Love on the Mend (14 page)

“Does the kid ever talk?” Stone couldn’t help asking as the teacher shouldered him along.

“John prefers to keep his thoughts to himself most of the time.” Miss Atherton answered his question politely enough but did not expound.

The woman was guarded, deliberate, and doing her best to keep the children away from him without making it look like that was her purpose. She was a contradiction. A lady to the tip of her toes—polite, kind, hospitable—yet a kidnapper with some kind of hidden agenda he’d yet to puzzle out.

They hobbled through the bedroom doorway and stopped at the edge of the bed. She gently slipped from his hold as he lowered himself to sit on the mattress. She stepped back, then bent and took hold of his left boot. She tugged until the thing finally gave way and then repeated the action with the other foot.

Stone sat and watched her, too dumbfounded to move. A woman—no, a lady—was removing his boots. Such a thing had never happened to him before. She probably just didn’t want him dirtying her bed linens but still, it was a novel experience. She lined up the footwear inseam to inseam like a soldier expecting inspection, then stood his boots near the door with toes flush against the wall. Once satisfied, she returned, stepped around his knees, and rummaged for something in the drawer of the bedside table. She extracted a letter opener and started sawing at the ropes binding his wrists. Not that it did much good. The pathetic excuse for a blade was duller than dirt. Still, he appreciated her efforts.

“I’ve got a knife in the back of my right boot. It’s probably sharper.”

Her head came up, and the full force of her blue-green eyes slammed into him. Man, the woman had stunning eyes. Nothing prim or staid about them. Dark lashes shuttered them away from him as she dipped her chin and turned to glance in the direction of his discarded footwear.

“There’s a small slit in the leather near the back,” he explained. “I keep a blade tucked in there for emergencies.”

She picked up the boot in question, found the knife, then returned to him. In three slices, she had his arms free.

Stone rubbed his wrists to ease the burn from the rope. At his movement, the teacher leapt back and held the knife up in front of her. Well, at least she had the good sense to hang onto the weapon. He could overpower her in about two seconds if he wished, of course, but there were too many questions he needed answered, and only one way to accomplish the deed—winning her trust.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, lady. As soon as my head quits swimming, I’ll be outta your hair.” He expected to see relief at his pronouncement, or at the very least, a lessening of her wariness. What he didn’t expect was for those expressive blue-green eyes to harden into glinting steel.

She backed toward the door, then closed it. What was she up to?

She set the knife down on the dresser top, then stepped closer to him again. Not so close that he could grab her, but close enough to keep her voice from carrying out into the hall.

“You could have shot me from up on that ridge if you’d wanted to kill me.” She spoke with such matter-of-fact certainty, it unnerved him. “I saw the arsenal Dobson brought back with him. No cowhand travels that heavily armed. You’re here for Lily.”

Chapter Three

Charlotte gave the man sitting on her bed her best truth-inducing stare. She’d ferreted out all manner of little-boy secrets in her time, but this man was no boy. If she didn’t know better, she’d think one of Lily’s dime novel heroes had come to life. Charlotte had always scoffed at such exaggerated character descriptions—men as tall as mountains with eyes as hard as flint and bare hands capable of punching holes in brick walls. Hardly realistic. Or so she had thought before Mr. Dobson dragged this particular specimen home.

The man was enormous, though not a scrap of him was extraneous. She could still feel the solidity of his chest and the weight of his muscular arm from when she’d helped him into the house. The raw strength in him was daunting, yet she sensed an intelligence in him that offered promise. A brainless lackey would snatch Lily without a thought, but this man . . . this man might be made to see reason. The weathered skin, the tiniest hint of gray at his temples, the scars on his hands—all these things spoke of experience, of a life lived by one’s wits, of a man who had learned not only to survive but to thrive in hostile conditions. This was no hothead, but a man who liked to gather facts and weigh his decisions. Yet he was also a man who could overpower her with a flick of his wrist and take Lily away in a heartbeat, even with his injury. She must proceed with caution.

The man made no response to her declaration about Lily. Just stared at her, his face giving away none of his thoughts.

Please give him ears
to hear, Lord. An open mind wouldn’t be amiss,
either.

“I’m sure Dorchester painted me as a villain,” she began, raising her chin a notch, “but I have legal guardianship of all three of the children in my care.”

Amber eyes peered into hers with an intensity that tempted her to take a step back. She’d learned long ago not to show weakness in front of a man, however, and held her ground. Lily’s future depended on how she handled this moment. Fear was a luxury she couldn’t indulge.

The man braced his hands on the edge of the mattress, his tanned fingers dark against the white of the sheets as they dug into the ticking. Then his eyes slid closed and his features hardened in concentration. Heavens, the man was truly hurting.

She took a cautious step closer to him, hating to see anyone in pain. Even an oversized mercenary. “Are you all ri—?”

His hand shot out and latched onto her wrist like a manacle. She struggled to pull free, but his grip offered no hope of escape. The swine! How like a man—taking advantage of a woman’s nurturing nature. She should have known better.

“Can you back up that claim, teacher?” He growled the question through gritted teeth, his skin taking on an ashen hue.

Maybe it wasn’t
all
a deception. There was dried blood along his hairline along with a good-sized knot.

“Yes, I can back it up,” she said, praying he didn’t notice the slight waver in her voice. “I have documents—
legal
documents—to prove what I say is true. I’ll show them to you after I see to your wounds.”

“I’d rather see them now, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Well, I can’t exactly fetch them with you restraining me, now, can I?” She dared him to release her with a pointed glance, then gave another tug of her captured arm. After a slight hesitation, he released her.

Charlotte immediately reinstated the distance between them. The stranger listed sideways a bit and raised a hand to the lump on his forehead. He winced and hissed a sharp breath, but Charlotte hardened her heart against his pain. She wouldn’t be lured in again.

Nibbling on her lower lip, she crossed to her bureau. This wasn’t going at all as she’d hoped. She was supposed to tend the stranger’s injuries and thereby earn his gratitude and respect before revealing her secrets. But the stubborn man wasn’t cooperating.

When Lily had told her that Mr. Dobson had brought home an injured man, and
a
mean one
at that, she’d suspected at once who he might be. Thankfully, she and Lily had worked out a plan many months ago about what they should do if a strange man ever came around their place.

Hence, the girl was safely down in the root cellar at this moment, reading by lantern light with a tin of soda crackers and a jar of water on hand. They kept a pallet of quilts down there along with a chamber pot, so there should be no reason for Lily to come out
until Charlotte came for her. Lily had never minded their practice runs. Even the time when Charlotte forced her to stay down there, quietly, for two hours. She’d simply gotten absorbed in one of her books and let the hours pass.

But this time would be different. It wasn’t practice.

Charlotte had done her best to assure Lily that there was nothing to fret about when she’d opened the trap door in the kitchen and sent her down into the cellar. Lily had nodded and even smiled, her trust complete. But Charlotte knew the worry would eat at her while she was alone down there.

Watch over her, Lord. Don’t let her be
too afraid. And don’t let me fail her.

“You gonna show me them papers or just stand there wool-gatherin’?”

Charlotte jumped slightly but covered her startle by turning to glare at the beast on her bed. “This is a delicate matter, sir, and I won’t be rushed. Besides, in your current state, it is unlikely you’ll be able to comprehend the full significance of my documents. I think it better that we wait until your faculties fully return.”

“My faculties never left, Miss Atherton.” He glared at her, all prickly pride. Men were such predictable creatures. So determined to assert their prowess and deny anything that could be considered weakness. Although, with this particular man, she wasn’t so sure his boast was an idle one. Even injured, he exuded far more competency than most men of her acquaintance. “In fact,” he murmured, a touch of menace weaving through the words, “my
faculties
are telling me that there’s a good chance there are no documents.”

“There most certainly are!” She bristled, letting her outrage overshadow her fear. She marched the remaining steps to the bureau, yanked open the top right drawer, shifted the rolls of sensible black stockings aside, and withdrew the leather document case she’d secreted beneath them. Slamming it down on the dresser top, she spun to face him. “The documents are inside this case. But you won’t be seeing them until
after
I tend your injury.” That was her plan, and by all that was holy, she would see it carried out. No man was going to bully her into showing her cards before she was ready, and that was that. “Now, just sit there and be quiet until I tell you you can speak.”

He raised a brow at her, as if he couldn’t quite believe what she’d just said.

She immediately turned her back on him. Heavens.
She
couldn’t believe what she’d just said. He was no pupil to be ordered about in such a fashion. Why, he could snap her neck with two fingers if he chose. She had no way to enforce her dictate, and they both knew it. Yet he made no move to leave the bed. Nor did he say another word.

He’d submitted to her authority.

Why?

Her pulse flickered. The why didn’t matter. Whatever his purpose, the fact that he didn’t try to dominate her with a show of force proved him to be coolheaded even in his impatience. A man of reason. And a man of reason would listen to reason. Wouldn’t he?

A knock on the door stopped her from analyzing the flaws of that particular conclusion. Right now hope was in such short supply anything that hinted of it needed to be clasped to her breast with both hands.

“I’ve got the water, Miss Lottie.” The older boy stood in the doorway with a pitcher and a slightly damp shirtfront.

Stone frowned as he tried to recall the kid’s name. Stephen. That was it. The littler one was nowhere to be seen. Not surprising. Stone didn’t exactly ooze warmth and geniality. Most kids gave him a wide berth.

“Thank you, Stephen.” Miss Atherton took the pitcher and walked it over to the washstand on the far side of the room.

The boy stepped through the doorway behind her. He didn’t follow her, just braced his legs apart and crossed his arms over his chest. The scowl on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t been so earnest.

“Want me to stay and keep an eye on him for you, Miss Lottie? Mr. Dobson told me he wasn’t to be trusted.”

Stone frowned at the kid. He would have told the boy he wouldn’t hurt the teacher, but he didn’t want to give up his vow of silence just yet. The kid wouldn’t know why he kept his mouth shut, but the teacher would.

Miss Atherton came back around to the front side of the bed and peered at him in a measuring sort of way. “His trustworthiness is yet to be determined.”

Her response shocked him. The woman was no fool. She knew he was there to retrieve Lily. She’d admitted as much to his face. Yet she didn’t paint him the villain.

His gaze met hers and held. After years of bounty hunting, he knew how to read guilt in an outlaw’s face, even when the man protested innocence. Charlotte Atherton’s eyes held no guilt. Fear, yes. Intelligence, for certain. And more than her fair share of stubborn determination. But not guilt. At least not that he could see. What he did see was her silent plea for him to offer her the same courtesy she’d just offered him—an open mind.

“Are you sure, Miss Lottie?” Stephen took another step into the room. “He looks pretty shady to me.”

The teacher moved to the boy’s side and draped an arm over his shoulder. “He’s done nothing to deserve our censure, Stephen. Until he does, we will treat him as our guest. We will tend his wounds and offer hospitality until he feels fit enough to leave.” She steered the clearly unconvinced kid through the doorway and out into the hall. “Now, go find John and keep an eye on him until I’m done here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy grumbled as he kicked the toe of his shoe against the wall in protest, but he complied. He did make a point to shoot a final glare in Stone’s direction before he left.