Father.
A loud gasp from Sarah had Annabeth increasing her pace. She rounded the corner just in time to see the child launch herself into Hunter’s arms.
Chapter Seven
Hunter clutched his daughter to him and held on tight. His eyes burned, and he had to swallow several times to release the air lodged in his throat. Attempting to sort through his thoughts, he stared up at the ceiling. Somewhere in the deepest, darkest folds of his soul a stronghold of banked emotion struggled to break free.
Nothing had prepared him for this melting of his heart, this wondrous, piercing mix of pain and hope tangling in his gut. He hadn’t expected to love this hard, this fast.
Lord, what if I fail this child?
What if he didn’t? What if every piece of his life, every mistake, every wrong turn, and every confessed sin had led him to this moment in time?
It was only as the thought took hold that he caught a movement off to his left. Annabeth stood in the doorway, a sheen of tears in her eyes. She released a shaky smile. The gesture sent another sharp ache spearing through his chest because she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at Sarah.
When Annabeth glanced up at him, finally, a slight buzz of something he couldn’t identify shot through his veins.
His arms flexed involuntarily around his daughter.
Making a soft squeak, Sarah shifted out of his hold. “If you’re my father,” she said, her heart in her eyes, “does that mean I’m a Mitchell, too?”
Hunter laughed. It seemed better than giving in to all the other emotions warring inside him. “That’s exactly what it means.”
He’d discovered from Sarah herself that Maria had given their daughter the last name of Smith, no doubt to keep Hunter from finding out about her.
He experienced a pang of hostility at that.
In an attempt to halt his temper, he allowed himself a long look at Annabeth, an indulgence that only managed to send his pulse skidding faster through his veins. He still had that peculiar feeling inside his chest, the one he’d fought against since he’d noticed the woman standing in the doorway.
“Good. Because I want to be a Mitchell,” Sarah declared, shoving out of his embrace, her head high, her chin set at a stubborn angle that reminded him so much of his brother. Logan could be bone-stubborn on occasion. But then, so could Hunter, as could every other person with Mitchell blood running through their veins.
Sarah would fit right in with the family.
“Then we’ll call you Sarah Mitchell from this point forward.” Hunter’s throat constricted as he spoke. He wasn’t sure if there was a legal process involved in making the name change official. Nor did he have any idea what sort of agreement Maria had made with Marc and Laney Dupree in terms of Sarah’s care.
Was their guardianship backed up by legal paperwork? Had Maria been that wise? Or had she given Sarah away on a verbal agreement alone?
He’d have to find out, the sooner the better. Then he would hire a lawyer, and gather whatever legal counsel necessary to win permanent custody of his daughter.
From this point forward Hunter would follow the law down to the letter. He would also trust the Lord. He’d tried life the other way, relying solely on himself, only to fall in with bad company that resulted in nothing but pain and hurt and in two instances, death. As his mother always said, If a man hangs out with the wrong people at the wrong time he’s bound to do the wrong thing eventually.
The story of Hunter’s life. Or rather, the story of his past.
Everything changed today.
As if recognizing that he’d come to some sort of conclusion, Annabeth chose that moment to step fully into the parlor.
The movement caught Sarah’s attention. She rushed to her aunt’s side. “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” she asked, brushing the child’s hair back behind her ear with a fingertip.
“Mr. Mitchell is my daddy.”
“Why, that’s...wonderful.” She spoke with a soft inflection, soothing, sweet, and Hunter sensed a vastness of feelings within her. It was clear she loved her niece.
Hunter couldn’t fault her that.
Could he separate the two? Could he be that cruel? No, he couldn’t. He’d made mistakes in the past, shocking, painful mistakes that had changed lives, but he’d learned from them, too. He would make better choices now, and in the future.
He had ideas about what came next. However, he needed to sort through them before he began making plans. He would have to include Annabeth in some of the decisions. That much was clear by the simple fact that Sarah was attached to her.
And, besides, he didn’t want to see Annabeth hurt. “We need to talk,” he said.
She winced. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
He recognized her trepidation in the tense angle of her shoulders. No wonder. He’d spoken bluntly, with little care for how his words would impact her. He used to know how to talk to women, how to charm them into doing his bidding. He’d forgotten the use of subtlety during his years in prison.
Perhaps that wasn’t all bad. Perhaps living a life of integrity meant coming at matters head-on, rather than glossing over the difficult conversations or using his charisma to get what he wanted.
Let your yes mean yes and your no mean no.
Silence hung between him and Annabeth like a thick, gloomy fog. Sarah didn’t seem to notice, though, as she continued to chatter away about her new family. “Cousins, Aunt Annabeth. Can you believe it? I have cousins of my very own.”
Annabeth made serious business of leaning down and listening to the child’s every word, nodding at the appropriate times.
Midprattle, Sarah swung to face Hunter. “Does this mean I get to live on a ranch with you, like a real Mitchell?”
Strong, unnameable emotions tried to break through the surface of his outward control. He’d like nothing better than to raise Sarah on a ranch near his family’s spread, to become a rancher again, as he’d always meant to do one day. He’d had a taste of the dream once before. With Jane.
They’d settled on a piece of land near Pueblo. Everything had seemed fine, almost perfect, but then the baby had died and Cole Kincaid had come back into their lives...
“Is that what you want to do?” he asked, shoving aside the unhappy memories. “Live on a ranch?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, please.” His daughter certainly seemed to know what she wanted.
“But, darling.” Annabeth draped her arm across Sarah’s shoulders and tugged her close. “That would mean you would have to leave Charity House and your friends and...everyone else.”
Annabeth gave Hunter a speaking glance, leaving him no doubt what she meant. Sarah would have to leave her aunt. If he took his daughter away with him, Hunter would be ripping her away from the only family she’d ever known.
Unless...
Perhaps there was another solution.
“Well, yes, that’s true, Aunt Annabeth. But we could come back for visits, like Mr. Logan and his family do all the time.” She looked up at Hunter, a plea in her rounded eyes. “We could, right? We could come back and visit Charity House?”
Hunter rubbed the back of his neck, sighed. He clearly had a lot of thinking to do. Starting a ranch required hard work and dedication. There would be no time for trips back to Denver, at least not in the early years. But if his daughter wanted to visit Charity House occasionally he would figure out a way to make that happen. “I don’t see why not.”
“See?” Sarah swung back to face her aunt, the trust of youth in her voice. “We’ll come back lots and lots.”
He hadn’t said that, exactly.
“What about your schooling?” Still holding on to Sarah, Annabeth directed the question at Hunter. “Do you have a plan for her education?”
Sarah answered for him. “That’s a silly question. You’ll teach me, Aunt Annabeth.”
“Me?”
“Well, of course. You’re coming with us to the ranch.” Her sweet little fac
e crumpled with indecision. “Aren’t you?”
“Sarah, I have a job here, responsibilities that I can’t just up and quit and—”
“But we’re family.” The child stomped her foot, looking every bit like a Mitchell. “And families stick together. Isn’t that what you always say? Didn’t you promise you’ll never leave me now that the Lord has brought us together?”
“Yes, I said that.”
Tears wiggled to the edges of Sarah’s thick eyelashes and her shoulders stooped a little. “Didn’t you mean it?”
“Of course I did.” Annabeth bent to look in the young girl’s eyes. “But things have changed.” Her voice was very small when she spoke, and full of grief. “You’re a Mitchell now. You don’t need me anymore.”
“I need you.” The child’s voice broke over the words. “I’ll always need you.”
Sarah’s eyes were red-rimmed, her lashes spiky with moisture. She looked downtrodden, sad and on the verge of crying. Annabeth appeared to be fighting tears herself. Hunter had never been good with female emotion. Feeling helpless, he glanced from one to the other, caught between running and wanting to fix the problem.
He went with the latter, offering up the one solution that would serve them all. “You’ll come with us, Annabeth.”
He hadn’t meant to speak so bluntly, or so forcibly, but he wanted the tears to stop. Besides, it was a good idea. Someone had to look after Sarah. Why not her devoted aunt?
As the thought took hold, he felt himself relax. He wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Annabeth anytime soon. The burst of satisfaction that came was unexpected, and a little unsettling.
“I suppose I’m open to discussing it.” Despite her words, Annabeth still looked miserable, her face pale and taut.
Sarah, on the other hand, had cheered up considerably. She bounced from one foot to the other, practically vibrating with little-girl excitement. “I have to go pack.”
She bounced again, did a little twirl. And one more for good measure.
“Not so fast.” Annabeth stilled the child with a hand on her shoulder. “We have a lot of details to work out before you can leave Charity House.”
“Your aunt’s right,” Hunter said when Sarah’s face took on a mutinous expression. “These things take time.”
The magnitude of all the tasks that lay ahead cramped his brain. He needed to contact his family. He assumed they would welcome him home. They’d said as much during the trial, and in their subsequent letters to him in prison. But as much as he wanted to return to the Flying M, he couldn’t just show up with a previously unknown daughter and her aunt in tow.
And there was the other, more pressing problem that needed addressing, too. Hunter still had to convince Sarah’s guardians that he was serious about taking on the responsibility of raising his daughter. He had to prove he was a changed man.
No better time than the present.
* * *
Ten minutes later, Hunter followed Annabeth through the back of Charity House, silently preparing his speech to Marc Dupree in his head. Annabeth had sent Sarah off to find her friends. No doubt the child was sharing the news that her father had returned to town and was here to claim her.
How would that affect the way the others treated her? Would they be happy for her, or jealous? A combination of both, probably. There would be questions. Where had he been all these years, why had he shown up now? The same questions Marc and Laney Dupree would ask of him.
Hunter’s pulse raced in anticipation, and maybe a little dread. Watching the back of Annabeth’s head, he had to fight the urge to reach out and spin her around to face him, to determine if she was his ally or his adversary.
Why it mattered what the woman thought of him, he couldn’t say. She’d affected him so swiftly—and so deeply—his head was still reeling.
She’d stormed into his life last night, all fiery and determined and beautiful, ready to protect the child she loved—even if that meant keeping Sarah safe from her own father. From him. Her loyalty was humbling, as well as frustrating. Whatever it took, Hunter would prove to Annabeth that he was worthy of his daughter, that he could be trusted.
Peace and stability had always been elusive, just out of his reach, often because of the choices he’d made himself. God willing those days were over. He was going to take a leap of faith this time around. And believe in the dream of returning home, of setting things right with his family and settling down to a rancher’s life.
One step at a time.
At the end of the hallway, Annabeth stopped outside the last door on their right. Fingers wrapped around the handle, she looked at Hunter over her shoulder. “I assume you will want to speak with Marc alone?”
“I would prefer that, yes.” He had things to say he didn’t want Annabeth to hear, things about his past that Sarah’s guardian needed to know, but Annabeth didn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I told him you were coming by today.” She shifted, her gaze tracking everywhere but in his direction. “And why.”
“Annabeth, look at me.” He waited until she did as he requested. “I meant what I said in the parlor. I want you to come to the Flying M with Sarah and me.”
Her hand dropped to her side and she sighed. “If only it were that simple.”
“It can be.”
Her jaw muscles tightened. “Making promises again?”
At the sight of her agitation, tenderness welled in his heart, a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. “Only ones I intend to keep.”
Another sigh seeped out of her. The way she folded her arms around her waist made her look small and vulnerable.
He reached to her.
She shook her head, then turned back to the door and knocked once, twice.
A voice called from within. “Enter.”
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed open the door.
As Hunter drew alongside her, Annabeth surprised him by reaching out and touching his arm.
He looked down at her. It was his turn to sigh. She seemed so sad, so...beaten, as if her last hope had been taken away. By him. He’d done this to her.
No, not him. Maria. Maria had done this to her.
To both of them. Sarah, too.
Lies. Secrets. No good came from either.
He fought the urge to drag Annabeth in his arms and make more promises, the kind he had no right to make to any woman, not anymore. “Thank you, Annabeth. Thank you for everything.”
She closed her eyes a moment, pulled in a deep breath and then nodded. “You’re welcome.”
As one, they entered the room together.
Marc Dupree sat behind his desk, wearing a deceptively bland expression on his face. Hunter had never met the man personally, but he remembered him sitting with Trey during his trial on several occasions.
Dark-haired, clean-shaven, Marc was dressed similarly to the last time Hunter had seen him in the courtroom. The red brocade vest and matching tie were made of the finest material available, the kind a banker might choose for his clothing.
With efficient, clipped sentences, Annabeth made the necessary introductions then said, “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Thank you, Annabeth,” Marc called after her retreating back.
Not bothering to turn around, she waved a hand over her head in response.
The moment she shut the door Marc pointed to one of the two worn leather chairs facing his desk. “Please, Hunter, have a seat.”
The man’s tone was as formal as his attire and an uneasy feeling clutched Hunter’s heart. Everything hinged on Marc releasing his guardianship of Sarah.
Or did it?
Again, Hunter made a mental note to seek legal counsel as soon as possible.
Maria had hidden his daughter from him. That couldn’t have been legal, or ethical. Had Marc played a role in the deception? Had the other man known Hunter was the child’s father from the beginning, and done nothing to contact him?
Hunter wouldn’t leave this room until he had his
answers.
Clearing his expression, he lowered himself into the offered chair and looked around the office. He took in the decor with one, quick sweep. The room was a man’s sanctuary. The dark furniture and deep, rich colors in the rugs added to the masculine feel. Even the smoky scent coming from the fire in the hearth seemed to proclaim: no females allowed.
Hunter fought back a smile.
Watching him closely, too closely, Marc tented his fingers under his chin and got straight to the point. “I understand you’re Sarah’s father.”
Always appreciative of the direct approach, he nodded. “I found out in a letter penned by Mattie Silks.”
This information didn’t seem to surprise Marc. “Maria never told you about your daughter?”
“No, never.” Hunter forced a casual note in his voice. “Did she tell you?”
Marc shook his head. “No. She didn’t.”
He was so calm, so matter-of-fact, the quintessential man in charge, holding all the power. Hunter frowned as a twinge of resentment took hold.
“Is that standard?” he asked, his tone going low and just short of deadly. “A mother simply hands over her child, without attempting to contact the father first?”
Marc let out a slow, careful breath, as if trying to decide how much to reveal. “Nothing is ever simple or standard when a child ends up at Charity House. Some of the women who bring their children to us don’t even know who the father is. Other times, the father is already married. Or, worse, refuses to acknowledge his son or daughter.”
“Unfortunate, to be sure, but none of those describe my situation.” Hunter held Marc’s stare for a beat, then reiterated, “Like I said, Maria never told me about Sarah.”
Marc nodded.
“I’ve come to claim my daughter.”
Not a single reaction from Marc to this statement. Not a shift of an eyebrow, or a twitch of his jaw. Nothing. The man would make a deadly opponent in a gunfight. “How did your first meeting with your daughter go?”
“Better than expected,” he admitted.
“I’m not surprised.” Marc leaned back in his chair, his shoulders visibly relaxing. He looked pleased. He sounded pleased. “Sarah is a sweet child with a big heart.”
Renee Ryan Page 8
