Renee Ryan

by The Outlaw's Redemption

  Trey let out a low laugh. “What can I say? Got an image to uphold.”

  Brow arched, Hunter cut his friend a speaking glance. They both knew Trey’s legendary reputation had nothing to do with filing late reports.

  Trey simply studied Hunter in return, with that quiet, reflective air of his. “This your first stop?”

  “No.” Hunter shook his head. “I went to see Mattie Silks last night.”

  Trey stared at him, infuriatingly calm as always.

  Hunter stared back, reminding himself—again—that he had nothing to hide. Even though his past was littered with the wreckage of his mistakes, Hunter was a new man.

  A changed man.

  Still, he waited for Trey’s expression to fill with disappointment, waited for him to say something about the ills of stopping in a brothel his first night in town. But Trey’s gaze never changed. There was no lecture forthcoming, no leaping to conclusions. The complete lack of censure proved he had more faith in Hunter than Hunter had in himself.

  “That couldn’t have been easy,” Trey said at last.

  “You have no idea.” Hunter paused, remembering. No, it hadn’t been easy at all, walking into Mattie’s last night. There’d been painful moments of self-recriminations, a lot of regret, guilt, raw emotions he hadn’t been able to sort through then, or now. “I went to Mattie’s because of this.”

  He dug in his jacket and pulled out the letter the interfering woman had sent him last month—bless her ornery soul.

  Trey accepted the paper without looking down.

  “Go ahead,” Hunter urged. “Read it.”

  Trey lowered his gaze. A moment later, he drew in a sharp breath, looked up, then back down at the letter.

  He continued reading in silence, flipped over the paper and scanned the back. When he was finished, he refolded the letter along the well-worn creases and handed it back to Hunter.

  A thousand words passed between them, reminding Hunter of the last day he’d been in this building, and their final conversation. He’d spilled his guts to this man, admitting his deepest anger at God for forsaking him, at Jane for dying on him. Most of all, he’d raged over the dream that had vanished with the death of his infant son and murder of his wife a few days later.

  After too many years on the wrong side of the law, Jane had been Hunter’s chance for a new, wholesome life that had lasted barely two years.

  Trey was the only person in the world who knew Hunter’s desperate wish for a family of his own, why he’d married Jane in the first place, and why he’d sought revenge for her murder. He wanted the stability he’d denied himself for years, but had been snatched from him so ruthlessly. Now, here he was, on the brink of achieving that dream, after all. Answered prayer, if in a different form than he’d ever dreamed.

  “I take it you had no idea about the child until Mattie contacted you.”

  “None.”

  “You’re sure she’s yours?”

  The question of the hour. “Not completely. But Mattie claims the child resembles me enough to eliminate any doubt.”

  He went on to explain the circumstances of his brief first marriage, leaving nothing out, including Maria abandoning her vows to return to her former life.

  “So the child might not be yours.”

  Hunter hesitated, fighting off a wave of alarm. What if Sarah wasn’t his daughter? What then? “I’ll know more when I see her for myself.”

  His mouth pressed in a thin line, Trey pulled out a chair and indicated Hunter take the seat.

  By the time he did as requested, Trey had already disappeared through a door behind his desk. He reappeared with a steaming mug of coffee. “You look like you could use this.”

  Grateful for the distraction, Hunter took the offered mug and buried his nose in the strong aroma.

  Perching on the edge of his desk, Trey dived back into the conversation. “Where’s the child now?”

  “Charity House.”

  Other than a slight widening of his eyes, Trey didn’t outwardly react to the news. “Then she’s in good hands.”

  “Yes.” The relief was still there, a reminder that Maria hadn’t been completely duplicitous. Enough, though, and now Hunter had to build a relationship with a nine-year-old child who didn’t even know he existed.

  Temper reared, dark and ugly, but he shoved the emotion down. What good would it do to become angry with Maria? What was done was done. Hunter had to focus on the future, not the past. “I’m heading over to the orphanage this afternoon to meet my daughter.”

  The joy was still there, too, riding alongside the relief, reminding Hunter he had a chance to redeem his past, to prove he was more than his mistakes, by becoming a loving, responsible father to his child.

  He’d once lost hope of ever achieving such a blessing. He wouldn’t muck up this opportunity.

  “You’re going to claim her as your own.” A statement, not a question.

  “That’s the plan.”

  As soon as he spoke the words, all the tension in his shoulders disappeared. He’d thought long and hard last night, blinking up at the cracked ceiling of his hotel room. His mind had worked through the multitude of problems—and the possibilities—facing him. Hunter still didn’t have a concrete plan of attack, not yet. But there was no doubt he was going to step up and become the child’s father. In every sense of the word.

  Assuming, of course, she was his.

  His gut roiled. Surely, the child was his.

  “What’s your daughter’s name?”

  “Sarah.” Hunter’s heart thumped as he said her name, surreal and yet not at all. “She turned nine years old a few weeks ago.”

  Trey fell silent, his brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were sorting through the faces of every nine-year-old girl in residence at Charity House. The likelihood of Trey knowing Sarah was high. He had several personal connections to the orphanage. Not only was he related to Marc Dupree, Trey’s wife, Katherine, was the custodian of Charity House School.

  “There’s only one child around that age named Sarah. But, if I remember correctly—” his eyebrows slammed together “—she’s not alone in this world, nor is she without family.”

  “I know. She has an aunt. Annabeth...” Hunter paused, wondering how much Trey knew about Annabeth’s connection to Mattie. Deciding not to risk exposing either woman’s secret, he gave Annabeth’s alias instead of her real name. “...Smith. Her aunt is Annabeth Smith.”

  “You know Annabeth? How?” Icy stillness fell over Trey.

  “She was Maria’s sister.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t go into the details of how he’d discovered Annabeth’s connection to Mattie Silks. Although he hated lies and had vowed to avoid them at all costs, this particular secret wasn’t his to tell.

  “Right. Of course.” Again, Trey’s face crumpled in a look of concentration, and then a spark ignited in his dark eyes. “Annabeth is very devoted to Sarah. Is that going to be a problem?”

  Such a loaded question. Such a loaded situation. All of this would be so much easier if Annabeth wasn’t so deeply involved in Sarah’s life. But she was.

  “Honestly? I’m not sure.” No, that was a lie. “Probably.” Definitely. “All I know for certain is that I’m going to do right by my daughter.”

  He was ready for a second chance at a new life. Nobody was going to stand in his way of providing a safe, stable home for his daughter, and himself, not even Sarah’s devoted aunt.

  “Noble, to be sure, but let me give you a piece of advice.”

  Hunter knew that look in his friend’s eyes. Trey was about to say something profound. Hunter silently prepared himself.

  “Think long and hard about what you want, both in the long term and the short, before you go charging over to Charity House and make your claim.”

  “Understood.”

  “I mean it, Hunter.” Trey leaned forward, hands on his knees, his gaze intent. “Make sure you have a solid idea of what the future looks like in your mind b
efore you start formulating plans. Your actions will impact a lot of people at Charity House, some good some bad.”

  “I get it, Trey.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah, I do.” Awash with joy, with terror, with expectancy, he continued, “You’re telling me I need to be in this for the long haul. And whatever I do, make sure I don’t hurt Sarah, or Annabeth, or anyone else at Charity House. That about cover it?”

  “I’d say we’re on the same page.”

  “Good. And Trey...” Hunter carefully set the mug in his hand on the desk and let out a slow breath of air. “Thank you.”

  Trey shrugged. “Happy to help.”

  “I wasn’t referring to my current situation, though I certainly appreciate the advice.” Mostly. “I meant, thank you for what you did for me two years ago. You helped settle some things in my mind, including the matter of my salvation.”

  “You came to your own conclusions.”

  That might be true, but Trey had guided him toward those conclusions. He’d patiently explained the difference between godly justice and worldly justice. He’d explained the notion of giving mercy where it wasn’t deserved, as only a man who’d sought vengeance with his own hands could do. In that, they’d shared a common bond. Trey’s first wife had been brutally murdered by a man as evil as Cole Kincaid.

  Trey had moved past his anger at God. An example Hunter wanted to follow but still wasn’t sure how. Not completely.

  “I also came here today to return this.” He dipped his hand in one of the inner pockets of his coat and retrieved the small Bible Trey had lent him during the trial. The book was frayed at the spine, nearly falling apart in places.

  “I see you spent some time in there.”

  Hunter attempted an easy smile. “A bit.”

  Giving him a long look, Trey took the Bible, flipped through a few pages at random, then offered it back to Hunter. “Keep it.”

  Hunter didn’t overthink the suggestion. He simply accepted the offered gift with a single nod of his head.

  They spoke a while longer, both settling into the conversation as they had years ago. The fact that this man regularly chewed up outlaws and spit them out like a used-up wad of tobacco wasn’t something Hunter tended to forget. Not while sitting in the man’s jailhouse.

  But Trey was more than a tough, dedicated lawman. He was a family man, too, equally devoted to his wife and three children.

  “Our daughter is fifteen now.” He shuddered. Trey Scott actually shuddered. “She was always a handful, even as a child, often one step away from open rebellion, but now she’s downright...difficult.”

  Hunter remembered his own sisters at that age. Both had been...difficult, too. “I’m sure it’s just a phase.”

  “A phase?” With a visible effort, Trey unclenched his jaw. “A man can certainly hope so.”

  Hunter smiled at his friend’s obvious discomfort. Talk of Trey’s daughter brought his mind back to Sarah. Would she hit a phase, too? Would Hunter be ready for that eventuality? Would they navigate Sarah’s teenage years with ease, or awkwardness, or a combination of both?

  Something remarkable and completely unexpected moved through him as he pondered the questions running through his mind. Anticipation. Followed immediately by dread.

  Hunter’s heart nearly split open at the thought of parenting a female. What did he know about raising a girl? What did he know about parenting at all? His gut spun into a ball of sickening doom. He checked the clock above the door, noted the time and slowly rose to his feet.

  He had some serious thinking to do before he made the trek to Charity House. “I should go.”

  Trey followed him out of the building. “How long are you in town?”

  As long as it takes to win over my daughter. “I haven’t decided.”

  “Make it a point to stop back by. Coffee’s always on.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He turned to leave.

  Trey stopped him. “Hunter. God has given you a well-deserved second chance in life.” Trey clapped him on the back and smiled. “Pray for guidance in the coming days and the Lord will direct your path.”

  Translation: keep his head on straight, his eyes on God and his priorities properly aligned.

  With that in mind, he left for Charity House.

  Chapter Five

  By late afternoon, the wind had picked up, swirling cold air beneath Annabeth’s collar as she stood on the front porch. She hardly noticed the discomfort. She was too busy watching Hunter’s approach from halfway down the block.

  Just looking at him did something strange to her insides. His walk was all his, a smooth, even gait with easy strides that ate up the ground with remarkable speed. He’d taken off his hat and now held it in his hand, swinging it loosely by his side. His hair was disheveled, as if he’d shoved his fingers through it more than once. Eyes dark with banked emotion added to the whole menacing gunslinger look.

  Helpless against the pull of him, Annabeth sighed. Apparently, she had a thing for the whole menacing gunslinger look.

  He’s not here for you. She told herself this, repeated it several times, but her heart still skipped a few unwelcome beats. And her head grew far too light for her peace of mind.

  A clock from inside the house marked the hour. Four distinct chimes. She’d known he’d arrive on time. Hence the reason she’d taken up her post on the front porch of the orphanage.

  Hunter hadn’t noticed her yet. He looked solemn and maybe a little nervous, his gaze darting around as if he was looking for trouble. Did that come from his former life on the run, that constant checking of his surroundings, even on the safest side of town?

  For some reason, the thought made her sad. Every muscle in Hunter’s back and shoulders seemed tense. He raked a hand through his sand-colored hair and then opened the short wooden gate with a jerk.

  He took a few more steps before his gaze caught hers. He stopped. A silent message filled his amber eyes, one she couldn’t quite decipher. There was a lot going on in the man’s head, and she wasn’t entirely sure all of it had to do with Sarah.

  What was she supposed to do with that?

  She forced a cheerful note in her voice. “Good afternoon, Hunter.”

  He didn’t reply. Just nodded, once, abruptly, then traveled his intense gaze over her face once again. She shifted slightly under the bold perusal. When he still didn’t speak, she sought to still the beating of her heart.

  There was no reason to be alarmed, she told herself. She’d had all day to prepare for this meeting.

  Nevertheless...

  She felt an odd pain in her heart, an ache that had nothing to do with the thought of losing Sarah and everything to do with this man.

  Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord. Whether she was voicing a plea or a prayer, Annabeth wasn’t certain.

  She was, however, convinced that standing out on the porch, staring at Hunter Mitchell like a lovesick cow was getting them nowhere.

  “Come inside,” she said, pleasantness personified. “I have someone I wish for you to meet.”

  * * *

  Annabeth directed Hunter into the house and then down a darkened corridor. Shadows swirled around them as they walked, their footsteps filling the silence between them—hers light and graceful, his clipped and efficient. Despite the nature of this visit, the atmosphere in the quiet house was oddly comforting, as if the orphanage was welcoming Hunter into its world.

  Or maybe it was Annabeth’s presence that was soothing him, little by little. Whatever the cause, a sense of well-being spread through his hollow soul. He didn’t understand how or why, but this woman soothed him. Relaxed his restless heart.

  His throat tightened and he swallowed, hard.

  Not the direction his thoughts should be taking.

  Annabeth led him into a small parlor overlooking the back of the house. Hunter set his hat on the closest chair and moved to the window. He looked out just as a burst of warm, golden light washed over a pack of children at play in the wid
e, manicured yard. A group of boys was tossing a ball between them, while some girls were holding hands and spinning in a fast circle. Was Sarah among them?

  This time it was his heart that tightened. With expectation, hope, jumpiness.

  “I thought you and Sarah would have your initial meeting here.” Annabeth’s voice came from directly behind him. “Will that be acceptable?”

  He turned slowly around, taking in the parlor with a practiced eye, locating the exits first then the rest of the room in stages. He ignored the fancy furniture, and focused on the textures and nuances. The attention to detail was impossible to miss, the small area elegant and stylish.

  On the surface, this parlor was far too formal a setting to meet a child in for the first time. But if a person looked past the Persian rugs, the expensive furniture, and the crystal vases filled with fresh-cut flowers, there was warmth in the decor.

  Another sense of homecoming filled him. He felt at ease. “This room is perfectly acceptable.”

  Eyes wide, Annabeth’s face went through a series of odd little contortions.

  He stifled a chuckle at her reaction. “You thought I’d find the room too fancy.” He made a point of sitting on the most delicate piece of furniture he could find. “You wanted me to feel uncomfortable.”

  “I... Yes. I suppose I did.” Her cheeks turned a becoming shade of pink as she made the admission.

  Well, well. The timid girl had turned into a scrappy fighter. Rather than finding her tactics insulting, Hunter found himself amused at her attempt to gain the upper hand in such a sneaky manner. And maybe he was a bit impressed, too. Not that she needed to know any of this. In fact, best to keep her on the defense. “Badly done, Annabeth.”

  “Yes, it was. I—” she tangled her fingers together at her waist “—apologize.”

  Feeling gracious, he inclined his head. “Apology accepted.”

  The tension between them lessened. Not that it mattered. He hadn’t come to see her. Or so he told himself. Yet here they were, holding one another’s gazes, both breathing slowly, something good and right swirling between them.