Hannah’s Beau (5 page)

“Do you think this man will help us?” she asked, her voice filled with a weariness Beau had missed until now.

Stunned at his own lack of insight, Beau took note of the purple circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue surrounding her mouth. “When did you say Tyler and your sister left Chicago?”

She blinked at him, but kept her lips tightly clamped together.

He softened his tone and touched her gloved hand. “How long ago, Miss Southerland?”

“Three days,” she said, pushing out of his reach.

“How much sleep have you had since then?”

Sighing, she turned her head to look out the carriage window. “I’ve had enough.”

“Miss Southerland—”

“I’m fine. Truly.” She returned her gaze to his. “Tell me about this U.S. Marshal you mentioned.”

Beau let her switch the topic—for now—and called to mind the last time he had been in Denver. Trey Scott had helped him find a miner who’d run out on his wife and five children. Clearly an advocate for abandoned women and their families, the lawman had been ruthless in his search.

“He’s a good man,” Beau said with sincerity. “He’ll
do all he can to locate your sister, or, barring that, he’ll find someone who can.”

“Thank you.”

Relief glittered in her eyes. Still, she sat with her shoulders stiff and unmoving.

Time, he told himself. In time she would learn to trust him, perhaps even forgive him.

Uncomfortable on the bench that was far too small for his large frame, Beau shifted and rearranged his legs. “While we have a moment, I should tell you about Charity House so as to avoid any confusion once we arrive.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes searching his as though she wasn’t sure why his voice had changed but had decided to hold on to her curiosity while he explained himself.

What sort of woman had that kind of controlled patience?

“Charity House,” he began, “is an orphanage—”

“Orphanage?” Her eyes lit up, and she tilted her head forward. “How many children are housed there?”

“Forty.”

“So many.” She relaxed her head against the cushions and blinked up at the ceiling. Her eyes took on a faraway expression, as though she was calculating what forty orphans would look like.

“I should warn you,” he said, pulling at a loose thread in the upholstery. “When I say orphanage, I don’t mean it in the strictest sense.”

She cocked her head at him. “I don’t understand.”

He tugged on the string, the gesture releasing three more strands. “It’s a baby farm.”

She lifted a shoulder and shook her head in obvious confusion.

Releasing the thread entwined in his fingers, he boldly pressed on. “A baby farm is a home for prostitutes’ illegitimate children.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“The children aren’t accepted in other, more traditional homes because of their mothers’ profession. They can’t live in the brothels, so Marc and Laney Dupree take them in without question.” Beau kept his voice even, but the passion he felt for the orphanage sounded in his tone despite his efforts. “If not for Charity House, most of the children would have nowhere else to go. The cycle of sin and crime would continue in their lives.”

“How—” Tears filled her eyes, skimming along her dark lashes like tiny ice crystals. They disappeared with a single swipe of her wrist.
“Marvelous.”

Beau hadn’t expected such a positive, heartfelt response from her.

Why not?
he wondered. Why had he expected her to show immediate prejudice?

Because you were so quick to judge, yourself. You saw her from your own failings, not hers.

“Yes.” Beau swallowed. “It is marvelous.”

They shared a small smile between them, but then her forehead scrunched into a scowl, effectively dousing the moment with a dose of reality. “Didn’t you say you were going there on an errand for Jane Goodwin?”

“Yes, to pay the board for her daughter.”

Surprising him once again, Miss Southerland looked at him with glowing respect, as though he’d transformed into something good and noble right before her eyes. “How very kind of you.”

Unnerved by the change in her, he rolled his shoulders. “It’s what I do.”

“I know.”

She really smiled at him then. It was nothing more than an attractive lifting of the corners of her mouth that revealed straight, white teeth, but the gesture carried a spectacular wallop.

Beau had thought her beautiful before, but now…

He had to cough to release the breath lodged in his throat.

He should start anew with this woman, here and now. He should find a way to earn back her trust, in degrees if not all at once. He should do a lot of things that involved words and a healthy dose of groveling on his part.

Instead, he repositioned his weight on the bench and released his own grin.

Her smile widened in response. And for the first time in years, a sense of utter peace settled over him.

Words, Beau decided, were highly overrated.

H
annah sank back against the seat cushion and studied the pastor from beneath her lowered lashes. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. She hadn’t expected that. Although she should have.

There was something familiar about this man’s masculine good looks, a charming vibrancy that was one hundred percent O’Toole. And yet the tilt of his head, the slash of his cheekbones, the bewildering sorrow in his eyes were all profoundly his own.

Hannah released a slow sigh. After the last three days, she should be immune to any man with the last name O’Toole. She certainly didn’t want to be attracted to the one sitting across from her. Anger and distrust were much more manageable emotions, certainly easier to define.

But he’d thrown her off balance with his passionate description of Charity House and the home’s special mission.

The carriage bumped, jostling her forward then back again. Another bump. Another jostle, and Hannah had to place her palms on either side of her to prevent an unfortunate incident—oh, say, like diving headfirst to the floor.

As she struggled, Reverend O’Toole’s smile dipped into a frown. “Can I assist you?”

She made a noncommittal sound in her throat.

He lifted a hand toward her.

“No.”
She glided smoothly out of his reach. “I’m steady now.”

“We’re nearly there,” he said in a soft, understanding voice.

Oh. Perfect.
Now
his tone and manner held the compassion she’d hoped to find in him earlier.

At the genuine show of concern in his gaze, she had to work to catch her breath. His silver eyes held such depth, such consideration. He was worried.
About her.
Which made him infinitely more likable.

The cad.

The carriage suddenly felt too small, too confining.

Hannah reached for her collar. Cleared her throat. Forced a smile. Cleared her throat again. “It’s hot in here.”

His teeth flashed white, and the crinkles deepened around his eyes. “It is.”

Careful, Hannah,
she warned herself.
He’s far too charming when he smiles.

She had to keep her mind on the task she’d set before her.
Not
on the beautiful gray eyes of a rebel preacher who unfairly judged her one moment and showed genuine contrition the next.

A surge of impatience had her tapping her fingers against the seat cushion. Time was running out. The longer Rachel and Tyler remained hidden, the harder it would be to uncover their location.

Hannah reached up and fiddled with the top button of her coat again. As much as she wanted to rush to the
next town, she had to trust this small interruption in her search was part of God’s plan. Just as Jesus had stopped unexpectedly to heal the bleeding woman on his way to save Jarius’s daughter, this detour had to mean something important, something significant Hannah didn’t yet understand.

Hadn’t good already come from this slight change in plans? An introduction to a U.S. Marshal was imminent. Certainly, seeking the expertise of a trained lawman was better than chasing around the territory with no real direction.

Not to mention, they were headed to an orphanage for abandoned children.
Go where God leads…

The carriage slowed and stopped with a shudder, jarring her out of her thoughts.

“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.

Hannah craned her neck to look out the window, but the reverend’s shuffling of legs and arms captured her attention before she could focus on the scenery. He was so tall. She hadn’t realized how confining the carriage must have been for him.

Rearranging his position one last time, he stooped forward and exited the carriage. Hannah clutched the seat tighter as the bench tilted from the sudden shift of weight.

Continuing the role of gentleman, the reverend reached back into the cabin to offer his assistance once again. Hannah stared at the outstretched palm, unsure whether to accept his help a second time or not. Even through her gloves, something strange had happened when their hands met.

Her reaction worried her, of course, but not enough to be rude. Bracing for the jolt, she slowly placed her
hand in his. The expected tingle started in her fingertips and moved swiftly up her arm. In an effort to be free of the disturbing sensation, she scrambled out of the carriage and nearly pushed the wall of man and muscle away from her.

He looked at her strangely, dropped his gaze to his now-empty hand and sighed.

With a theatrical flourish reminiscent of his brother, he motioned to the home standing behind him. “I give you Charity House,” he said, adding a shallow bow and a flick of his wrist to emphasize his point.

Hannah blinked at the massive structure. “
This
is an orphanage?”

“Spectacular, isn’t it?”

She blinked again.

Despite the grubby clouds that rapidly swallowed the pristine sky above, the house, with its clinging vines, stylish brick and soft angles, captured her imagination and made her think of fairy tales…rescued damsels in distress…happily ever afters…

“It’s quite lovely,” she said at last.

Unable to say anything more, she craned her neck and looked to her left and then to her right. It was evident that they stood in the middle of an exclusive neighborhood. Modern gas lamps sat atop poles at every street corner. Large, brick homes similar to Charity House in their grandeur marched shoulder to shoulder in elegant formation along the lane.

Caught between surprise and puzzlement, Hannah slid a glance at the man looming large and silent beside her. He stood patiently, his hands linked behind his back.

She turned her attention back to the orphanage. The
sheer glamour of the home—or rather
mansion
—took her breath away.

Dragging cold air into her lungs, she said, “I’ve never seen an orphanage quite like this.”

And she’d seen plenty in the last few years. The buildings were usually sterile and functional, never as inviting as this one was.

She focused on the sound of laughter and good-natured shrieks coming from somewhere in the near distance. The joyful noise of children hard at play made her ache with an unexpected sense of homesickness. It was an odd sensation that was part confusion, part longing, and she felt her shoulders stiffen in response.

“Marc and Laney have spared no expense,” the reverend said. “Each child in his or her own way has suffered a great deal in their short lives. At Charity House they receive a little beauty in their previously barren worlds.”

Hannah noted the manicured lawn scattered with blooming autumn plants. “It’s wonderful.”

“It is.”

A sudden thought occurred to her. “The neighbors don’t mind living this close to an orphanage?”

“Most tolerate it.”

It was an acceptable answer, but something dark flashed in his eyes and made her press the issue. “What about the others?”

“As you can imagine, some don’t approve. They file complaints occasionally, but don’t worry.” His voice took on a convicted edge. “The Lord’s hand is on Charity House. The orphanage is here to stay.”

“Praise God.”

He gave her a heartening smile. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Is the inside as grand?” she asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Here come Marc and Laney now.” He tipped his head toward the front door.

Hannah turned her attention back to the house in time to see a young couple negotiating the front steps together. Both were as beautiful as their home.

The dark-haired, clean-shaven man was dressed in what Hannah would have thought more appropriate for a successful banker. He wore a gold and black brocade vest and a matching tie, while a shiny watch fob hooked to a middle button dangled toward a small pocket. The entire ensemble looked both expensive and elegant.

The woman was dressed more casually, in a simple blue dress with a white lace collar. Her mahogany hair was pulled into a fashionable bun and she walked with an inherent grace any actress would envy.

The couple held hands, as though they were newly married, madly in love, or both. Other than Patience and Reginald O’Toole, Hannah had never seen two people so finely attuned with one another.

A gnawing ache twisted in Hannah’s stomach. Would she ever find that sort of connection with a man? Or was she destined to be alone, to serve other abandoned women and children without the benefit of a husband by her side?

Only God knew for sure.

As they drew closer, Hannah studied their faces. Compassion and strength of character were evident in their smiles and sparkling eyes. Eventually, the couple separated and the woman pushed slightly ahead.

“Pastor Beau, what a pleasant surprise.” Beaming, she gripped both of the reverend’s hands and squeezed. “We didn’t expect you until Sunday.”

He lifted one of her hands to his lips then released her. “The pleasure is mine.”

“Beau.” The man slapped him on the back in a friendly gesture. “It’s always good to see you, no matter the day of the week.”

“Marc and Laney Dupree, I would like to introduce Hannah Southerland.” He turned and gestured to her. “She’s a friend of my…parents’.”

Marc nodded at her. The accompanying smile was so genuine and guileless Hannah found herself smiling back.

Laney, however, clearly wanted none of the distant politeness required of first meetings. She boldly yanked Hannah into a tight hug. “Any friend of our favorite pastor is certainly welcome in our home.”

At the genuine warmth in Laney’s words and the open acceptance in her embrace, Hannah’s stomach curled inside itself. Feeling more than a little desperate, she clung to the other woman with a fierceness she hadn’t known she possessed. Fear, frustration and terrifying hope braided together in a ball of awkward longing. Hannah hadn’t realized how alone she’d felt these last three days as she’d searched for Rachel and Tyler with no leads, no help and no advice.

As though sensing her mood, Laney patted her on the back and whispered in a voice only Hannah could hear, “You’re safe with us.”

Unable to respond, Hannah simply gripped the other woman tighter.

“Tell me, Beau,” Marc asked from behind her. “What brings you to our home, on a Wednesday no less?”

Feeling awkward, foolish even, Hannah stepped quickly out of Laney’s embrace. She was too emotional to speak, not that the question had been directed at her. But still…

She gave the reverend a pleading look.

His questioning gaze was so serious, so concerned, she lost the tiny thread of her control and tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. It took everything in her not to reach up and wipe at her lashes.

He touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

She nodded her head, a little too quickly, a little too intensely.

His eyes softened. He squeezed her hand a moment, and then turned back to Marc. “I have a delivery from one of Mattie’s girls. Miss Southerland was kind enough to accompany me.”

“I’m glad,” Marc said with a kind look directed at her.

“And while we’re here,” the reverend continued, “we thought you might have an idea where your brother-in-law is today.”

Marc and Laney shared a look. “You’re searching for Trey?” they asked in unison.

Beau nodded, but didn’t divulge any of the particulars.

“Well, you’re in luck. He’s actually here today,” Laney said. “Last I saw, he was out back playing baseball with some of the older children.”

Marc looked like he was going to add to the explanation, but he was interrupted by a high-pitched squeal of delight. “Pastor Beau! Pastor Beau!”

All four adults turned toward the gleeful sound. A little girl about seven years old skipped down the steps. Her sky-blue eyes sparkled with delight. Her broad smile showed off a missing front tooth, while two long black braids bounced from side to side with each step she took.

The adorable little girl was filthy from braids to bare feet and, quite frankly, the happiest child Hannah had ever seen.

Skidding to a halt mere inches short of running into the pastor, she asked, “Are you here to play with us today?”

Unfazed by the near collision,
Pastor Beau
stooped to her level and plucked at one of the messy braids. “Hello to you, too, Miss Molly Taylor Scott. What sort of game are you playing?”

Rocking back and forth on her heels, Molly performed a perfect little-girl swish with her shoulders. “Baseball, of course. My daddy’s pitching right now.”

Grinning, the reverend rose and placed his palm on her head in a gesture that spoke of genuine affection.

Man and child continued smiling at each other as though they shared some humorous secret.

Charmed by them both, Hannah just stood watching the two interact.

“Her daddy is the man you’re looking for,” Laney whispered.

Surprised at the news, she turned to Laney. “Molly isn’t one of the orphans?”

“Not anymore.”

Their voices must have carried, because Molly noticed Hannah then. With the typical attention span of a child, she deserted the pastor and bounced over to Hannah. “You’re very pretty.”

Completely captivated by the precocious child, Hannah lowered to her knees. “You are, too.”

Lifting her nose higher in the air, the little girl slapped her own shoulder. “My name’s Molly.”

“I’m Hannah.”

“Oh.” Big blue eyes widened. “Like Samuel’s mama.”

More surprises,
Hannah thought. “You’ve heard of her?”

“Well, of course.” Molly let out a sound of impatience. “Pastor Beau told us about her last Sunday. She’s the one that prayed for a baby.”

“That’s right. I was named after her.”

Molly jammed two tiny fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes in pitch-perfect seven-year-old concentration. “You don’t look like anybody’s mama to me. You’re too fancy.”

“I’m not anybody’s mother. Yet.” Hannah smiled at the child, even as something a little sad quivered through her. “But one day I hope to be a lot of somebodies’ mother.”