If looks could kill, he'd be lying flat out on a board. "Innocent, you say? If he's innocent, I'll eat my socks for dinner. That boy's been-" But she whirled around, skirts flying, before he could finish and made a beeline for the gate he'd failed to lock.
He chased her through the office and down the hall. `Just a minute, there'
"Where is he?" she demanded. `And where's his mother?"
`Just hold on," he said, watching while she opened one door after another.
"Where did you put the jail?" she asked.
The question struck him as humorous, so he laughed. She turned and stomped her foot. He quickly sobered and put out a hand in much the way he would to calm a wild filly. "I did not put the jail anywhere, my dear lady. It is in the basement, where it's always been."
Stepping forward, he seized her by the arm.
"Unhand me," she ordered, viewing his hand as she might a snake.
Frustrated, he murmured into her ear, knowing Nathanial stood at the end of the hall watching the fiasco. "I've a mind to slap some sense into you. You're about as obstinate and willful as Zeke."
She blinked twice, and suddenly their eyes connected. "My mule," he explained, drawing close enough to pick up a lovely citrus scent.
"Everything okay?" asked Nathanial.
Snapping to attention, she threw up her arm and stepped back, glaring at him with the eyes of a woman who means business.
"If you'll settle down, I'll take you to the boy. How's that?" And to Nathanial Brayton, "Everything's fine. Go on about your job."
That curbed her little conniption. They walked to the next door, and Gabe pulled it open. Wooden steps led to a dimly lit basement. When Hannah meant to proceed ahead of him, he grasped her arm midway up, noting how his thumb and middle finger met behind her elbow. Slender as a cornstalk.
"Be forewarned," he whispered. "The boy does not speak, and need I remind you that the last time you talked to him, you scared the living caca right out of him."
"Mr. Devlin!" she exclaimed.
He grinned and let her go. "Just warning you, that's all."
She hesitated when he nudged her forward. "I asked you where his mother is," she reminded him.
Besides underfed, he could add persistent to her wonderful list of attributes. He sighed in spite of himself. "Well, there's the rub. I haven't a clue."
Shocks of jet-black hair stuck out from the tattered quilt covering the little boy, who'd rolled himself up into a ball and lay sleeping on the narrow cot, his whiffing snores proving how deeply he slept. The twelve-square-foot jail cell with the bare cement walls showed signs of mildew, impelling Hannah to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Shivering in the dampness, she wrapped her fingers around the cool steel bars and peered through them. A chamber pot stood in one corner, as did a pitcher of water and a tin mug. Hanging from the ceiling, a dim electric lightbulb with a pull chain gave off a muted glow, indicating the glumness of the place.
Never had she felt such compassion for another human being. Oh, she'd always loved children, and she longed to have a few of her own someday, providing Ralston shared her enthusiasm-if she ever married him, that is-but this little fellow stole her heart, broke it in several places, tugged at the core of her emotions.
"Where did you find him?" she asked in a soft voice.
"Fool kid jumped under the canvas on the back of my rig while I was getting ready to set out from Holland last night. He must have overheard me talking to the fellow at the livery stable. Maybe he thought he'd be safe with a lawman-who knows?"
"I should think he'd have thought otherwise, especially if he's on the run. You could turn him in to your superiors."
"He doesn't know it, but I'll be forced to do just that in the next day or so. I'd like to get some answers first, thoughfigure out where he comes from, why he's running. Could be something as simple as him running away from home on a whim and then getting himself lost, and he's just too scared to talk to strangers about his predicament."
"He shows signs of abuse," she said, staring at the lump under the quilt.
"Or maybe they're just the natural bumps and bruises of a runaway. He looks like he's been in a scrape or two."
They stood in silence as if ruminating on one another's words.
"Got an appointment with judge Bowers this afternoon," he put in. "I'll run the story by him. Maybe he'll have some ideas for me. Lord knows I don't have time for the little chump, but I can't just turn'im loose, either."
In the span of a second, she glanced up at the strong, rigid profile of this Gabriel Devlin, noted again his compelling blue eyes, the firm features of his face and frame, the confident set of his shoulders. Mere moments ago, she'd come close to kicking him in the shins. Now, they were standing side by side outside a jail cell, contemplating the fate of a tiny boy.
`Any thoughts on what his name might be?" she asked, still holding her voice to a whisper.
He answered with a shrug. "There hasn't been a peep out of him, so I've no way of knowing."
More silence.
"Unlock it, please," she finally said. "So I can go inside,"
"Huh?"
She felt her shoulders tighten in resolve. "Unlock it,"
Gabe stared at her as if she'd lost a good piece of her mind, and maybe she had. After all, she had responsibilities at the Whatnot, and she had left Maggie Rose in a bit of an inconvenient place, having to mind both the store and the library.
Perhaps she could send word to Abbie Ann to cover for her, at least for the remainder of the day-or until they decided this child's doom or destiny. Surely Grandmother Kane wouldn't mind releasing her youngest granddaughter from her garden duties.
"I don't think..."
"Mr. Devlin, I am fully capable of defending myself against a mere child,"
He slipped his hands into his rear pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You haven't a clue what you're talking about, miss. The little devil tried to bite me, and he took a swing at Kitty just before I nabbed him from behind and hauled him, kicking and spitting, down those stairs."
"Just the same, unlock the cell door, please."
He studied her for a full ten seconds. "You're a stubborn woman, you know that? You're not married, are you?"
A dratted blush crept up her face. "Not yet."
"Yet? Ah, so you're attached, then?"
She shifted on her pointed-toed, Prunella walking boots, feeling her arches go weak. "That is none of your business, Mr. Devlin, Kindly unlock this door."
He shook his head and chuckled under his breath as he dug into his side pocket and withdrew a ring of keys, his eyes glinting with merriment. "Have it your way, then. What are you going to say to him when he wakes up?"
She hadn't thought of that. "I will cross that bridge when I come to it."
"Okay." He gave a half nod. "You best prepare yourself for a battle, missy."
Missy? She bit back a retort.
"If you need anything, give a holler. One of my deputies will come down. You know Gus van der Voort?"
"Yes, but...you won't be here?" she asked, annoyed with her sudden feeling of ineptness. Surely a three-foot-something child posed her no threat.
His mouth curved into a boyish grin. "You hardly know me and already you're missing me?"
She had half a mind to knock his pearly whites crooked. "Don't flatter yourself."
Still chuckling, he unlocked the cell. "Just joshing you." His apologetic tone did little to ease her irritation. "I'll be around. I have an appointment with Judge Bowers in..."-he looked at his watch-"...an hour or so. You need anything in the meantime?"
On a whim, she asked, "Would you mind sending someone over to fetch my sister, Abbie? She needs to fill in for me at the Whatnot,"
"Where do you live? I'll go myself."
"What? No. Kitty knows where I live. She'll be happy..."
He threw her an irritated look. "Where do you live?" he repeated.
She made a huffing sound. "In a two-story foursquare off Wa
ter. It's within walking distance,"
`Address?"
She felt foolish. It was his first day and she had him running an errand for her.
"Turn south on Third and go three blocks until you come to Ridge Street," she sputtered. "It's at the top of a pretty steep hill. The house number is 210 Ridge. It's right on the corner."
"Great. I'll deliver the message. Anything else?" Was that a hint of curtness? He shifted his weight as he stood there holding the door.
"No."
"Well, then..."
Hesitating, she stepped inside the cell and felt the cold grip of confinement. A silent chill ran from head to toe.
"Shall I lock it behind you?" he asked.
She glanced at the still-sleeping boy. An unlocked cell would give him opportunity to escape. She swallowed. "Yes, lock it."
"You sure?"
She raised her chin. `Absolutely."
But when the lock clicked into place, her confidence wavered. The boy stirred under his blanket, and when she turned to see what the sheriff's reaction might be, he had turned his back and was sauntering off
Not only was Hannah Grace Kane mule-headed and saucy, but she was crazy, to boot.
What would possess a woman of her caliber-for she did appear fashionable, if not somewhat privileged-to care about some little savage? Gabe kicked a stone out of his path as he made the turn off Water Street onto Third. Classic two-story houses lined both sides of the dirt-packed road, as did giant oaks and maples, the shade of which provided relief from the penetrating heat of the sun's afternoon rays. An old man rocking on his front porch lifted a grizzled hand to wave at Gabe. He returned the gesture but kept up his pace. Were he not in a rush, he would have stopped, but with only minutes to spare before his meeting with the judge, he continued on his way to the Kane residence.
He found the two-story redbrick house numbered 210 at the top of a hill on the corner of Ridge and Third, its gaping front porch gracing the exterior; rocking chairs and wicker couches strewn from one end to the other made it a welcoming sight.
He climbed the steps and knocked on the door, glancing in either direction as he waited for the sound of approaching footsteps. Several potted geraniums bedecked the porch, and he imagined that many a pleasant conversation took place there between people relaxing on rockers or wicker settees.
The door opened as he raised his hand to knock again, and a woman who looked to be in her early sixties or perhaps midsixties greeted him. His first thought was that Hannah bore a strong resemblance to her-the creamy complexion, coiled hair, high cheekbones, and crystalline eyes.
"Who's there, Grandmother?" A girl with hair the color of coal, pinned back with matching barrettes, emerged from the kitchen. Her brown eyes sparked with curiosity when she spotted him standing in the doorway. This must be Abbie Ann, Gabe surmised, at the same time recalling Kitty's words about how lovely the Kane sisters were. She'd get no argument from him.
He extended a hand to the older woman. "Afternoon, ladies."
"If you mean to sell us something, we don't need it, young man," said the matron, casually lifting a hand to press her silver hair in place.
Not that she need have bothered. Every hair on her head was gathered neatly into a fancy knot at the nape of her neck, a pair of oval, wire-rimmed glasses hooked behind her ears. Wiping her hands on the yellow apron that covered her olivecolored cotton dress, she wrinkled her pert nose and sniffed. "Sakes alive, I've bought enough chicken and fish to last me through the winter, You wouldn't be trying to sell me more, would you?" She angled her head to peek past him as if to see where he'd stashed his goods. "I don't see your wagon."
He laughed. "No, ma'am. I am not here to sell you anything." Hand still extended, he took a step closer. "I'm Gabriel Devlin, Sandy Shores' new sheriff."
Throwing up her hands, she gasped. "Oh, my London stars!" Then, startled into action, she took his hand, gave it a hearty shake, and hauled him inside. "Abbie Ann, put on the teapot!" she ordered. Abbie turned abruptly. "I'm Helena Kane," the woman announced, still pumping his hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am, but I can't stay." Abbie made a quick about-turn. "Thank you, though. I've stopped by with a message." He proceeded to tell them about the nameless, wordless boy and Hannah's dauntless decision to sit with him in a locked cell.
"That's my granddaughter for you," Helena said in her pronounced English intonation. "She's unreservedly zealous about certain matters-always has been, ever since she was a little thing. Why, I recall the time a scraggly cat hobbled into our yard. My son told her to leave the thing be; could have had rabies, you know. But would she listen?"
"Hope!" Abbie chimed. "She makes up her mind on a matter, and there's no stoppin' her. Take Huffy, for example."
"Abigail Ann!" Helena interrupted, dropping her chin. Abbie looked duly reprimanded, straightening her shoulders and pinning her mouth shut. Without even knowing the girl, Gabe dubbed her a rascal.
Helena Kane cleared her throat and took a steadying breath before angling Abbie with a stern look. "Go change out of those garden clothes and hurry over to the Whatnot," she instructed her.
"Yes, ma'am," Abbie said with clear excitement. She dashed upstairs, but not before flashing Gabe a bright smile and awarding him a slight curtsy. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Devlin."
Gabe tipped his head at her, then made for the door. "We'll be expecting you for supper one night soon, Mr. Devlin," Helena said, rushing ahead to hold the door for him. "After you've had a chance to settle in a bit. And bring that little boy with you."
"Oh, he'll be gone by that time, I'm sure. I'll be getting to the bottom of this thing real quick, and as soon as I do, I'll put him on the next train."
She cast him an incredulous look, as if she doubted his abilities. "Well, on the chance he is still here, you bring him along, you hear?"
He turned his hat in his hands before plunking it back on his head, pushing back the nagging feeling that finding the kid's family might be a little like finding a silver coin in a rock quarry. "Yes, ma'am."
"We'll invite Hannah's gentleman friend, and a few others from the town, too. We'll look at it as an opportunity for you to meet some folks,"
"That'd be mighty fine," he assured her, touching the brim of his hat before taking his leave.
As he walked briskly back up Third Street, he thought about Hannah's so-called gentleman friend. "Must be a man of great composure," he muttered to himself.
And what, or who, is Hufty?
The boy woke up in spurts, turning over and pulling the blanket with him, opening his eyes for brief periods to stare at the four walls that surrounded him before drifting back to sleep. He hadn't spotted Hannah sitting on the floor in a shadowy corner, knees pulled up to her chin, while she waited for him to awake; otherwise, he surely would have scurried to the door, trying to escape.
Hannah wished she had more experience with children, that she understood the way their bright little minds worked; all she had to go on were her years of teaching Sunday school, and those hardly counted, as she only saw the children fortyfive minutes a week. She tried to remember how it felt to be a child, but that didn't help much when it came to the unfortunate boy-most of her memories were happy ones. Even the loss of her precious mother to a case of pneumonia hadn't put a terrible dent in her psyche, as Grandmother Kane had stepped right into the role of caregiver, tempering her granddaughters' loss with huge amounts of love and attention.
In her head, the words to the hymn "What a Friend We Have in Jesus" played repeatedly. Did the boy have any friends? Did he know the love of parents, siblings, grandparents-or even God? How long had he been running? And, most important, was anyone looking for him?
Hannah leaned against the cold concrete wall and closed her eyes. Lord, please lend Your wisdom and guidance to this situation. I ask for compassion beyond measure and the type of love that You would show to any one of Your lost sheep. May I be a friend to this poor boy, and may he somehow f
ind the courage from deep within to tell us who he is.
Judge Ed Bowers sat behind his massive oak desk, reading spectacles perched low on his nose as he shuffled through papers. His assistant rapped on the door frame. "Sir?" the young man said. "The new sheriff's here to see you."
Judge Bowers looked up from his work, threw off his glasses, and rose to his feet, a colossal smile forming beneath his graying beard. "Come in, come in. I've been waiting for you." As was proper, his assistant left without a word.
"Good to see you, sir," Gabe said, unable to contain his pleasure at laying eyes on the old family friend. As children, his brother and sister, Sam and Elizabeth, and he had known the judge, then a lawyer, only as "Uncle Ed." He was their father's best friend, but age and the circumstances of his profession now put them on a different plane.
The judge extended a hand, but then withdrew it and went for a rough embrace instead. Gabe surrendered to it in the same way he always had as a youngster. When Ed set Gabe back at arm's length from him, hands on his shoulders, he perused him from head to toe. "I'm glad you've come, son. You have a trail of commendations following you. Your role as hero hasn't dimmed much, last I heard. 'Fraid I've made a few enemies by hauling you up to Michigan, though. I heard the county offered you a considerable raise if you'd stay."
Gabe felt a sudden warmth in his cheeks that didn't come from the heat of the day. As a matter of fact, the judge's quarters were plain comfortable, what with his electric ceiling fan circulating the air and the open windows in his secondfloor office affording a cool blast of cross-ventilation. "You've been talking to Pa, I see."
A hearty laugh escaped the judge's bulging chest. "He's mighty proud of you, that man, and for good reason. That was no small feat you accomplished, bringing down Smiley Joe Hamilton back in'01" The judge shook his head and frowned. "Still don't know why we didn't read about it up here. I guess the press didn't get wind of it."
Hannah Grace Page 4
