His hand dropped to her shoulder then slid gently down her arm, coming to rest a couple inches above her elbow. His grip tightened just a little, enough to remind her that he was waiting for her answer.
“Yes,” she blurted. “I believe you.” Her belief might be reluctant and cautious, but she’d chosen her path, and she’d not turn back unless he gave her cause.
Stone didn’t grin in triumph or sag in relief. No, he held her gaze and stroked his thumb in a comforting swirl atop her sleeve. “Thank you, Charlotte.” His hand fell away from her arm, and she immediately mourned the loss of the connection, the warmth of his touch.
He turned to leave. Panic flared in her breast.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. He glanced back, a brow raised in question. Thankfully, his eyes held no spark of irritation, only curiosity.
Charlotte released him and fought to organize the churning thoughts in her head. She needed to sound intelligent, controlled, when she made her plea. Rambling like an idiot would undermine her position. Yet trust would never bloom between them without honesty, and she couldn’t demand a full dose from him without offering a helping of her own.
“I need your help,” she finally admitted.
He did smile then. “I know. That’s why I’m staying.”
She shook her head. “Not with Lily. Well, yes, I do need help with Lily’s situation, but that’s not what I was referring to.” So much for not rambling like an idiot. Charlotte sighed, ran a smoothing hand down the front of her skirt, and tried again. “I need help believing. In you.”
She winced at the blunt words, but Stone showed no signs of impatience or anger. He simply pivoted to face her more fully then perched on the arm of the sofa, his posture relaxed, open. “What can I do?”
Charlotte fingered the cameo at her neck, caught herself, and balled her hand into a fist. For Pete’s sake. Just spit it out.
“I’m not very good at blind faith. I need to know what you are thinking, planning.” She stepped toward him, the words coming easier now that she’d started. “I want to be a part of any decisions being made that affect Lily or the boys. Being kept in the dark tends to rouse my suspicions. If you want me to trust your judgment, you’ll need to explain your strategy. And . . .” She caught the words before they flew past her lips, but then something defiant rose within her. Something she’d been pushing down since she was a child. A voice that demanded to be heard. “And I expect to be treated as an equal in this partnership. My opinions will be heard and considered based on their worth, not automatically discounted because they originated from a female. I will have your respect.”
“Shoot, Charlotte.” Stone’s eyes smiled even as his face maintained the serious expression he’d adopted when she’d begun her recitation. “You’ve had my respect since I first took this job, even when I thought you were a half-crazed kidnapper.”
Not the most flattering assessment, yet it was honest, and that was exactly what she needed from him.
Stone propped his heel against the sofa leg and leaned back slightly. “Anyone who could disappear with three kids and leave no trace is a force to be reckoned with. I respected your mind from the beginning, but over the last few days, I’ve come to respect your heart as well.”
Charlotte couldn’t help it. She smiled. Never before had she stood up for herself with such abandon. It felt good. But what felt even better was hearing his response. He hadn’t scoffed or condescended. He hadn’t bullied. No. He’d commended her intellect and offered the respect she craved without a moment’s hesitation.
“You uprooted your entire life for the sake of these kids and risked the wrath of a powerful man in the process.” Stone pushed up from the sofa, his gaze never leaving her face. “It’s as plain as day that you love them, and there’s nothing I respect more than a mother’s love.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, his attention slipping down to the floor for a moment before finding her face once again. “It’s been a long time since I worked with a partner, and I might not always remember to consult with you, but you can ask me as many questions as you want to help jog my memory.”
It took her a moment to find her voice. “Sounds reasonable,” she finally managed.
“There might come a time when I have to make a decision on the spot, though,” he said, his tone hardening. “If you or the kids are in danger, I expect you to obey my instructions instantly, without question or argument. In a crisis, there’s only room for one leader.”
Charlotte didn’t hesitate. “Of course. Your knowledge and experience in such situations far exceeds my own. I’d be a fool not to listen to you.”
He gave a sharp nod. “Good. Then I believe we have a deal, teacher.” He thrust his hand toward her, and Charlotte slipped her palm next to his.
His strong grip closed around her fingers, and for the first time since Mr. Dobson had dragged Stone Hammond to her doorstep, she actually believed everything might end up all right.
Her hand felt good in his. So good that Stone had a hard time letting go. He fought against the insane urge to tug her close and hold her against his chest. ’Course if he did, he’d probably scare her half to death and kill the fledging trust she’d just offered him. So he dropped her hand, cleared his throat, and folded his arms across his chest to keep temptation at bay.
“Well,” he said, needing to engage his mind elsewhere, “do you have any questions you want answered now?” He’d promised to let her ask anything, and since he had nothing to hide, opening himself to her queries seemed a harmless enough pastime.
As long as she didn’t ask him how often he’d thought about kissing her in the last fifteen minutes.
“Actually, I do,” she said. “Do you mind if we sit?” She gestured to the sofa.
Stone nodded.
She perched lightly on the edge of the cushion, her spine as straight as a broom handle. Stone wedged himself into the opposite corner, placing his back against the arm in order to face her. He propped his right ankle on his left knee, positioning his bent leg across the seat between them.
“I want to know what happened in town today,” she said. “Why you were gone for so long. You did more than send a telegram.”
“Yes.” He drew out the word, unsure why she was upset.
Then he recalled what she’d said when he’d first walked into the parlor. You came back. She’d thought he’d left. For good. But he hadn’t even considered such a thing. So he gave a detailed account of his whereabouts while in town, hoping it would reassure her.
“I dropped by the post office to introduce myself to the fella running the place, told him I was expecting a letter in the next few days and asked him to hold it for me. Said I’d try to get back to town in a couple days to check on it. I didn’t want him to see a stranger’s name and start asking around all willy-nilly. Best to leave the smallest footprint possible in case Franklin shows up and tries to track us.”
“You seem pretty certain that he’ll come.” There she went fussing with her skirts again. He was coming to recognize the action as her fretting tic. That and the way she touched the brooch at her collarbone.
“I ain’t certain about anything,” he amended. “But I’ve found it wise to plan for the worst so it doesn’t catch me off guard.”
She dipped her chin in acknowledgment yet made no further comment. Taking that as his cue to continue outlining his visit to town, he moved on.
“I strolled through the general store, taking stock of the supplies they had. Never know what you might need in a hurry. Then I headed for the telegraph office.”
Charlotte’s gaze zeroed in on him like a sharpshooter taking aim at a target. “What did your message say?”
“I notified Dorchester that I’d located Charles Atherton’s house.”
A tiny sound echoed from inside her throat, a sound hinting at a whimper. Stone hurried to tell her the rest.
“I also mentioned that some crazy old man came after me with a rifle when I tried to investiga
te. I offered to hang around a little while and dig a little deeper but told him I didn’t expect the lead to pan out.”
She expelled a long, slow breath. “No mention of Lily? Of me?”
Stone shook his head. “None. Didn’t figure he needed to know that part.”
Charlotte touched his knee, her eyes going soft. “Thank you.”
Shoot. Now he was back to thinking about kissing her. Come on, Hammond. Stay on track.
“I stopped by Doc Ramsey’s office, too. Had him check my progress. He said the wounds were healing well. The stitches should be ready to be removed in about five days, around the same time the letter from Austin should arrive. Which works out well. I’d like to have the stitches out before we leave.”
“Leave?” She snatched her hand back from his knee so fast he had to glance down to make sure his trousers hadn’t caught fire. “When did you decide we’d be leaving?”
He winced at her strident tone. He supposed this was one of those decisions she expected to be part of. ’Course in all fairness, he’d made the plan before they’d had their conversation, so she really had no business being mad.
“I wired my friend Daniel Barrett while I was at the telegraph office,” he said without a touch of apology. “Mentioned that I might be paying him a visit with a few extra packages in tow.”
Her brows arched with incredulity. “You plan to deliver my children into the lair of Dead-Eye Dan?”
16
“Is there another place you’d prefer?”
He sounded so calm. Infuriating man. As if picking up and leaving everything familiar was a simple matter of packing bags. Well, it wasn’t. Charlotte jumped up from the settee and paced back and forth along the length of the floor rug. How was she to protect Lily if she didn’t know where they were going or the people they’d be forced to rely upon? She’d barely begun trusting Stone, and now he expected her to trust some dime novel character? He was asking too much.
“Or maybe you think it would be better to stay here?” The man just sat on the sofa, leg still bent across the cushion as if they were discussing nothing more important than whether they should have white or brown gravy on the mashed potatoes at dinner. Didn’t he care that Lily’s life hung in the balance? “There’s a chance Dorchester won’t send Franklin to check things out,” he said. “About fifty-fifty either way, I’d say. Now, me? I don’t particularly care for those odds, but if things check out the way I expect, and you are Lily’s guardian, the choice will be yours. We could make a stand here and try to stop Franklin before he reports your whereabouts to Dorchester, or we can leave and let him find an empty house with only the inhospitable Dobson in residence to match the report I wired today.”
Charlotte stopped pacing, her back to the annoyingly rational man on the sofa. He was right, of course. She couldn’t wager Lily’s future on the off chance this Franklin person wouldn’t follow up on Stone’s lead. But could she wager her best friend’s child on the reliability of people she’d never met?
An odd warmth climbed up Charlotte’s spine and tickled the hairs on the nape of her neck. Her eyes slid closed. He was there. She knew it as surely as she knew the feel of her mother’s cameo at her throat. Stone Hammond stood behind her. Close enough for his breath to ruffle her hair. Yet he didn’t touch her.
The lack of touch demonstrated his respect for her, his trustworthiness. He wasn’t out to seduce. He only meant to demonstrate his intention to stand by her with a physical display of a figurative ideal. So why did she suddenly wish that he would wrap his arms around her waist and tug her back against his chest?
“Trusting me means you also trust my judgment, Charlotte.” His low voice rumbled in her ear. “You can ask questions and use your own eyes to watch for any danger I might miss. But understand that I will never expose Lily or the boys to a situation unless I am completely sure of their safety.”
“You trust this Daniel Barrett person that much?”
“I trust him with my life.”
Slowly, Charlotte turned to face him. “Do you trust him with Lily’s life?”
He held her gaze and nodded. “I do. Dan and I have saved each other’s hides too many times not to be loyal to the bone. After years of trackin’ outlaws together, there’s a bond between us that’s even stronger than blood.”
“Good. I’ve seen blood bonds broken. I’d rather place my trust in something stronger.”
Stone caught the bitterness in her reply as she ducked her head. Oh, no you don’t. No more hiding from me. He cupped her chin and eased her face back up. “What blood bonds are we talkin’ about?”
Her eyes widened, and he swore he could feel her pulse jump beneath his fingers. “L-Lily and her grandfather, of course.”
Stone shook his head. “Nope. I don’t think that’s the one. Dorchester’s despicable behavior might rile you, but it hasn’t wounded you. There’s something deeper and more personal eating a hole through your gut.” He murmured to her in soft tones, stroking his hands down her arms to unball the fists that had formed at her sides. “Who hurt you?”
Her fingers clamped around his, nearly painful in the force of their grip. He was pushing her too hard. He could read the panic in her face, feel the tension in her muscles.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispered. “I have no right to your secrets; those are yours alone. But if you want help shouldering the load for a little while, I’m ready and willing.” He hesitated, waiting for an indication that she might confide in him, that she might let him inside just a little. But she said nothing.
He shouldn’t be disappointed. Her trust of him was too new. Yet after listening to her pour her heart into her piano music, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting a piece of that for himself. More, though, he wanted to rub salve into her wounds and aid her healing as she’d done for him after the cat attack. Her injuries lingered deep beneath the surface, however, and he suspected she’d lived with them so long, they’d become part of her. Exposing them would hurt. A lot. And hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do. On the other hand, letting a wound fester and grow infected simply to avoid the temporary pain of lancing was no kindness, either.
What do I do, Lord? How do I help her?
No answer shot from the heavens, yet a growing unease about pressing her for details swelled in his chest. They were her secrets. She should be the one to decide if and when to share them. It was his job to listen, not to pry them out of her. Trust had to work both ways.
“When you’re ready, Charlotte.” He slid his hands from her grasp and turned to go. He’d nearly made it to the hall when her voice stopped him.
“My father had an affair.”
Stone’s jaw clenched at the blurted words. He could hear tears wavering close to the surface, could feel the agony of her admission, and he hated that she’d endured such hurt.
Give me the right words to help, Lord. Or glue my tongue down to keep it from flappin’ if that’s best. Just don’t let me mess this up. Swallowing his nerves, he turned to face her.
Her head hung low, as if the shame of her father’s sin had attached itself to her. She clenched her hands together in front of her so fiercely, he worried for her circulation. Stone closed the distance between them with long strides and immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
“Let’s sit back down.” He steered her toward the sofa, but instead of letting her perch stiffly on the edge of the seat, he kept his arm around her and urged her to lean against him.
She resisted at first then gave way all at once, tucking her head against his chest. Whether she sought comfort from him or simply tried to hide her face, he didn’t know. Shoot, he didn’t really even care. She felt so good nuzzled against him, he’d hold her there all afternoon if it made her feel better. Heaven knew it made him feel better.
He held her for what felt like several minutes, stroking her arm, resting his jaw against the soft pillow of her hair, waiting for her to continue. When no words came, he gave her
a gentle nudge. “How old were you?” His fingers never paused in their stroking, conveying a subtle acceptance he hoped she’d recognize instinctually.
“Ten,” she finally said, her voice small. She fiddled with the fabric of her skirt, plucking at it, twisting it, then smoothing it again. “He tried to blame his infidelity on my mother, blaming her for leaving him behind in the wake of her success. But even as young as I was, I knew it was a lie. Papa lived for the limelight, and when Mama’s career exploded, he was banished to the shadows. At first, he basked in her glory, taking credit for her magnificence as her teacher and manager. Mama played along, humbly proclaiming that she would have been nothing without his tutelage. She loved him, you see, and knew his foibles. She didn’t care about the fame. She cared about the music, about bringing it to life and sharing it with others.”
Stone tried to recall what little his investigation had turned up regarding Jeanette Atherton. “She’s an opera singer?”
Charlotte glanced up, pride flashing in her eyes. “One of the most sought after mezzo-sopranos in Europe.”
He smiled at her, and for a moment she smiled back. Then she seemed to remember the tale she was in the middle of telling. Her smile faltered, and she turned her face back into his chest.
“She’s played in London, Paris, even Vienna. I believe she’s somewhere in Italy at present. But I haven’t had a letter in several months, so I can’t be sure.”
He heard the loneliness in the statement, but oddly enough, he detected no self-pity. She seemed to bear her mother no ill will, though Stone couldn’t say he felt the same. He knew Charlotte had been a student at Dr. Sullivan’s academy for five years before spending two at the Sam Houston Normal School in Huntsville and earning her teaching certificate. She’d returned to Dr. Sullivan’s academy after that and took up the role of music teacher at the age of eighteen.
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