The Outlaw's Redemption

He looked down at his companion, noted how her troubled gaze went through a series of minor contortions. At the sight of her obvious worry, he felt an unfamiliar need to offer comfort, to let her know he wasn’t here to hurt her.

He touched her arm. “Annabeth.”

She took her time looking up at him. The ethereal beauty of her upturned face took his breath away. Leached of color in the silky moonlight, her exquisite features could have been carved from marble.

He could hardly bear to hold her gaze. He wanted to smooth away her concerns. But he didn’t know what they were, not entirely, and as he’d never been a gentle man, he knew nothing of tenderness or affection.

Perhaps she was concerned he would reveal her personal connection to Mattie to the rest of Denver. In that, at least, he could ease her mind. “Annabeth, I—”

“Hunter, I—”

They both fell silent.

“You first,” he said.

She took a quick, shallow breath and forged ahead. “I meant what I said earlier. Sarah has a good life at Charity House, safe and respectable. With me living there as well and teaching at the school, she’s not on her own. She’s...”

Her words trailed off, as though she wasn’t sure how much more to reveal.

Hunter smiled at her, the gesture inviting her to continue.

She did not.

He waited her out, taking note of how the soft glow from the streetlamp brushed her dark hair with golden light. For a long, tense moment, her eyes flickered over him, too, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t frightened of him, that much was evident, but she was wary.

For the first time since she’d barged into Mattie’s private rooms unannounced Hunter considered what his presence meant to Annabeth. How involved was she in Sarah’s day-to-day life?

With me living there and teaching at the school...

“How long have you been at Charity House?”

“Almost a year.”

She had more to say, but he saw her hesitation as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Go on, Annabeth.” He gentled his voice to a mere whisper. “Say your piece.”

“About tomorrow. I...don’t want you upsetting Sarah. I...” Not quite meeting his gaze, she drew to her full height before continuing. “What I mean to say is that she isn’t expecting you.”

Easy enough to put right. “Then you’ll tell her I’m coming.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Her chin shot up, her gaze full of challenge, the pose reminiscent of her notorious mother. “The situation is more complicated than that.”

At a loss for a reason behind her hostile tone, he eyed her closely. “Then maybe you should explain the situation to me.”

She braided her fingers together at her waist, a gesture Hunter was coming to recognize as a nervous habit, one that reared whenever she had something unpleasant to say.

He braced himself.

“Sarah doesn’t know she has a father.”

“You haven’t told her about me?” His voice was raw in his own ears. He hadn’t expected this, wasn’t sure how he felt about this new bit of information. Angry?

No. Disappointed.

“Try to understand. I didn’t want to disrupt her life, or give her false hope, in case you didn’t—” she spread her hands in a helpless gesture “—you know, want her.”

Now he was angry. The hot burst of emotion made his breath come in fast, hard spurts. He forced himself to speak slowly, to remember Annabeth didn’t know anything about the man he’d become since the judge had sentenced him to prison. “What made you think I wouldn’t want her?”

She looked pained and stressed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a father didn’t claim responsibility for a child living at Charity House.”

Was she speaking only for the children now, or was she thinking of herself, as well? Her own father had been a Mexican outlaw that hadn’t been known to stick in one place, or remain loyal to one woman, for long.

Hunter’s anger dissipated, turning into something close to sympathy. Considering her past, Annabeth’s reasoning made sense. But this wasn’t about her father. This was about Hunter, and whether or not he would make the moral choice. “Would you have told me about Sarah if Mattie hadn’t done so?”

“I don’t know.” Annabeth lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’d like to think that I would have, eventually, but I just don’t know for certain.”

Appreciating her honesty, Hunter absorbed her words. For all intents and purposes, Annabeth had conspired to keep his daughter a secret from him and would have done so indefinitely if not for her mother’s interference. Did he blame her?

No, he didn’t. He knew countless men who’d walked away from far less responsibility than a child. At one point in his life, Hunter had been one of them.

That was then. This was now.

A swell of emotion spread through him, seeping into the darkest corners of his soul. After all he’d lost, dare he hope for this new beginning, this second chance to get it right?

He had to try, had to go at this logically, rationally. Anything was possible with God. Or as his mother was fond of saying: We can’t out-sin the Lord’s grace, or His forgiveness.

A good reminder.

Hunter needed to be alone, to think, to plan, to work through the particulars of what came next. “I’ll call at Charity House first thing in the morning.”

“Better make it after school,” she said. “Say, four o’clock?”

“Good enough.”

He turned to go.

“Hunter, wait.”

He stopped, but didn’t pivot back around.

“I think it best we don’t tell Sarah who you are, at least not at first.”

It was a good idea, a wise suggestion, all things considered. However, a part of him rebelled. He’d spent the past two years being told when to wake, when to work, when to eat. He’d had enough. “I’ll make that decision when I see the child for myself.”

“Hunter, please.” She hurried around him. “You can’t just show up out of the blue, claim a daughter you never knew you had and then make promises you can’t be sure to keep.”

He bristled at her unwarranted accusation. Hunter never made promises he couldn’t keep. Except once. Two people had ended up dead, one an innocent, one a very bad man.

Beneath his calm exterior, Hunter burned with remembered rage.

This time would be different, he told himself. Because he was different.

No more death, no more loss, no more bad decisions. “I didn’t say anything about making promises.”

“But—”

“One step at a time, Annabeth.” He flexed his fingers, stopped short of making a fist. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”

“One step at a time.” She repeated his words through tight lips. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan.”

He moved a fraction closer, inexplicably drawn to her despite the tension flowing between them.

Chin high, she held her ground. For three long seconds. Then, she scrambled backward. One step. Two.

Hunter had seen that same look in many gazes through the years, some he’d deliberately cultivated. Annabeth thought him a threat.

She was right.

If Sarah was his daughter, no one—not even her devoted aunt—would keep him from claiming her as his own.

* * *

Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Annabeth watched Hunter disappear around the corner of her mother’s brothel. Nothing had prepared her for her first encounter with the man after all these years. She’d expected to meet a hardened criminal, an outlaw who’d earned his place in prison.

Annabeth had been wrong.

Ice-cold dread shivered across her skin. Hunter Mitchell was a man full of remorse. And hope. Yes, she’d seen the hope in him. It was that particular emotion that made her the most troubled. Ruthless and cruel, she could handle.

But a man with a desire to do the right thing?

How did she fight against that?

Was she supposed to even try?

She shivered, and not merely because Hunter could take Sarah away from her. In the depth of his eyes Annabeth had seen an aching loneliness that had called to her, one human to another, two lost souls searching for their place in a world that had dealt them cruel blows.

Now she was being fanciful.

Annabeth was never fanciful. She was practical, down to the bone. In that, at least, she was her mother’s daughter.

Speaking of Mattie...

Annabeth spun on her heel. Retracing her steps, she paced through the darkened corridors of the brothel, back into Mattie’s private suite of rooms. She drew in a soothing pull of air and then shut the door behind her with a controlled snap.

One more calming breath and Annabeth turned to face her mother.

Mattie had moved from her earlier position by the bookshelves. She now stood next to the fireplace. Her stance was deceptively casual, while her gaze remained sharp and unwavering. She had the attitude of a woman whose high opinion of herself far outweighed her place in the community. That regal bearing, along with her business acumen, had kept her at the top of her chosen profession for thirty years.

Annabeth resisted the urge to sigh. If only Mattie had used her many talents for legitimate purposes, maybe then Annabeth’s shame at having a madam for a mother would not exist. Nor, perhaps, would she crave respectability so desperately, to the point of setting aside all her other hopes and dreams.

A familiar ache tugged at her heart.

Oh, she knew Mattie loved her, without question or reservation. It was that knowledge that turned Annabeth’s shame back on herself.

The Bible taught that she should be sympathetic and love as Christ loved, to be compassionate and think of others before herself. That included her mother.

“Did Hunter get off all right?”

“Yes, fine.” And not at all the point. “How could you have contacted him, when I specifically asked you not to do so?”

“He’s the child’s father.” Mattie lifted her chin in defiance. “He deserved to know of her existence.”

Another bout of shame took hold. She’d been willing to keep a man’s own daughter from him, never mind the reason. “Maria didn’t want him to know about Sarah.”

“She didn’t want you to know about her, either.”

True. Annabeth had found out quite by accident. She’d been home from Miss Lindsey’s less than a week, humiliated and at a loss about what to do with her life after her expulsion from her position at the school. Mattie had insisted she return to Boston and make her fresh start there, going so far as to threaten to cut off financial support if Annabeth didn’t abide by her wishes.

At the time, Annabeth hadn’t seen the point. One city was as good as another to start over, and who needed Mattie’s money, anyway?

She’d been so naive, so headstrong.

Following that initial argument, there’d been many more heated discussions on the subject. A slip of the tongue on Mattie’s part, a bit of investigation on Annabeth’s part, and she’d discovered Sarah’s existence. One look at the child had been enough to give her a new purpose in life. And so she’d set out to provide a stable home for her niece.

Unfortunately, Mattie had followed through with her threat and had pulled all financial support. Annabeth had been forced to take a job teaching at Charity House. Neither of them had expected Annabeth to fall in love with her new life.

But now, with Hunter’s appearance, all her hard work of the past year stood on the precipice of collapsing.

Fear swept through her. “You should not have interfered,” she said again, more forceful than before.

“I stand by my decision.”

“He might take her away with him.”

Mattie dismissed the comment with a sniff. “It would be within his rights.”

Yes. It would. Hunter was Sarah’s father; Annabeth merely her aunt. Her half aunt, as Mattie constantly reminded her.

Giving into despair, Annabeth pressed her back against the shut door, slid to the ground and hugged her knees to her chest.

“I can’t lose her.” She tangled her fingers in her skirts. “I just can’t.”

“I understand, far better than you realize. But listen to me, Annabeth.” Mattie tried to smile, but her blue eyes, the same color and shape as Annabeth’s, had turned earnest, anxious, a little desperate. “I did not send you to Boston for an education alone. I sent you there to provide you with a better life than the one I could offer you here in Denver. No one knows me there, who I am, what I am. It was supposed to be your chance for a clean break.”

Sighing, Annabeth lowered her forehead to her knees. “I know all that. But things didn’t turn out so well, did they?”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t still go back and—”

“Mother, please.”

In a move completely out of character, Mattie joined her on floor. “You’re my daughter, Annabeth.” She squeezed her arm. “You know I love you.”

Annabeth swiveled her head to look at her bossy, annoying, pigheaded mother and a roll of affection spun in her stomach. Why did their relationship have to be so complicated? “I know you do. I...love you, too.”

The words were far easier to say than she’d expected. Regardless of what Mattie did for a living, she was Annabeth’s mother. Flawed and the source of much embarrassment, she’d done her best. What more could a daughter ask from a mother?

“I sent for Hunter for your protection. You’ll ruin your life over that child if you don’t have a care.”

Annabeth knew that, too. “I’m twenty-three years old.” Long past the first blush of youth. “I’m quite capable of knowing what’s best for me. And contrary to what you think, I’m happy.”

“You’re wasting your education.”

“How can you, of all people, say such a thing? I’m helping break the cycle of sin in those children’s lives.”

“I—”

“No, hear me out. I’m providing a solid, Christian education for boys and girls in desperate need of love and unconditional acceptance. It’s really no different than if I’d stayed on at Miss Lindsey’s and continued teaching there.”

“Don’t kid yourself, Annabeth.” Mattie spoke in her most patronizing voice, the one she reserved for rebellious employees. “You’re at Charity House because of Sarah.”

It might have started that way, but Annabeth had changed. Her desires and goals had changed, too. Where once, everything had been about her, she now acted for the benefit of others.

A blessing she couldn’t have imagined a year ago.

“If Hunter takes his child away with him,” Mattie continued, “you could return to Boston and marry a good man.”

“So that’s what this is all about? That’s why you contacted Hunter? You’re counting on him to take Sarah away, thereby giving me no reason to stay on at Charity House?”

“It’s the best solution for all parties.”

How could her mother look so casual, so unconcerned, when her interference was tearing apart the life Annabeth had made for herself?

“What if I never go back to Boston?”

“Now, Annabeth, let’s not be too hasty. You could still—”

“What if, Mother, I don’t leave Charity House after Sarah is gone?” Her voice hitched as she spoke, the reality of all she was about to lose settling over her like a millstone tied to her neck. “What if I choose to stay and teach at the school indefinitely?”

Mattie’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Oh, but she would. Not to spite her mother, but to fulfill her calling, a calling she hadn’t realized existed a year ago. Better still, she’d achieved a level of respectability she’d thought lost to her for good.

“This discussion is over.” Annabeth jumped to her feet.

Mattie followed suit, a little slower, but with surprising agility for a woman her age.

“Move aside, Mother.” Annabeth looked pointedly at the door behind Mattie’s head. “I have an early day tomorrow.”

“Now, Annabeth, don’t do anything rash. I know Hunter better than you do. Don’t make the mistake in thinking he won’t fight for what belongs to him. And like it or not—” Mattie leaned forward “—Sarah belongs to him.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“I’m simply warning you to be careful. If the man wants to claim his daughter, there’s nothing you can do to stop him.”

Perhaps. But he hadn’t taken Sarah away yet. There was still time for Annabeth to prepare.

One thing was certain. Hunter Mitchell knew nothing about raising a nine-year-old daughter on his own. All Annabeth had to do was make him realize that before it was too late.

It was all very simple, really. If Hunter wanted to be reasonable, she would be reasonable. But if he wanted a fight, well then, she would give him the fight of his life.

Chapter Four

Hunter jolted awake from a restless sleep. His pulse scrambled through his veins as if he’d been running all night, heading toward a shadowy image in the distance. He reached out even now, unable to stop himself, but came away empty.

Only a dream, he told himself, the same, mind-numbing nightmare he’d had every night since Jane’s murder.

Would he ever find peace? Would he ever be free of the guilt? Did he deserve such mercy?

Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, he lowered his head back to the pillow and shut his eyes.

The sounds in the room slowly separated from one another, each one becoming distinct and specific. The rhythmic tick of a clock. The slap of a shutter banging against a brick wall. A lone coyote howling for its lost mate.

Hunter hauled in another pull of air. The scent of clean linens stood in stark contrast to the usual stench of the state prison. Memories of the past week surged. Once he’d been released he’d traveled north as quickly as possible, stopping only long enough to earn the money necessary to make the journey to Mattie’s brothel and beyond.

It was the beyond part that had him sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. The gray dawn light had spread its fingers of gloom into every corner of the room. Long shadows danced sinisterly along the walls, shivering across the white plaster like dark secrets woven inside whispers.

Whispers. Secrets. Lies.

The events of the previous evening slammed through his mind. Mattie Silks and her exposure of Maria’s duplicity. Annabeth’s unexpected arrival. The shocking reality of meeting again the girl he remembered better than he should, all grown up, her exotic beauty and soft nature enough to make a man stop and evaluate every wrong choice he’d ever made.

By all appearances, Annabeth was sweet and innocent, yet full of backbone. Fiercely loyal, too. During their brief encounter, she’d made Hunter’s heart ache for something...more. Something he could never have. Stability was the best he could hope for now.

Or so he told himself. Annabeth Silks had surprised him. She’d made him feel things he’d thought long dead, things he had no right feeling.

Leave it alone, Hunter.

Solid advice. But he couldn’t seem to shove the mesmerizing Annabeth Silks out of his mind. He wanted to know her more. Wanted to know where she’d been these past eight years. Was she at Charity House solely because of Sarah? Or had something else driven her to the orphanage?

Too many unanswered questions. Too many uncertainties.

The fact that Annabeth was heavily involved in his daughter’s life might make matters complicated.

Hunter was used to complicated.

Frowning, he tossed off the covers and made his way to the window overlooking the street below. Hands flat on the glass, he squinted into the colorless morning mist. He could just make out the shapes of vendors setting up their wares for the day. A pair of dogs darted between the carts, probably scanning for fallen scraps of food.

He turned his back on the scene, his mind moving to more important matters. Today marked his first step toward making a new life for himself, because today he would meet his daughter.

His daughter.

Pleasure surged from the bottom of his soul, adding just enough force to pound ruthlessly behind his ears. He still had hours before he could make the trek across town to Charity House. He knew exactly how he would fill the time.

Once he’d washed, shaved and was sufficiently fed, Hunter stood directly across the street from his destination. He studied the unassuming brick building with growing unease. Even from this distance he was able to read the words embossed on the plaque nailed to the door. Sheriff’s Office and Jailhouse.

He’d come full circle. But this time he had nothing to hide, and no sin to atone for. He’d served his time.

Yet he still felt as if he was being watched, hunted by some dark force. He checked his perimeter, rolled his shoulders and glanced to the heavens.

The sun had fully risen in the sky, shining so bright Hunter’s eyes watered, and his head throbbed. Even his throat ached as he swallowed the foul stench of Denver’s underbelly that wafted on the cool, March breeze.

Nothing had changed on this side of town. A depressing discovery. He jammed his hat on his head, then froze at the sound of familiar footsteps approaching from behind.

Instinct had him reaching for the gun at his hip, the gun he hadn’t worn in years. Forcing his fingers to relax, Hunter let out a slow hiss of air and reminded himself he had nothing to hide, nothing to defend. His outlaw days were over.

“Looking for me?”

At the sound of that low, amused drawl, Hunter spun around to face the man he’d come to see. Trey Scott. Smiling that half smile of his. On any other man, the gesture would have softened his face. Not Trey. There was nothing soft about the seasoned lawman. His hair was still black as midnight, his eyes nearly as dark beneath the brim of his hat, his presence as menacing as ever.

Hunter remained motionless, refusing to give an inch of ground, or to show any sign of weakness. Trey did the same.

This was a ritual of theirs, this stare down. Welcoming the familiarity of the routine, Hunter settled in, keeping his mind on his goal—pay off the debt he owed this man. Not in money. But in words.

Money would have been easier, cleaner.

Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Hunter flexed his fingers. “Sheriff,” he said in a bland tone. “Been a while.”

“Too long, by my estimation.”

Hunter didn’t disagree.

He hadn’t seen Trey since the other man had handed him over to the U.S. marshal assigned to escort him to the Colorado State Prison in Canon City. In the weeks leading up to his trial, Trey had shown Hunter what it looked like to live as a man of integrity, what it meant to show mercy where it wasn’t deserved. To understand God’s forgiveness in all its infinite wonder.

The irony that Trey had made such an impact on his life wasn’t lost on Hunter. Logan, Hunter’s estranged brother, looked up to this man, as well. They’d served together as U.S. Marshals for years, with Trey teaching Logan everything he knew about law enforcement. On principle alone, Trey should have been Hunter’s enemy. Instead, the sheriff had turned into his greatest ally during the trial and his confidant in the endless hours of waiting for a verdict.

Hunter owed the man his life.

He’d never be able to repay him, not in worldly measures. Nevertheless, he was here to try. But first...

“I have something of yours I need to return.”

Trey nodded solemnly, showing no surprise at this. “Come with me.”

The other man stepped off the sidewalk into the busy street. Hunter kept easy pace with the sheriff as they wove through the morning traffic. At the threshold of the jailhouse, Trey swung open the door, then stepped back, indicating Hunter should proceed ahead of him.

He paused a fraction of a beat, then entered the building first. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the stark interior. Cold, bleak memories took hold. He’d spent a lot of time in this jailhouse, specifically the cell on the far left.

Like always, a fire crackled and spit in the black stove on his right. The air beyond the fire’s reach shimmered with cold, all the way into the dank, empty cells.