Renee Ryan

by The Outlaw's Redemption

  He cleared his throat.

  At the same moment, Annabeth threw back her shoulders.

  “I... I’ll just go fetch Sarah now.” She sounded practical and brisk, but sorrow pooled in her eyes, a sadness so deep Hunter drew a sharp breath.

  He went to her.

  Not sure what he meant to do, he took her hand. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes, a sure sign she’d endured a sleepless night.

  He tightened his hold on her hand. A moment of shared pain passed between them, so raw, so fresh, neither pulled away. He must have stared too long, seen too much, because she frowned, then yanked her hand free of his. “Wait here.”

  “Of course.”

  Alone with his thoughts, he felt a bout of nerves kindle and fire through his blood until he could remain in one place no longer. Letting out a hiss, he paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. Back. And. Forth.

  Hope squeezed in his chest. If he played this right, if he stayed on the narrow path and settled down once and for all, he could have the life he’d always wanted, the one he’d nearly achieved with Jane.

  Dare he try again? Did he deserve to have a family of his own, not in the role of a husband to his wife, but as a father to his daughter? Or were there too many mistakes on his ledger to hope for a smooth, uncomplicated existence?

  The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickled, sending alarm tripping down his spine. The same sensation had kept him alive in more than one gunfight. Motionless, afraid of what he would see, he didn’t turn around to face the parlor’s entrance. He closed his eyes and opened his other senses instead.

  Holding steady, he sorted through the sounds coming from various points throughout the house. He focused in on the high-pitched prattle of a young female voice mingling with an older, more familiar one. The rapid staccato of the conversation made it impossible for him to decipher the words.

  But he knew those footsteps.

  Annabeth. Her return was a mere seconds away. That meant the other voice must belong to Sarah.

  Sarah.

  Hunter’s hand started to shake. Flexing his fingers, he opened his eyes and resolved to keep his emotions contained.

  No mistakes.

  No loss of control.

  Calm. Cool. Careful.

  The wait was endless, an eternity. The voices grew louder, closer. The individual words were muffled as they mingled with the footsteps, but there was obvious affection in both female voices. Love, too.

  Hunter’s throat closed shut.

  His daughter—if she was his daughter—was well loved. By Annabeth. And no doubt others who lived in this house. His shoulders shifted, then went still again. He forced himself to turn toward the doorway, to remain calm as he did so.

  With his arms hanging loosely by his sides, he planted his feet a little apart and tried not to hold his breath.

  Another moment passed.

  And then...

  Annabeth entered the room, her jawline tight. The moment their gazes connected her eyes deepened to a dark violet, the color of thunderclouds. The unmistakable warning beneath the turbulent expression was easy enough to read.

  A wasted gesture. Hunter had no intention of hurting his own daughter. Or Annabeth. Regardless of what she thought.

  A young girl suddenly shifted into view. And smiled directly at him.

  He fell back a step.

  Oh, Lord. Lord.

  Restraint shattered. Calm evaporated. Well-thought-out speeches died on his tongue. The only emotions left were shock, and longing. Painful, heartrending longing for something always just out reach.

  He hurt, at the core of his being. The sense of loss was overwhelming, loss over all he’d missed in his daughter’s life.

  And, yes, this happy child was his daughter. He had absolutely no doubt. Her hair was the exact color of her mother’s, her dark coloring the same. But it was his eyes staring back at him in that small, thin face.

  His daughter had his eyes. And his tall, lean build, mostly lanky at her age. He’d been lanky as a child, too. As had all of his brothers and sisters. It was a Mitchell trait.

  This girl was a Mitchell, through and through.

  What was he supposed to say now? Nine years ago he’d created this beautiful child with a woman who hadn’t wanted him, who’d rejected him. Lied to him, prevented him from knowing his own flesh and blood.

  Feeling mildly desperate, torn between anger and distress, he glanced at Annabeth for assistance. She was studying her feet as though all the secrets of the world were in the flowered rug beneath her toes.

  No help there.

  Sarah solved the problem for him. “Hello.” She continued beaming up at him. “I’m Sarah. Who are you?”

  There was no nervousness in the child, no fear. Just innocent curiosity. And a welcoming smile that cut straight to the bottom of Hunter’s black heart. The child had his smile, too.

  “Hello, Sarah.” He swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again. His voice sounded too raw, too hoarse with emotion. He swallowed one last time and tried again. “I’m your fa—”

  He cut off the rest of his words, something preventing him from declaring himself, something that ran deeper than his silent vow not to act on impulse. Perhaps he simply wanted the child’s easy manner to continue, didn’t want to watch that beautiful smile disappear when he declared who he was, and why he’d come here today.

  “My name is Hunter Mitchell. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”

  Not entirely true, but he had so little to work with here. He’d planned poorly for this moment, he realized that now. Annabeth wasn’t helping matters. She was now staring fixedly at some point over his shoulder, not acknowledging Hunter at all, as if afraid to give him an ounce of encouragement.

  “Did you say you were Hunter Mitchell?” Sarah’s dark eyebrows drew together slowly, her mind working fast, her eyes lit with excitement. And the sweetest emotion of all. Acceptance. “I know several people with that same name.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Uh-huh. Let me see.” She pressed her fingertip to her lips. “There’s Garrett, the twins and little Janie. Miss Megan.” She paused, her little eyebrows scrunching together. “Did you know Miss Megan used to live here, at Charity House, just like me?”

  Hunter smiled. He might not have kept his family abreast of his life, but he’d managed to keep up with theirs. “Actually, I did know that.”

  “And did you know that Miss Megan is married to Mr. Logan, and—” She stopped talking midsentence, her eyes wide. “Hey.” She moved closer, staring up at him with a fierce, concentrated gaze. “Anyone ever tell you that you look just like Mr. Logan?”

  Despite his turbulent history with the man in question, Hunter felt a slight smile tilt up one corner of his mouth. “He’s my brother.”

  “No!”

  “It’s true.”

  “Does that mean you grew up on a real ranch? With horses and cows and...and everything?”

  “I did. My childhood home is called the Flying M, the largest cattle ranch in Colorado.”

  “Oh, oh.” Sarah clapped her hands together in glee. “How exciting.”

  “Very exciting,” he agreed. And he’d been fool enough to scorn the blessing of his birthright, to run away from it, to seek adventure wherever he could find it, no matter the consequences.

  No more running.

  He leaned down and set his hands on his knees, capturing Sarah’s attention as he did. “Visitors are always welcome at the Flying M.”

  “You think I could go there one day? For a visit, I mean.”

  He wasn’t going to take her for a visit. He was going to take her to live there, permanently. The future unfolded in his mind, starting with the small ranch house he would build on the land he would lease from his folks, the cattle he would eventually raise, the mended relationships he would enjoy.

  But again, he held back from telling Sarah all this. One step at a time. “I think a trip to the Flying M is definitely in your
future.”

  Sarah squealed in delight. Her joy was contagious.

  Hunter smiled at Annabeth, wanting—needing—to include her in this moment. She stared back, unsmiling, looking positively morose as she smoothed a hand across Sarah’s hair. “We’ve discussed this, Sarah. It isn’t polite to invite yourself to someone else’s home.”

  Striking an exasperated stance, Sarah frowned up at her aunt. “I didn’t invite myself. He offered.” She gestured at Hunter with a jerk of her chin.

  So. His daughter had a stubborn streak. Another trait they had in common. Charmed by the discovery, he had to fight very hard not to laugh.

  * * *

  Annabeth struggled to maintain her composure, while she noted Hunter was trying not to laugh. At her? Or the situation? Either way, he’d been in the room with Sarah for a total of five minutes and was already making promises. What happened to taking this one step at a time?

  Worse yet, Sarah and Hunter were getting along rather well. Really well. Annabeth had counted on the opposite. At the very least, she’d expected this first meeting between father and daughter to be awkward.

  Nothing could be further from the truth.

  Hunter had overcome his initial shock at seeing the child and was now conversing with her as though he spoke to children on a regular basis. Which made an odd sort of sense when she worked the notion through her mind. He was, after all, the eldest in a large family of brothers and sisters.

  But that had been a long time ago. Ten years to be exact. Before he’d become an outlaw.

  Except...

  He didn’t look much like an outlaw now. His eyes exuded kindness as he spoke to Sarah, genuine interest, too. In fact, he looked very much like a loving father. And a man of integrity, both trustworthy and constant. He suddenly laughed at something Sarah said, a low, deep rumble of amusement, and Annabeth realized she’d missed a large portion of their conversation.

  She forced herself to pay better attention.

  “...and my newest, bestest friend is Molly Taylor Scott. She’s Sheriff Trey’s daughter. She’s teaching me how to turn my plain bonnets into pretty masterpieces.”

  “Masterpieces?” Hunter turned the word into a question he lobbed in Annabeth’s direction. His mouth twitched slightly, presenting a momentary dimple in his cheek so fast she nearly missed it. The floor shifted beneath her feet for a brief, disorienting moment.

  Focus, Annabeth.

  “I had no idea bonnets could become masterpieces,” he added when she continued to stare at him, unresponsive and dumbfounded.

  Unclamping her lips, she said, “You have no idea.”

  His smile widened.

  Oh, perfect. The man was incredibly charming and appealing when he smiled like that. All big and charming and muscular and handsome. And...and...charming.

  Annabeth strove to match her detachment of moments before. An impossible feat when she couldn’t take a decent breath.

  She suddenly felt brittle, on the verge of breaking.

  As if sensing the change in her, a shadow crossed over Hunter’s face, giving him a concerned expression. The face of a man Annabeth could see putting the people he loved first, protecting them and bearing their burdens at times.

  What would that be like, she wondered, to know she was safe, always, never needing to fear the unknown? What would it be like to no longer worry about the future, or her reputation? To have someone stand by her side, no questions asked, a man who knew who—and what—her mother was but didn’t care? Who maybe enjoyed Mattie, accepted her, understood her even.

  Shifting impatiently between them, Sarah tugged on Hunter’s arm. “Want to see one of my bonnets?”

  “I would indeed.” The smooth amusement was back in his voice and Annabeth let go of some of her hostility toward the man. Sarah was so happy.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The child skipped out of the room, leaving Hunter to stare after her. For a brief moment, he didn’t bother hiding his expression. Shadows swirled in his gaze, dark and emotional, full of longing, hope and pain. So much pain.

  Annabeth felt like an intruder, watching him this closely, and yet pulled toward him, too. The need to comfort stronger than the need to keep up her guard, she took a tiny step toward him, reached out and touched his arm. She didn’t expect to feel anything, but the impact was like a physical blow.

  She quickly dropped her hand.

  Seemingly unaware of her disturbing response to him, Hunter slowly turned his head in her direction. His face was paler than usual, his features taut and intense. “She’s really my daughter.”

  Why deny the truth? “Yes.”

  “I— She—” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and cleared his throat. “It’s...astonishing. She has my eyes.”

  That had been the first thing Annabeth had noticed when she’d met Sarah a year ago.

  “And my smile,” he said, wonder in his voice.

  “She has your build, too.”

  He nodded absently. “Tall and lanky, like all the Mitchells at her age, even the girls.”

  He looked fierce and proud as he spoke, and completely unashamed of the joy spreading through him. But then his expression changed, bursting with other emotions. Determination, conviction. Unrelenting resolve.

  Hunter Mitchell was going to claim Sarah as his daughter. Annabeth tried to follow all the threads to their logical conclusion, knowing the gesture was a waste of time. She’d already lost the niece she’d grown to love as her own child.

  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

  How would Annabeth ever survive without her niece?

  Sarah was so sweet, so eager to please, so willing to accept a stranger in her life without question.

  Annabeth sighed. It hurt to love this much.

  Breaking her train of thought, Sarah darted back into the room, her hands overflowing with ribbons and pieces of silk, her smile full of excitement.

  An identical expression spread across Hunter’s features.

  Again, Annabeth felt like the intruder.

  “Here it is, Mr. Mitchell, my latest creation.” Sarah hopped from one foot to the other. “Look, see, right here. And here. And here. I sewed all the ribbons on myself.”

  “I’m thoroughly impressed.” The words were mild enough, but his eyes glistened with emotion, and not just any emotion. Love. The man was already bursting with love for his daughter.

  His hand slightly shaking, he took the bonnet and examined the hat from every angle, showing the sort of care one would a fragile piece of china.

  Sarah moved in closer, pressing against him as she pointed out various spots of interest.

  The moment was full of quiet gravity. Father and daughter, together, united at last, with only one of them understanding the unique blessing they’d been given.

  Never having known her own father, Annabeth could hardly look at the scene playing out in front of her. By all practical measures, it was too soon to tell if Hunter would make a good father. But deep in her heart, where pain and loss resided, Annabeth knew the fight was over before it had begun.

  Hunter would take very good care of Sarah.

  The back of Annabeth’s eyes stung and something painful lodged in her throat, sharp as a sliver. She was happy for her niece. So very happy. But she knew she wasn’t going to see Sarah grow up. Not on a daily basis.

  “Aunt Annabeth?” Sarah’s face took on a look of deep concern, identical to the one Hunter shot her way. “Why are you crying?”

  Unaware she’d allowed her emotions to get away from her, Annabeth lifted her hand to her cheek. And felt the wetness on her face.

  Horrified, she glanced at Hunter, praying he didn’t notice. But just as he had last night, in Mattie’s private suite of rooms, he looked at her with kindness in his eyes. And understanding and maybe a little pity.

  Oh, no. Annabeth would not allow him to feel sorry for her. She would not feel sorry for herself, either. This reunion between father and
daughter was a good thing, a dream come true. A blessing from God above.

  Exasperated with herself, Annabeth let out a long-suffering sigh, turned her back on Hunter and focused on her niece. “I wasn’t crying, dear.” She laughed softly to make her point. But there was something broken in the sound so she rushed to fill the moment. “I simply had a piece of dust in my eye.”

  Chapter Six

  Hunter watched wordlessly as Annabeth swiped discreetly at her cheeks. The gesture was a valiant effort to erase all signs of emotion from her face, even if she didn’t succeed very well. At least she wasn’t trying to insinuate herself in his conversation with Sarah. He should feel triumphant over her lack of interference. Instead, he felt...

  Guilty.

  His gain was Annabeth’s loss. Somehow that didn’t seem fair, on any level.

  How was it possible Maria’s younger sister had grown into a beautiful, compassionate woman—no longer a girl who’d once ignited his curiosity, but a woman—confident and intelligent and devoted to her niece? Hunter was starting to like her, on a personal level.

  No good could come from that.

  He splayed his fingers and pushed them through his hair, anything to prevent himself from doing something foolish. Such as pulling Annabeth in his arms and soothing away her sadness.

  “Well,” Sarah said, chewing on her bottom lip, “if you’re sure you’re not upset...”

  “I’m fine. Truly.”

  Seemingly convinced, Sarah went back to pointing out various details on her bonnet for Hunter. “Notice how the different colored ribbons work together so nicely. My friend Molly says that’s because they have the same tone.”

  Hunter didn’t know much about colors or ribbons or similar tones. “Isn’t that...interesting.”

  “I know.” She chattered away on the subject, her young voice pitched two octaves higher than his own. She sounded similar to his younger sisters at that same age. He wondered if Sarah loved to sing as much as Fanny and Callie did.

  So many details still to discover about his daughter, her likes and dislikes, her favorite color, her food preferences, whether she enjoyed playing indoors or out, or both. Things her aunt probably already knew about the girl.