His gaze sought Annabeth’s again. She smiled politely in his direction but didn’t quite make eye contact. It was as if she looked right through him.
He understood.
Wasn’t that the same expression he’d worn most of his adult life? On Annabeth, the look made her seem wounded and lonely.
They’d all suffered from Maria’s lies. Sarah, praise God, seemed to have made it through her young life unscathed. By all outward appearances, she was happy and well-adjusted. Hunter owed that blessing to Marc and Laney Dupree.
And Annabeth, too. He couldn’t forget her influence on his daughter. Sarah was a healthy, normal child because of the people in her life.
Hunter made a decision, then and there. The time for sorrow was over. There would be no more pain, no more anger, and definitely no more lies in any of their lives, only down-to-the-bone honesty from this moment forward.
He waited for the child to take a breath. “Sarah, I have something to tell you.”
“You do?” She looked up at him with mild curiosity in her eyes. “Is it a secret?”
“It is,” he confirmed, laughing at her excited gasp.
“Oh. I like secrets.”
“Most women do.”
She nodded sagely, her face a study in little girl seriousness. “That’s because we’re good at keeping them to ourselves.”
Not in Hunter’s experience. And definitely not the point. “Once I tell you this secret you don’t have to keep it to yourself. You can tell anyone you wish.”
“Oh.” The bonnet slipped from her fingers to the floor. She leaned over and picked it up again, her smile wavering. “I suppose that’s good, too.”
Sarah’s uncertain expression reminded Hunter of Maria. He waited for the anger to come, the frustration over not being able to confront his first wife about her deception. All he felt was regret for what might have been. No matter what Maria had done, or why, Sarah would never know her mother.
From this day forth she would know her father. “Sarah, I’m your fa—”
“Hunter.” Annabeth cut him off, pushing past Sarah and settling in a spot directly between him and his daughter. “I’d like a word with you in private.”
He gave her a hard look. “Now?”
“Now.”
So much for not interfering.
“But, Aunt Annabeth.” Sarah scooted around her aunt and jammed her fists on her hips. “Mr. Mitchell was about to tell me a secret.”
“Yes, I know.” A slight hesitation. “And he still will.” A heavy sigh. “After I speak with him first.”
Clearly confused, Sarah looked from her aunt to Hunter and back again. “Can’t whatever you have to say to him wait?”
“No, dear, it can’t.”
“But—”
“No arguments.” Annabeth cut her off with a firm shake of her head, then smoothed a hand over the child’s hair in a gentle show of affection. “Mrs. Smythe is baking cookies in the kitchen. I’m sure she’d welcome your help.”
“Yes, that sounds like fun, but—”
Annabeth cut her off again. “Go help Mrs. Smythe, now.”
The command was spoken firmly and with unbending authority.
This time, Sarah clamped her mouth shut. With a mutinous twist to her lips, she cast a silent appeal in Hunter’s direction.
Knowing better than to get in the middle of a fray between the two females, he raised his hands in the universal show of surrender.
Sarah’s face fell.
He could hardly bear all that little-girl despair.
“I’ll be right here when you’re finished helping with the cookies.”
Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“All right.” Sighing, she headed toward the hallway.
It took every ounce of control not to call her back to him and dispel his daughter’s obvious dejection. Hunter had no idea what Annabeth had to say to him—or why she felt the need to do so now—but he wouldn’t undermine her authority in front of Sarah.
Once the child was out of earshot? Well, that was another matter entirely.
* * *
Annabeth waited for Sarah to slink out of the room, grumbling all the way. Only after the girl was too far away to overhear their conversation did she turn to face Hunter directly.
He didn’t look any happier about the interruption than his daughter. Less so, actually. But where Sarah had set out to argue with her, Hunter simply held Annabeth’s gaze, still as a stone, quiet, severe, his lips flattened in a grim line.
This was the man who’d faced down some of the most ruthless outlaws in the country, and won.
No matter.
She could not—would not—allow herself to be intimidated by Hunter Mitchell in his big, bad gunslinger stance. There was something far more important going on here, something that went beyond the happy reunion of a father and his daughter after years of unnecessary separation.
Poignant, to be sure, but this was no fairy tale playing out, where everyone got exactly what they wanted and they all lived happily-ever-after. This was real life, where secrets had been kept for nine long years. A child’s future was at stake, her well-being, too, and her safety. Emotion must not rule the moment.
There was a beat of silence, weighing heavy and thick in the air between them.
And then another.
And one more.
Finally, Hunter spoke. “You better have a good explanation for interrupting me.”
Even his tone had changed, becoming hard, more pointed and direct, the voice of a man used to others bending to his will.
Annabeth refused to flinch.
She did, however, need a moment to gather her thoughts.
Pushing past him, she went to stare out the window. Poised on the razor-thin edge of panic, she hardly noticed the children at play. Stay calm, Annabeth. You have an important point to make.
And now she was stalling.
She turned back around. “You were about to reveal who you are to Sarah.”
“The timing was right.”
Perhaps. Perhaps not. “You don’t know that for sure. You’ve known her for what? All of ten minutes?”
“The truth has been withheld from her for far too long.” A pause, an accusatory look, reminding her she’d played a part in the duplicity for an entire year. “I won’t begin my relationship with my daughter based on a lie. The deception ends today.”
His point hit home. Yet Annabeth couldn’t find it in her to agree with him, not openly. Until recently, he’d been serving a two-year prison sentence for killing a man. How could she have known he would return to Denver ready to start anew?
How could she be sure now? “I stand by my decision to withhold your identity from her.”
He gave her a long look.
“There was no evidence you would step up and take on the responsibility of raising your daughter.”
And Annabeth was getting tired of defending herself. She’d acted on the reasonable assumption that he wouldn’t want to be a father to Sarah. “Most of the Charity House children have indifferent parents.”
“And, yet, here I am, attempting to do the right thing by my daughter.” He fixed his amber gaze on her face and, with the ease of man comfortable in his own skin, paced toward her. He moved slowly, with efficient, purposeful strides.
Annabeth remained perfectly still. Perfectly. Still.
Another two steps and the distance between them was a mere foot. Up close, she could see the various hues of gold in his eyes. She could also see his frustration.
Well, she was frustrated, too.
So, no, she wasn’t going to buckle under all that masculine intensity bearing down on her.
“I mean to be a good father to Sarah.” His chest heaved in an unsteady rhythm and his voice sounded raw, emotional, but also determined. “I have changed, Annabeth.”
Although he spoke very deliberately, with his jaw tight, it wasn’t hostility she sa
w in his eyes but some sort of murky promise, something that went beyond words, something personal and solely between them.
“Hunter.” She sucked in a hard breath. “I don’t think—”
“Stop, Annabeth. Stop arguing with me and let me finish.” With a move so swift she didn’t see it coming, he took hold of her hand.
His touch was so foreign and yet somehow comforting, familiar even.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her knuckles. Warmth spread up her arm.
“I’m not going to hurt Sarah.” He moved closer, too close, and in a voice pitched to a deep, husky note, added, “Or you.”
She snatched her hand free, her fingers curling into a fist. “Words, Hunter. Those are just words.”
“Then here are some more words for you to consider. No matter your motivation, I won’t let you stand between my daughter and me.”
No, he wouldn’t. She’d been foolish to think otherwise. She’d known this was how it would end. She’d known. Hunter would take Sarah away with him now. And there was nothing Annabeth could do to stop him.
Heart beating madly against her ribs, she stared up at him, teeth ground together, angry and frustrated and...afraid. Not of him, but of what he’d come here to do.
“You’re Sarah’s aunt.” Everything in him softened, as if he actually understood and valued the sacrifices she’d made over the past year. “I don’t know what happens next, but we’ll figure it out. Together. For Sarah’s sake.”
So, he was going to be reasonable and fair-minded, putting his daughter’s needs above his own. Annabeth would have preferred a fight.
Battling another round of tears, she turned her head away. “I’ll get Sarah now.” She took a large step to her right, creating some much-needed distance from the man who was breaking her heart in ways she couldn’t explain fully. “I know she’ll want to hear what you have to tell her.”
There was a brief pause, brimming with the same charged emotions as before. Then he nodded. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Resigned, she turned on her heel.
“Annabeth?”
She stopped, waited for the rest, but didn’t turn around.
“I won’t let you down.”
Another promise, one she could tell he intended to keep. She flattened a hand over her heart and heaved a sigh. “Just don’t let her down.”
She found her niece in the kitchen, rolling dough under Mrs. Smythe’s attentive tutelage. The older woman was smiling as she gave her instructions. Short, round and gregarious, the housekeeper had tucked her iron-gray hair in an ordinary bun at the nape of her neck. There was nothing ordinary about her, though. Mrs. Smythe loved life. She was always cheerful, always smiling.
Even now, her bright blue eyes sparkled with good humor as she explained the basic steps for making her world-famous cookies.
“Aunt Annabeth.” Sarah squealed her name in childish glee. “Look at me. I’m making cookies all by myself.”
“I see that.” Annabeth’s heart kicked fast and hard, her breath catching in her throat. How she loved this child. So very much. “Sarah, your fa—”
She swallowed the rest of her words, blinking hard at the mistake she’d nearly made. “That is...Mr. Mitchell wants to speak with you again.”
Sarah beamed up at Mrs. Smythe. “He’s the one I told you about. Mr. Logan’s brother.” She leaned in close. “He’s going to tell me a secret.”
“Well, then.” The housekeeper shared a quick look with Annabeth then took the rolling pin from Sarah and set it on the counter. “You better get on in there.”
Sarah hurried around the table, practically tripping over her own two feet in her haste. She sped past Annabeth then stopped cold two steps later. “Aren’t you coming?”
Torn between holding on to her niece a while longer, and allowing Hunter a moment alone with his daughter, Annabeth chose the middle ground. “In a minute.”
“All right.” Sarah charged down the hallway.
As the sound of her footsteps grew ever more distant, doubt reared. What if Sarah didn’t react well to the news that Hunter was her father?
Annabeth set out toward the parlor.
“Stop right there.”
She froze, took a deep breath then slowly turned back around to face Mrs. Smythe.
The older woman rested her hands on her hips, paying no heed to the flour she was getting on her clothing. “You want to tell me what’s going on with that child and Hunter Mitchell?”
“He’s Sarah’s father.”
“Her father?” Mrs. Smythe’s mouth fell open. “Well, now, isn’t that something.” Understanding flashed in the other woman’s eyes, a look that said puzzle pieces were fitting together in her mind. “I always did like that boy.”
“You know Hunter, personally?”
Mrs. Smythe nodded absently. “I served his meals to him during the trial, as a favor to Sheriff Scott. You get to know a man when you feed him on a regular basis.” She shook her head, her mind fixed on some distant memory. “He didn’t deserve prison time.”
“He killed a man.”
“I still say it was self-defense.”
Annabeth agreed. Unfortunately, the jury hadn’t. They’d based their verdict on the fact that Hunter had sought out Cole Kincaid for the sole purpose of extracting justice for his wife’s murder. There hadn’t been enough hard evidence to prove that the fight had been a matter of kill or be killed, and so Hunter had gone to prison for manslaughter.
Tragic, really.
He’d been punished for loving his wife too much. Did he still grieve her loss? Of course he did. That depth of feeling never fully faded away.
A moment of defeat spread through her, so unexpected it stole her breath.
Mrs. Smythe touched her arm and Annabeth nearly jumped out of her skin.
“How long have you known that Hunter is Sarah’s father?”
“Annabeth has known since the day she moved in with us here at Charity House.” The response came from the woman standing in the doorway behind Mrs. Smythe. Laney Dupree, the owner of Charity House, entered the kitchen, her gaze locked with Annabeth’s.
Dressed in a faded blue gingham dress with a simple lace collar, Laney managed to look serene and beautiful. Like always, she had an air of sophistication that transcended her casual attire. “So you changed your mind and contacted Hunter, after all.”
Shame had Annabeth breaking eye contact with the woman who had become as much a friend to her as an employer. They’d had an ongoing discussion about this very topic, ending the same way every time. Laney urging Annabeth to send word to Hunter that he had a daughter living at Charity House and Annabeth balking, making excuses, procrastinating.
“Actually, Mattie Silks wrote him with the news.”
“I...see.”
Yes, Annabeth was afraid Laney saw entirely too much. At least Mrs. Smythe wasn’t adding her opinion to the discussion. The older woman had slipped into the pantry with the excuse of needing more flour for her cookies.
“When did Mattie contact him?” Laney wanted to know.
“She wrote him about a month ago. He came as soon as he was released from prison. He’s in the parlor with Sarah now, probably telling her who he is as we speak.”
“He wants to be a father to her, then?”
“Yes.” Annabeth was struck by a strange, sweet sensation of...relief. Regardless of her personal stake in this, she was happy for Sarah. The child would never have to go through life wondering why her father didn’t want her.
“Oh, Annabeth. Don’t look so sad.” Laney reached out and pulled her into a fierce hug. “This is an answer to prayer, an answer to your prayers for the child.”
“I know.” She resisted the urge to cling to Laney, accepting how selfish she was being, while at the same time wanting to lash out at the unfairness of the situation. “What if he fails her?” she whispered into her friend’s shoulder.
Another tight squeeze and Laney released her. �
�You think he won’t be a good father to Sarah?”
“No. I mean, yes, I mean...” She drew in a tight pull of air. “I believe he’ll make a very good father, if he stays on the straight and narrow.”
“Word is he’s changed,” Laney assured her in a careful tone. “Trey has already vouched for him, and Marc has done his own checking on the matter.”
“Marc checked on Hunter?” Annabeth blinked at Laney, sensing she was missing a valuable piece of information. “When?”
“A few months ago, when we got word he was being released from prison.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would Marc want to keep tabs on Hunter?”
“The obvious reason, of course, because he’s Sarah’s father.”
Annabeth gasped in outrage. “I told you that in confidence.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And you told Marc?”
“Yes, I did.” Laney spoke without an ounce of apology in her words. “Annabeth, you know what sort of orphanage we run here. It’s our responsibility as guardians to find out as much information as we can on each child’s parent.”
“Information,” she repeated, stunned at Laney’s lack of remorse. “Such as, when a father is being released from prison?”
“Among other things.” She lifted a shoulder. “We never pressure a man—or woman—to do the right thing for their child, but we don’t hinder them from stepping forward, either, not if we feel it’s in the child’s best interest.”
Annabeth absorbed what Laney was saying. She’d known this, in her heart, but hearing her friend explain the reality of what they faced here at Charity House made her all the more ashamed by her own actions. She’d intentionally kept a father from his daughter.
What sort of person did that make her? “Now what do I do?”
“Now you step out on faith. You let go and trust God.”
Let go and trust God. Sound advice, under normal circumstances. But when it came to her niece, Annabeth’s faith wasn’t strong enough to wait and see what the Lord had planned. Too much at stake. Too many unknowns.
Including her father. Especially her father.
“I better go check on Sarah.” And Hunter.
“If you think you must.”
“Oh, I must.” As she set out toward the parlor, she could hear Hunter’s deep voice wafting on the air. His tone was too low for her to make out the individual words. Except one.
Renee Ryan Page 7
