“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 kicked the toe of his shoe against the wall in protest, but he complied. Although 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. Between the throbbing in his skull and the dizziness that set the room to spinning whenever he moved too fast, he wasn’t exactly at his best. And 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 then a dribbling of excess liquid as Miss Atherton prepared her compress. A moment later, she came into view, her strides businesslike, 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 hissed in a breath. She murmured an apology then immediately moved the compress to the offended area and soothed it with a welcome coolness.
“Here, hold this.” 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 the job.
And if she wasn’t a villain, where exactly did that leave him?
4
Charlotte fisted her fingers to still their trembling. Touching him had been a mistake. It had turned him from a theoretical threat into a flesh and blood man. A man with impossibly broad shoulders and a stubbled chin that rasped against her fingers in an utterly disturbing fashion.
Get ahold of yourself, Charlotte. You’re twenty-eight years old, a dried-up old prune. What do you care about muscles or broad shoulders or an unkempt chin in want of a shave? He was a man, and men couldn’t be trusted. Circumstances had pounded that lesson into her head too many times for her to ignore it now. Besides, this one was working for Dorchester. He’d made no effort to deny it. He was the enemy.
An enemy she desperately needed to win over to her side.
She fingered her mother’s cameo then grabbed a second handkerchief from the pile she’d set on the washstand earlier and dunked it ruthlessly into the water. The icy temperature cooled her thoughts and restored her equilibrium. She had a job to do, and Lily’s future hinged on her success.
Keeping her eyes downcast, Charlotte strolled back to her patient, careful not to look at him until the last possible moment. The man was just too large. And powerful. Looking at him only served to remind her of her own weakness and vulnerability. If he chose to steal Lily from her, she’d be helpless to stop him. One blow from that tree trunk of an arm and she’d be an insensible, crumpled heap.
Wrenching that disturbing image from her mind, she blotted the last of the dried blood from the knotted area at the stranger’s hairline and pressed the compress against the bruised and swollen flesh. The only weapons she could wield against him were kindness and truth. And now that his wounds had been tended, she had nothing left in her arsenal but the truth. She prayed it would be sharp enough to penetrate his defenses.
“What’s your name?” she asked as she stepped back from him and forced herself to meet his sharp-eyed gaze.
“So I’m permitted to speak again, am I?’
Charlotte’s face grew warm, but she offered no apology. She simply nodded and tried not to notice the way his answering half smile softened his amber eyes.
He straightened his posture, wincing only slightly when he removed the compress from the back of his head. “Name’s Stone Hammond.”
Of course. How could the man be named anything other than Stone? He was solid muscle from head to toe and had a hard resiliency about him that projected competence—a competence that would have been rather nice to have around had the man not been hired by her enemy.
“Welcome to my home, Mr. Hammond.” It was ridiculous, really, to act as if he were a simple traveler passing through when Dobson had bashed his skull and dragged him here with hands and feet bound. But the veneer of civility kept her nerves in check. “I’m Charlotte Atherton, but I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. And since you know why I’m here, I suggest you quit postponing the inevitable and show me those papers of yours. I give you my word that if they’re authentic, I’ll take them into consideration.”
His word? What value was that to her? Men broke their word all the time. Dr. Sullivan at the academy. Alexander with his smooth promises and faithless actions. All the fathers who promised their children they’d attend their end-of-year recitals then failed to appear. Her father.
Charlotte severed that line of thought and flung the remains away before they could undermine her purpose. Her back was to the wall here. She had no choice but to show Mr. Hammond the papers and pray for the best.
“Very well.” She turned from him and crossed to the bureau, praying with every step that he would be convinced of the truth. It took only a moment to unfasten the buckle on the case’s strap and pull out the papers secreted inside. Holding them to her chest, Charlotte turned to face him. “Before I show you these, Mr. Hammond, I’d like you to state your business plainly. Who are you and why are you here?”
Stone frowned. What game was this? She’d already deduced who he was, who he worked for. What did she hope to gain by asking him to confirm it?
“I’m a retriever,” he stated. “The best in Texas. Hired by Randolph Dorchester to find and return his lost granddaughter.”
“I appreciate your honesty.” Something solidified in her gaze, as if he’d just passed some
kind of test. “It’s more than I expected from a man working for Dorchester.” Her unspoken implication hung heavily in the air. He could sense words piling up in her, words disparaging his employer’s character. Yet they never came.
Interesting.
Most people were quick to justify their questionable actions by placing the blame on another. Charlotte Atherton was tempted. He could read the conflict in the way her lips parted ever so slightly, as if the words pressing from the inside had breached the first level of defense. Until she swallowed them.
Respect for her swelled in him, along with a host of questions he had no ready answer for. Why had Charlotte Atherton taken Lily and the others? She’d asked for no money. And she didn’t seem crazy. The kids were well tended and obviously cared a great deal for her, if Stephen’s earlier attempt at protection was any indication. So what had led an otherwise normal, well-bred woman to abduct three children?
She had gumption, too. Facing him directly. Alone. Unarmed. She hadn’t even taken his boot knife. It still lay untouched atop the dresser. Shoot, under other circumstances, he’d probably actually like the woman.
But liking his target wouldn’t stop him from accomplishing his mission. He’d never failed to retrieve what he’d been sent after. He wasn’t about to start now.
Back straight, the woman walked right toward him. “Your honesty and restraint make me believe you might be a man of honor.” She spoke haughtily, but her eyes revealed a tiny glimmer of hope—a hope that made him wish he’d never taken this job. Let someone else crush her spirit. He didn’t have the stomach for it. But then, his feelings didn’t matter. Completing the job did. “If you are,” she continued, conveying with a lift of her brow that only a dishonorable man would disagree with whatever rationale she’d concocted to justify her actions, “when you read these documents, I’m sure you will see that this is all just an awkward misunderstanding. Randolph Dorchester is not Lily’s legal guardian. I am.”
She held the papers out to him. He took them from her hand, keeping his gaze locked on hers. He’d not be manipulated. Not by her. Not by anyone.
Their eyes held for a long minute, hers filled with as much determination as his, before he finally turned his attention to the documents she’d presented.
He scanned the first page. Signatures from a Joseph and Diana Farley glared up at him from the bottom of the page. Apparently they had granted permission to Sullivan’s Academy for Exceptional Youths and any representative thereof to act in one Stephen Farley’s best interest in their absence. The second page was practically identical. Only it was an agent from St. Peter’s Foundling Home who had signed on behalf of John Chang.
As a representative of the academy, Miss Atherton could be acting within her rights. Yet with the school having been dissolved, the agreement would likely not stand up in court. On the other hand, the supervisor at St. Peter’s had voiced no objection to the teacher taking charge of young John. Even seemed to believe it was better for the boy. He didn’t know if the Farleys would feel the same, but they were apparently still in Europe, according to what his inquiries had ferreted out.
As if reading his mind, Miss Atherton stepped closer to the bed. “I have written to Stephen’s parents.” She was a picture of calm as she presented that defense, though he imagined a twister reeled inside her. The only indication of her unease was the hand she raised to her throat. It didn’t tremble or shake, but her fingers stroked the cameo at her neck once, then twice before she caught herself and lowered her hand. “They have been notified of his whereabouts and assured that he will be returned to their care as soon as they are back in the country.”
Stone pierced her with a look, thinking to catch her in a lie. “You didn’t worry that they would give away your location?”
Her composure slipped just a notch, but not in the way he’d expected. She didn’t glance away or bite her lip in nervousness or hem and haw while trying to come up with a plausible story. No, she scowled at him.
“Don’t be a ninny. Of course I worried. But what choice did I have? They needed to know where the boy was. I had Stephen address the letter, using his name as the return address to make it less obvious for someone looking for me, and we mailed it from a town in the next county as an extra precaution. I urged Mr. and Mrs. Farley to correspond directly with Stephen since the school had been closed and hoped that would keep them from mentioning the situation to anyone back in Austin. Did they write to Dr. Sullivan? Is that how you found me?”
Stone shook his head. “No.”
She made no response beyond a slight relaxing of her shoulders, but he could feel her relief. The scowl departed next, allowing the composed mask to slip back in place.
She was good. And as far as he could tell, she was not lying. Yet.
He set aside the top two sheets. The boys weren’t his concern. She could keep them as long as she wanted if no one made an issue of it. Lily was the one he’d been sent to retrieve.
Stone scanned the third page. Stopped. Then dragged his eyes back to the top to read every word. This couldn’t be right. The document had to be a fake. The signature forged. But it had been witnessed by a judge.
A sick feeling pooled in Stone’s gut. If this paper was authentic, it changed everything.
5
When Stone Hammond read over Rebekah’s will a third time, hope surged in Charlotte’s chest like a Thoroughbred straining for the finish line. But she reined it in. This was no quick turn around the track. This was a grueling cross-country race, one where dozens of unforeseen obstacles could appear without warning. The outcome was far from decided.
“I gather Mr. Dorchester failed to mention my legal claim to Lily when he hired you.” She paced down to the end of the bed and idly brushed wrinkles from the edge of the coverlet.
The man made no response.
Very well, she’d just have to answer his questions without him actually asking them. “Lily’s mother, Rebekah, became a dear friend to me after she enrolled Lily in the academy the term before last. She’d been widowed the year before and had taken up residence in her father-in-law’s home in Houston. Something happened while she and Lily lived there. I’m not sure what. Rebekah never told me.”
Charlotte wished now she’d had the temerity to ask when she’d had the opportunity. She’d guarded her own privacy for so long, she’d been reluctant to pry into anyone else’s. The fewer questions she asked, the fewer she’d be expected to answer in return. Protecting her secrets seemed so pointless now. If she could trade those secrets for information that would help her ensure Lily’s well-being, she’d do it in a heartbeat.
“I didn’t notice any suspicious bruises on the child when I helped her ready for bed the first night she came to us, so I don’t think Dorchester beat her, yet Rebekah had seemed desperate to get Lily into Dr. Sullivan’s school. Thankfully, Lily had no trouble earning a place in the academy. She’s an extremely bright girl. I recommended her admittance immediately, and Dr. Sullivan concurred. Rebekah nearly wept when I relayed the news. Then she immediately arranged for Lily to board with us through the holidays as well as the school terms. That’s when I realized we weren’t simply providing education, but sanctuary.”
Charlotte paused, lifting her hand from the perfectly smooth end of the coverlet, and turned to face the man called Stone. She prayed the name did not describe the condition of his heart.
“Sounds to me like the mother just wanted to get the girl out from underfoot. Probably had pressing social engagements or maybe a man on her hook that didn’t care for having her brat around while courting.”
“It’s that kind of imbecilic male logic that—” Charlotte stopped. No. She wouldn’t explain her fears. It would only weaken her argument. Men wanted facts. Anything that smacked of feminine emotion simply gave them an excuse to discount everything. She would not allow Mr. Hammond to bait her.
“What I meant to say,” she amended, her tone calm, collected, “is that you could not be more wrong. Re
bekah Dorchester was a devoted, doting mother. She wrote Lily every week, long letters full of news and witty anecdotes about the resident tabby at Dorchester Hall. Those stories never failed to bring a smile to Lily’s face. Rebekah visited once a month as well. Nothing kept her away—not rain or freezing temperatures, not the broken carriage wheel that left her stranded three miles outside of town, not even the wasting illness that eventually took her life.”
Charlotte took a moment to swallow the rapidly growing lump that always plagued her throat when she spoke of Rebekah’s last days. Once certain her voice would not betray her, she continued. “She always found a way to be there for Lily. It is through those visits that she and I became so well acquainted.”
Stone Hammond frowned, not at her, really, but at the document residing in his hands. “Still seems odd for a woman to grant guardianship of her daughter to an . . . acquaintance when the child’s grandfather was wealthy enough to provide for any need she might have.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” That brought his head up. His eyes met hers, confusion and mounting impatience burgeoning in his amber gaze. “A rather desperate act, wouldn’t you say?”
“Or just plain crazy.” He pinned her with his glare, but it wasn’t as if she’d not heard this argument before.
“That is what Mr. Dorchester alleges. However, the lawyer who drafted the guardianship agreement as well as the judge who signed it both found Rebekah Dorchester to be of sound mind.”
Mr. Hammond scratched at a spot along his jaw. “I suppose copies of this agreement are filed at the county courthouse?”
“Yes. She filed copies both in Austin and in Houston.” So much for hoping the man would accept the documents at face value. It would have made things so much easier. But when had anything in her life ever been easy?
“Then it appears you’ll be enjoying my company for a spell.” He grinned at her, a full, toothsome smile that would have been handsome if it hadn’t been so arrogant.
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