Amber eyes peered into hers with an intensity that tempted her to take a step back. She’d learned long ago not to show weakness in front of a man, however, and held her ground. Lily’s future depended on how she handled this moment. Fear was a luxury she couldn’t indulge.
The man braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, his tanned fingers dark against the white of the sheets as they dug into the ticking. Then his eyes slid closed and his features hardened in concentration. Heavens, the man was truly hurting.
She took a cautious step closer to him, hating to see anyone in pain. Even an oversized mercenary. “Are you all ri—?”
His hand shot out and latched onto her wrist like a manacle. She struggled to pull free, but his grip offered no hope of escape. The swine! How like a man—taking advantage of a woman’s nurturing nature. She should have known better.
“Can you back up that claim, teacher?” He growled the question through gritted teeth, his skin taking on an ashen hue.
Maybe it wasn’t all a deception. There was dried blood along his hairline along with a good-sized knot.
“Yes, I can back it up,” she said, praying he didn’t notice the slight waver in her voice. “I have documents—legal documents—to prove what I say is true. I’ll show them to you after I see to your wounds.”
“I’d rather see them now, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Well, I can’t exactly fetch them with you restraining me, now, can I?” She dared him to release her with a pointed glance, then gave another tug of her captured arm. After a slight hesitation, he released her.
Charlotte immediately reinstated the distance between them. The stranger listed sideways a bit and raised a hand to the lump on his forehead. He winced and hissed a sharp breath, but Charlotte hardened her heart against his pain. She wouldn’t be lured in again.
Nibbling on her lower lip, she crossed to her bureau. This wasn’t going at all as she’d hoped. She was supposed to tend the stranger’s injuries and thereby earn his gratitude and respect before revealing her secrets. But the stubborn man wasn’t cooperating.
When Lily had told her that Mr. Dobson had brought home an injured man, and a mean one at that, she’d suspected at once who he might be. Thankfully, she and Lily had worked out a plan many months ago about what they should do if a strange man ever came around their place.
Hence, the girl was safely down in the root cellar at this moment, reading by lantern light with a tin of soda crackers and a jar of water on hand. They kept a pallet of quilts down there along with a chamber pot, so there should be no reason for Lily to come out until Charlotte came for her. Lily had never minded their practice runs. Even the time when Charlotte forced her to stay down there, quietly, for two hours. She’d simply gotten absorbed in one of her books and let the hours pass.
But this time would be different. It wasn’t practice.
Charlotte had done her best to assure Lily that there was nothing to fret about when she’d opened the trap door in the kitchen and sent her down into the cellar. Lily had nodded and even smiled, her trust complete. But Charlotte knew the worry would eat at her while she was alone down there.
Watch over her, Lord. Don’t let her be too afraid. And don’t let me fail her.
“You gonna show me them papers or just stand there wool-gatherin’?”
Charlotte jumped slightly but covered her startle by turning to glare at the beast on her bed. “This is a delicate matter, sir, and I won’t be rushed. Besides, in your current state, it is unlikely you’ll be able to comprehend the full significance of my documents. I think it better that we wait until your faculties fully return.”
“My faculties never left, Miss Atherton.” He glared at her, all prickly pride. Men were such predictable creatures. So determined to assert their prowess and deny anything that could be considered weakness. Although, with this particular man, she wasn’t so sure his boast was an idle one. Even injured, he exuded far more competency than most men of her acquaintance. “In fact,” he murmured, a touch of menace weaving through the words, “my faculties are telling me that there’s a good chance there are no documents.”
“There most certainly are!” She bristled, letting her outrage overshadow her fear. She marched the remaining steps to the bureau, yanked open the top right drawer, shifted the rolls of sensible black stockings aside, and withdrew the leather document case she’d secreted beneath them. Slamming it down on the dresser top, she spun to face him. “The documents are inside this case. But you won’t be seeing them until after I tend your injury.” That was her plan, and by all that was holy, she would see it carried out. No man was going to bully her into showing her cards before she was ready, and that was that. “Now, just sit there and be quiet until I tell you you can speak.”
He raised a brow at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said.
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 coolheaded 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. 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 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 kicke
d the toe of his shoe against the wall in protest, but he complied. 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. 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 finally a dribbling of excess water as Miss Atherton prepared her compress. A moment later, she came into view, her strides business-like, 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 sucked in a breath. She murmured an apology, then immediately moved the compress to the offended area and soothed it with welcome coolness.
“Here, hold this in place.” 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 this job.
And if she wasn’t a villain, where exactly did that leave him?
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Two-time RITA finalist and winner of the coveted HOLT Medallion and ACFW Carol Award, CBA bestselling author Karen Witemeyer writes historical romance 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. Learn more about Karen and her books at http://www.karenwitemeyer.com.
Books by Karen Witemeyer
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A Tailor-Made Bride
Head in the Clouds
To Win Her Heart
Short-Straw Bride
Stealing the Preacher
Full Steam Ahead
A Cowboy Unmatched*
Love on the Mend*
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