cooped up for a week was quite another. Besides, the teacher had agreed to let him talk to Lily. No reason to hide her any longer.
Every
reason for him to discover the cubby hole where she’d been stashed.

If Ashe couldn’t confirm Miss Atherton’s claims, Stone
would need to grab the girl and get away quickly without alerting the rest of the household. The more he knew about where she might be, the easier it would be to ensure the protection of everyone concerned. He’d get Lily out, one way or another, but avoiding a scenario where Miss Atherton or one of the boys ended up caught in the crossfire was paramount.

So he crouched and ran up to the house, careful to keep his over-large body beneath window height. Instinct told him the teacher wouldn’t have led him past the girl’s hiding place when she’d helped him into the house earlier, so that left the rear. The same area he’d just left.

Not trusting the boards of the porch to stay silent under his feet, he remained on ground level and flattened his body against the wall. The window closest to him was too far away to see anything beyond the far kitchen wall and the cabinets and shelves located there. However, it was close enough that he could hear the growl of Dobson’s voice and the higher, melodic tones of Miss Atherton. He couldn’t make out their words, but perhaps he didn’t have to, for after a minute the voices ceased and a series of scrapes and dragging noises ensued. Things fell quiet for a moment, then a deep thud from inside reverberated with enough force to vibrate the window glass.

A trap door. Root cellar most likely.

A third voice echoed from within. Small. Quiet. Definitely young. Stone smiled to himself. He’d just discovered Miss Lily Dorchester’s hiding place.