Her brother, Rafe, had spent over a year living among the Pawnee tribe learning their ways and developing skills that had led to him being one of the most sought-after bounty hunters in the West.
He shoved his hands through his hair, his frustration growing until he shot up from his seat on the raised hearth and turned to face the fire.
“He knew we were coming,” he said, dropping his head and shaking it slowly. “By the time we reached the bridge, it had already been destroyed, so, we doubled back through the orchard, but when we arrived at the house, it was empty.”
“Do you think he’s the man who killed Rhea?” Hannah asked, then clarified when Rafe looked at her with scrunched brows. “Miss Hampton.”
“Seems to be too much of a coincidence for my taste,” Raine said.
“I don’t bel—” Rafe started.
“Believe in coincidences,” everyone echoed along with him.
“We know,” Cole teased.
For a split moment, Rafe smiled, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared.
“We’ll head back out tomorrow. He couldn’t have gotten far,” Raine assured him.
“I’ll help,” Eli said, his arms wrapped around his knees.
Hannah had already been acutely aware of just how close the lumberjack sat to her, but the sound of his voice caused the hairs on her arms to stand on end. She was grateful her father’s coat hid all evidence of just how much he affected her.
“Me too,” Cole chimed in.
Just as Maeve finished braiding Hannah’s hair, Lottie came around the corner from the kitchen with two adorable little helpers, each holding a plate full of delicious looking sweet rolls.
“With the weather like this,” the cook rolled her eyes heavenward, “I thought it would be nice to have something warm to fill your bellies.” She handed out the four mismatched ceramic tumblers full of apple cider she carried, then returned to the kitchen to get more.
“Miss Red Barn,” the little girl squealed as she started toward Hannah.
Grace rescued the tray of bizcochos from the child and placed it on the table next to Cole, who practically licked his lips as he picked one up and took a bite.
“Mmmm,” he said. “Warm.”
Mirabelle plunged into Hannah’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck.
“She’s been like that all day,” Grace whispered. “She keeps saying that she’s afraid the ‘bad man’ will come find her and take her away.”
Hannah nodded at her sister-in-law as she wrapped her arms around the little girl.
“Why don’t you just call me Miss Hannah,” she whispered in the girl’s ear.
She could feel movement from the child’s head and smiled to herself, not that she minded being compared to an oversized building full of hay, slop, and muck. She chuckled.
After a moment, Mirabelle pulled back, tilting her chin toward her chest, but staring over Hannah’s shoulder through her beautifully thick, dark lashes at Maeve, one finger between her teeth.
Archie walked the room very carefully as he passed out the pastries from his tray.
“Don’t be shy, Mirabelle. This is my friend, Mrs. Stillwell.”
“Hello, Mirabelle,” Maeve said with a smile. “You have a very beautiful name. My mother was also called Mirabelle.” She reached out and caressed one of the girl’s long, dark tresses. “Your hair is even the same color as hers.”
The little girl just continued to stare at her.
“What do you tell Mrs. Stillwell, sweetheart?” Hannah started to worry when the youngster still would not respond. She placed a hand on the child’s forehead, but Mirabelle tilted her head to the side as if she did not want to lose sight of Maeve.
“Archie?” Hannah turned her head toward the boy.
He twisted around to face her, his tray emptied of all but one of the sweet rolls, then froze. The tray dropped to the ground with a clank, the last bizcocho sliding across the wooden floor.
“Mama?” he said in quiet disbelief and took a step toward them. “Oh, Mama!” His face lit up and he hurled himself toward them.
“Whoa, little fella,” Eli said, scooping up the boy before he could do any damage to Hannah’s recovering friend.
“Let me go,” Archie cried as he squirmed in Eli’s arms. “Let me go! That’s my ma!”
Hannah glanced back at an awe-struck Maeve. Her eyes were wide, and the color had all but drained from her face.
“Maeve,” Brant said as he strode into the room with a large quilt, “are you all right?” He set the blanket over the back of the chair and knelt down. “What is it?” He turned to Hannah. “Maybe this is too much for her right now. I think I’ll just take her in to lie down.”
“No!” Maeve said firmly, a tear streaming down her face. She gripped her husband’s hand and whispered, “Archie?”
“Archie?” Brant repeated, his gaze whipping around to fix on the boy who continued to struggle against Eli.
“Mama!” he called again reaching toward Maeve, tears now streaming down his face.
Everyone else in the room had fallen silent as everyone watched the scene.
Hannah had known Maeve for many years. There was no way the woman could be Archie’s mother, and yet, as she glanced down into Mirabelle’s face, she noticed a stark resemblance to her friend.
How can that be?
“Maeve?” she asked without formulating more of the question.
The woman looked at Eli. “You can let him go now,” she said with a nod. “It’ll be all right.”
Eli glanced over at Hannah.
She nodded slowly as she scooted to one side, and he set the boy down.
“Mama,” he said as he rushed into her open arms, “I thought he’d killed you.”
“Shhh,” Maeve consoled as she rocked him back and forth, her face wet with tears, his little legs dangling off the edge of the chair in front of her.
Mirabelle climbed down off Hannah’s lap and stood in front of the chair and looked up.
“Mama?” she said in that sweet little voice that Hannah had grown to love in such a short time.
Hannah got to her feet and moved to stand next to Eli.
Archie turned on his side, still clinging to Maeve with one arm and reaching down with the other to help his little sister up onto her lap.
Lottie returned with four more tumblers of apple cider. She glanced around the room.
“What did I miss?”
“The children are finally asleep,” Hannah said as she joined her family back in the living room.
“The Stillwells have lived in Stone Creek for more than six years. There is no way that Maeve is their mother,” Cole said knowingly.
“You’re right.”
Everyone looked up to see Brant standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Maeve is not their mother,” he said, walking into the room and sitting in the settee where his wife had sat earlier. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Their mother’s name was Malena de Clare of the Manhattan de Clares.”
Hannah had never heard of the de Clares.
“As in Charles de Clare?” Eli asked from his position on the floor.
Brant nodded. “You know him?”
“He’s a friend of my father’s, though I’ve never met the man. Logging and shipping are two industries that go hand in hand.”
“Yes, well, Charles de Clare is certainly very industrious.”
“How does Maeve know the children, Brant, and why do they think she is their mother?” Hannah needed to know the answers.
“Because,” Maeve said as she joined them, “Malena and I shared the same birthday.” Her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks flushed. “She was my sister.” She sat down next to Hannah, who immediately put her arm around her friend, who leaned down onto her shoulder.
“Twins?”
She nodded.
“I hadn’t talked to Malena in years. My father forbade it after I chose to marry Brant over some aristocratic cad he�
��d approved of, but we exchanged letters for a while. At least until shortly after Archie was born. We’d started making plans for her to come for a visit, but after a few months went by and she stopped responding to my letters, I knew something was wrong.”
“Charles cut her out of her own life—off from everything she knew. Denounced her. Disowned her.” Brant stood up, his fists clenched together. “And for what? Because she chose to love a mere farm boy.”
Maeve sat up, reaching out for her husband’s hand, and smiled.
“And I wouldn’t trade it for the world if it meant I couldn’t be with you.”
Brant crouched down next to her.
“How did I get to be so lucky?” he asked, leaning forward, and placing a soft kiss on her mouth.
She pulled away, color flushing her cheeks as she pulled her bottom lip in with her teeth.
“It must be your good looks or sparkling wit.” There was a smile in Maeve’s eyes that both teased and showed her adoration for her husband.
“Okay, now,” Cole said with a roll of his eyes, standing up, and heading toward the door, “It’s getting a little too sappy in here for me. I think I need some air.”
Everybody laughed—a nice break from the previous tension.
“I’ll join you,” Rafe said, also rising to his feet, obviously uncomfortable with the current display of affection. He’d been hurt in the past, spurned by love, but Hannah hoped that one day he would be able to move on. To find someone who would remind him of what it was like to be happy.
She looked over at her parents, still nestled together on the end of the couch, then at Ethan with his little family. She yearned for the kind of love that defied convention, that prevailed against the storms life threw at them despite all odds. Her gaze finally settled on Eli, and when he caught her stare, she could not look away, knowing her heart would always belong to him.
He was a good man.
“So,” Eli said, shifting his position on the floor, and clearing his throat, “how did the children end up in an orphanage?”
The question gave both Cole and Rafe pause, and they turned back with interest to the conversation.
“The boy,” Rafe said, “believed that someone had killed you. Her,” he corrected.
“Yes, he said it was the ‘bad man’, but would not say more.”
“Well, I think this ‘bad man’ may just have arrived in Stone Creek. We have to find him. Raine?” he said, inciting the eldest Redbourne brother to his feet.
Knock. Knock.
“Who would be calling at this time of night?” Leah asked as they all turned to look at the door.
“And, in this weather,” Jameson added, pushing himself to his feet.
Cole, who was closest to the door, reached down and pulled it open, but there was no one on the other side.
In an instant, Eli was on his feet, and sprang toward Hannah’s brother, his head low as he rammed hard into Cole, knocking him to the floor.
CRACK!
The lantern sitting on the end table behind her parents exploded, sending shards of hot glass and kerosene flying.
Hannah screamed, immediately throwing her hand over her mouth as she desperately waited for Cole and Eli to stir.
Jonah slammed the door shut.
“Is everyone all right?” he asked.
When Eli finally rolled over onto his back with a groan and Cole raised his head high enough to be seen, she released the breath she’d been holding.
The room shifted to high alert. Rafe and Raine, on opposite sides of the large living room window, each drew their guns, as did Ethan, who slipped his baby into Grace’s arms and urged her to leave.
Her brothers took turns jutting their heads out briefly to try and see outside, but Hannah imagined it was too dark now for them to see anything.
“Get them into my study,” Dad told Mother, motioning toward her, Maeve, Grace, and the children. “Lock the door and stay there.”
As soon as her mother nodded, her father slowly inched across the floor toward the wall where his rifle hung.
“I’m not leaving,” Hannah said as she made her way toward Eli. The long table next to the door housed several of Raine’s guns in its drawers. She’d been taught her way around firearms from the time she could walk, and she could shoot as well as any of her brothers, with the exception of Rafe. She doubted anyone could shoot as well as he could.
“Don’t be stubborn, little girl,” her father called after her. “Go with your mother.”
Why couldn’t he see that she could help?
She’d never defied him before, but she would not, could not, sit back and watch anything happen to those she loved without at least putting up a fight.
“Sorry, Dad,” she said as she pulled open one of the drawers and retrieved one of the heavier six-shooter revolvers and a box of ammunition.
She locked eyes a moment with her father, and she swore she saw a hint of admiration in his stare.
He shook his head and waved for his wife to go.
Her mother placed an arm around Maeve, and together, with Grace and her children, crouched low as they ran into the study.
Moments later, Leah emerged from the room with one of Jameson’s new pistols in hand.
“We’re Redbournes,” she said, standing behind the wall, “and we fight together. We protect each other.”
Raine motioned for Rafe to head through the kitchen and out the back.
As Hannah watched her father reach up and grab ahold of a brick on the wall and gingerly pull himself up, it took a moment before she noticed the small drips of blood that trailed behind him.
“Rafe!” she called out to her brother before he reached the edge of the kitchen. “Dad’s been hit.”
The bounty hunter holstered his pistol and rushed to their father’s side.
“It barely grazed me,” Dad insisted, attempting to block the growing red splotches on his shirt with his hand. “Go! Get him before anyone else gets hurt. Or dead,” he added. “I’ll be fine.”
Rafe hesitated.
“Now!” Jameson barked.
“Yes, sir.” He pulled his gun back out and nodded before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Wait,” Jonah said. “I’m coming with you.”
Rafe nodded.
Hannah waited, but she didn’t hear the back door shut behind them.
Curious.
“You got another one of those?” Eli had managed to get himself into a sitting position.
“As a matter of fact...,” she opened another drawer and pulled out a second gun. She bit back the temptation to grab the man by his shirt collar and pull him in for an ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead’ kiss before handing it over, but opted to simply place the pistol in his hand instead.
“How did you know?” she asked without looking at him.
“Instinct. When the door opened, there was a glint of moonlight on metal. Given what has happened, there was nothing else to do, but react.”
“My brother is likely alive because of you.”
Cole had already joined Raine behind the door.
“Do you see anyone?” he asked, loud enough for Hannah to hear.
Raine shook his head.
“It’s too dark.”
“We can’t just sit here and wait for another shot,” Ethan said. “He could be anywhere by now.”
Eli placed a hand on Hannah’s arm. “What if that shot was only meant to be a distraction?”
“A distraction from what?”
“Mirabelle said she saw the bad man from the bedroom window, right?”
The children.
“Oh, no.” Hannah jumped up, shaking her head, no longer worried for her own safety as something in her gut told her that Eli was right. She reached down and grabbed a hold of her skirt, lifting the hem to avoid tripping as she made her way across the living room and started up the stairs.
As they reached Will’s old room, where the children had been sleeping, the door sat ajar a cr
ack and voices came from inside.
Hannah placed a finger over her lips, then gently pushed on the door until it opened enough that she could make out Brant’s boots as he lay on the floor, lifeless in front of the window.
She closed her eyes.
Please don’t let him be dead.
“Come now,” a man’s voice split the silence, “I’m just looking to get what’s coming to me. What’s rightfully mine. And if it’s going to take these two brats to get it for me, then so be it.”
“What is it that you want, Cadman? You know I can’t allow you to take the children.”
Hannah threw a hand over her mouth at the sound of Maeve’s voice. How had she gotten out of Jameson’s study without anyone noticing. And how did she know the man?
“You know, Maeve de Clare—I guess it’s Stillwell now—or at least it was.” He sneered at Brant’s lifeless form. “You always were the stronger of the two. And, oh, how I would have loved to put you in your place. To have you bow—”
SMACK.
“Why, you little—”
“Leave her alone!” There was no mistaking Archie’s little voice. “Or—”
“Or, what?” the man asked.
“Or, you’re gonna die,” he said confidently.
“Let go of him, Cadman,” Maeve warned, “or I’ll kill you myself.”
“Those are strong words coming out of your mouth there, Missy.”
Hannah glanced back at Eli, who pulled back the hammer on his pistol and started forward. His jaw was clenched tightly, and a vein in his temple pulsated. She placed a hand on his chest, bidding him to wait, then turned back to the door, pushing it wider. She wished they could see what they were up against. She peered through the open space as best she could.
Archie and Mirabelle huddled together at the head of Levi’s bed, tears streaming down their faces, but the little boy’s brow scrunched together, his lips pursed, and his eyes narrowed.
Hannah’s heart broke right in two.
He was the most courageous little man Hannah had ever met.
They needed to find Raine. Or Rafe. Who was she pretending to be? She’d been trained to shoot at strings of empty cans and paper targets, not people. The last thing she wanted to do was to startle the man and have him do something they would all regret. Someone could get killed.
The Lumberjack Page 20