A Worthy Pursuit (10 page)

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy set the writing desk on the bunk then plopped himself on the stool she had just vacated.

“But don’t talk his ear off if he wants to work on his letter, all right?” A fond smile curved her lips as she instructed the boy. Stephen returned the smile and nodded his promise, eager to please. And why shouldn’t he be? If Charlotte Atherton smiled at Stone like that, he’d be hard pressed not to agree to whatever
she asked of him, too. Yet when her gaze brushed his as she left, the affection so evident only a moment ago disappeared behind wary concern. She might be tenderhearted and kind, but she still recognized the danger he posed.

Something hard tapped against Stone’s knee, bringing his attention back to the boy in front of him. “Here. This is yours.”

Stone looked down. Stephen held his boot knife, hilt out, waiting for him to take it. Stone’s palm itched to claim his property, but something held him back. It seemed disloyal somehow, a betrayal to the woman who had just tended his wounds.

“Thanks, but I think your teacher intended to lock that one up with the rest of my things. You should probably go give it back to her.”

The boy shook his head. “Miss Lottie was the one who told me to fetch it. Said if you’d had it when you went after that cat, you might not have been hurt so bad.” He lifted his arm and offered the blade again. “You probably shouldn’t let Mr. Dobson know you got it, though. He might not like it.”

Stone took the knife from the boy’s hand and slipped it into the small sheath-like pocket at the back of his right boot.

She’d given him a weapon. And maybe a touch of trust as well. It was a start.

9

Stone found himself trapped in the bunkhouse. The doc had stitched him up yesterday and then warned him not to attempt any strenuous chores for the next several days. Not even saddling his own horse. Which made him insufferably dependent on Dobson. Thankfully, the grizzled fellow hadn’t hung around to prod his pride. This morning, he’d dropped off a load of harnesses that needed oiling and left Stone to complete the task on his own. The harness straps filled a few hours, but he’d finished them by noon.

Miss Atherton brought him a heaping plate of skillet-fried potatoes with bacon and sweet onions for lunch. Tasty grub. The woman knew her way around a stove. She also knew how to sidestep a question. When he’d suggested that Lily pay him a visit that afternoon so he could talk to her, Miss Atherton had her excuses ready. The child had lessons to complete. And chores. And Stone needed to rest after his ordeal. All of which was true, but he recognized a dodge when he heard one. The teacher didn’t want Lily anywhere near him. So when the girl
snuck into the bunkhouse a couple hours later, Stone had to look twice to make sure his head injury wasn’t playing tricks on him.

The girl didn’t knock, just cracked the door, slipped inside, and closed it behind her. He’d awoken from his doze the moment her tiny feet hit the steps and rolled over to grab the knife from his boot where it sat on the floor. As soon as he recognized her, though, he released his grip on the weapon and moved to sit the rest of the way up. Lily barely spared him a glance. Instead, she pressed her back against the closed door and splayed her arms beside her. Slowly, she turned her face toward him, lifted a hand to her mouth, and set her pointer finger atop her lips.

“Shhh.” She glanced both ways, as if searching out threats lurking behind the wool socks Dobson had hung to dry over the rafters or the blanket draped over the side of Stone’s cot. “You have to be quiet, Mr. Hammond. I’m playing hide-and-seek with Stephen, and I don’t want him to find me.”

Stone raised a brow but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t about to risk running the girl off when she’d just given him the perfect opportunity to start his investigation.

She tiptoed with exaggerated precision over to his cot then stopped directly in front of him. She frowned at his chin and then at the bandages visible through the open neck of his shirt.

“Do they hurt?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry.” She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her own looking far too moist for Stone’s peace of mind.

All he needed was for the kid to start bawling. What a picture that would make if the teacher came looking for her and found her in here crying her eyes out.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to be sorry about, kid,” Stone groused. “You weren’t the one who scratched me.”

She drew back, affronted. “Of course not. I’m a hero. Heroes
don’t hurt other heroes. They only hurt the bad guys. And then, only when they have to.”

So she thought him a hero, did she? That could come in handy.

Stone shifted backward on the cot until his spine rested against the wall. He gave her a dubious look. “I’ve never seen a hero quite so short.”

“Yeah, well . . .” She threw her shoulders back in an effort to look taller. “That’s because I’m a hero-in-training.”

“In training? Who’s training you?”

“Dead-Eye Dan.”

Who in the world was Dead-Eye Dan?

“And Angus O’Connell,” she continued, gaining momentum. “He was from the first book I read. You’d probably like him. He’s a bounty hunter who’s trailing a mean bunch of hombres who robbed a bank, only he didn’t realize the gang’s leader wasn’t with them. Duke Mahone never goes on the jobs himself, you see. Doesn’t want to risk getting caught. He hides out along the trail instead and picks off any posse that comes after his men with his Henry repeater. That’s how he got Angus O’Connell. Shot him in the back and left him for dead. Kinda like how that big cat got you. Ambushed.” The girl’s eyes glowed as she recounted the bloody story. “Angus didn’t die, thank goodness. A lady helped him, just like Miss Lottie helped you. Except with Angus, it was an Indian maiden who nursed him back to health with her herbs.”

“You like bounty hunters, do you?”

Lily nodded emphatically then stunned him by climbing up onto the cot next to him. “Uh-huh. They’re my favorite, chasing down the bad guys when no one else will. Sending them to jail. Keeping people safe. That’s what I want to do when I grow up. Keep people safe. Just like Miss Lottie.”

“Miss Lottie?” This was getting interesting.

“Uh-huh. When my school shut down, Stephen and John didn’t have anywhere to go, so Miss Lottie let them come with us.”

“What about you?” Stone pressed gently. “Didn’t you have a safe home to go to when the school closed?”

“Of course. This one.” She looked at him as if she thought him an idiot.

“But what about your family? Why didn’t you go stay with them?”

Lily’s forehead scrunched. “Miss Lottie is my family. My mama gave me to her when she had to go to heaven.”

That last remark brought the misty look back to the girl’s eyes, so Stone immediately changed the topic. “Did you know I used to be a bounty hunter?”

“Really?” The girl practically inhaled the word, her eyes growing as round as silver dollars. “Is that how you got the name Stone? All the best bounty hunters have tough-sounding names. Like Dead-Eye Dan and Hammer Rockwell.”

Stone worked extra hard not to roll his eyes at the ridiculous monikers. “Nope. My ma gave me the name. Here. I’ll show you.” He bent forward to retrieve his saddle bag from under the cot, holding in a groan when the movement pulled at his stitches. Once he had the bag, he sat back and caught his breath as he unfastened the buckle. He pulled out his mother’s Bible and opened it to the pages at the front, where the birth records were recorded. He pointed to the last name on the list. “See. That’s me. Stone Arthur Hammond. If you go up a couple lines you’ll see who I was named after. Beatrice Anne Stone. My ma’s granny. Everyone called her Bertie.”

Lily giggled. “That’s a funny name. Granny Bertie.”

Stone chuckled along with her. He’d never known the woman himself but liked the idea of having a Granny Bertie. He was
about to ask Lily if she had a granny and therefore steer the conversation back toward Dorchester when a knock sounded on his door.

Lily gasped and dove off the bed.

“Mr. Hammond,” Stephen called through the door, “is Lily in there with you? I’m startin’ to get worried. I can’t find her anywhere.”

The girl in question crawled on all fours under Stone’s bed.

“Come on in,” Stone hollered.

“No!” she whispered, but Stone ignored her.

If Stephen didn’t find Lily, he’d go after the teacher. And if Miss Atherton found the girl here, she’d likely sic the gnome on him.

Stephen entered, his eyes quickly scanning the room. Stone captured his attention and silently gestured to Lily’s hiding place.

The boy’s furrowed brow cleared, and a grin stretched his lips. He jumped forward and crouched down to peer under the bed. “Found you, Lily!”

“You cheated!” She crawled out and scowled up at both Stephen and Stone. “You got help.”

“Yeah, well, you cheated, too.” Stephen crossed his skinny arms over his chest. “You know Miss Lottie told you not to come in here. She’s liable to send you to bed with no supper when she finds out.”

“You can’t tell her!” The scowl immediately transformed into a pair of pleading puppy-dog eyes and a pouty bottom lip. “Please. I promise not to come here again. Please, Stephen.”

The boy crumpled under the onslaught. “All right, but you gotta do the garden weeding for me tomorrow.”

“I will,” she vowed. Then she turned her pleading gaze on Stone. “You can’t tell either, Mr. Hammond. Promise?”

As if he would. He didn’t want the teacher to find out, either. “I promise.”

“Good.” Her shoulders sagged in relief.

“We better go,” Stephen said, taking Lily’s hand and tugging her toward the door. Once he had her outside, he stuck his head back in. “Oh, and Mr. Hammond?”

“Yeah?”

“Miss Lottie said to remind you that if you’re feeling up to it, you can have dinner with us in the kitchen tonight. Around six.”

“Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Ready to continue probing for the truth.

10

Thirty minutes before the time he was expected for dinner, Stone collected the stationery box the teacher had loaned him, as well as his lunch dishes, and made his way to the house. Never hurt to have the element of surprise on one’s side. To increase the advantage, he didn’t go to the back door but circled around to the front, the door farther from both the kitchen and the bunkhouse. The least likely door for him to use. Then, instead of knocking, he eased the door open and let himself in. All the better to catch them off guard. Get a true picture of what went on in Miss Charlotte Atherton’s house.

Only,
he
was the one caught off guard.

First by the music. An intricate melody filled with twists and turns swirled around him and tugged him toward the parlor. More complex than any popular song he’d heard banged out in a dance hall or saloon. He couldn’t even imagine it in a church setting. Too many notes to follow. Not that he would try. This song didn’t need a human voice to give it meaning. All one had to do was listen to feel the impact.

“Don’t rush, John,” a feminine voice called out from deeper in the house, probably the kitchen. “Keep a steady tempo.”

John?
The little Chinese kid was playing? Impossible.

Yet when Stone rounded the corner on silent feet and peered into the parlor, there sat John Chang, his tiny fingers flying over the keys like a master. His expressionless face seemed at odds with the stunning complexity of the music, as if the notes he produced required no concentration and no personal response.

When Stone had first started investigating Dr. Sullivan’s academy, he’d been aware of the “for exceptional youths” part of the title, but he’d just assumed Keith Sullivan had tacked that on to make his school sound more prestigious and thereby attract a more elite clientele. The one time he’d met the esteemed Dr. Sullivan, he’d smelled a bit too much like snake oil for Stone’s taste. All the right words up front, but slippery underneath. Big promises, little follow-through. Stone knew the type. Collected bounties on a couple in his early days—swindlers so consumed with lining their pockets that they spared little thought for the people whose lives they destroyed in the process. Dr. Sullivan might not deal in magic elixirs, but he still smacked of chicanery. Why else would a supposedly devoted educator shut down his school mid-term? He must’ve found a better way to line his pockets.

Nevertheless, it appeared that the “exceptional” part of Dr. Sullivan’s academy had not been a ruse. John Chang was the most exceptional seven-year-old Stone had ever seen. Did Stephen and Lily have remarkable talents as well? He studied Stephen, who sat cross-legged on the floor with what looked to be a gutted mantel clock in his lap then lifted his gaze to examine Lily. She looked like any other nine-year-old girl, curled against the arm of the small sofa, engrossed in a dime novel. The
teacher had mentioned that Lily was smart, and she obviously liked to read, but did that make her exceptional?

Stone peered a little closer, trying to decipher clues he had little context for interpreting. Maybe he needed to see her in her element. After all, he’d thought John was just a quiet kid who liked to stick close to the house until he’d seen him at the piano.

“Mr. Hammond!” Lily’s squeal of delight soared through the room and brought the music to a jarring halt. John’s hands hovered above the keys as Lily threw aside her paperbound book and jumped to her feet.

Stone grinned at the girl and stepped more fully into the room. “You don’t need to stop, kid,” he said, nodding in the boy’s direction. “You play real well. Do you know another song?”

“Play the moon one that Miss Lottie is teaching you,” Lily urged. “That one’s so pretty.” She started humming a three-note pattern and swayed in rhythm before holding out the sides of her dress and executing a fancy turn.

“It’s not pretty. It’s sad.” Stephen frowned at Lily. “Makes me feel lonely.”

“Only when Miss Lottie plays it,” Lily argued. “Besides, that’s part of what makes it so pretty.”

Stephen rolled his eyes in Stone’s direction as if he hoped for commiseration regarding the illogical nature of females. Stone managed to hold in his chuckle. Barely.