A Worthy Pursuit (38 page)

After what seemed like hours but was surely only minutes, Mrs. Johnson bustled around the corner, her arms full of clean towels and bandages. “Here, miss.” She handed a white towel to Charlotte along with a small ewer of water.

Charlotte gave the items to Lily then stretched down to retrieve the knife from Stone’s boot. Memories assailed her of the first time he’d revealed its hiding place to her. He’d been injured then, too, though only slightly. He’d recovered from the knock on the skull Dobson had given him. From his tangle with the bobcat, too. Even the men who’d attacked them on their way to Marietta’s ranch had been unable to take him down.
Please don’t
let this bullet finish him.

She cradled the short hilt in her hands then moved back to the site of the injury. Lifting the handkerchief carefully away from the wound, she dipped the tip of the blade through the hole in his shirt and slit the fabric wide open. She bathed the area with water, flushing the wound as best she could, then
placed the towel against the hole in Stone’s back and pressed firmly, leaning her weight into her braced arm.

Charlotte bent her mouth close to his ear. “Lily’s safe, Stone. We’ve won. All you need to worry about now is getting yourself well.”

He made no sound. No movement. Just lay there. Lifeless.

“Don’t leave me,” she whispered. “Please, Stone.” A sob rose in her throat, but she refused to let it out. She had to be strong and goad him into being strong as well. She stiffened her spine and sat up. “This pursuit of yours isn’t over yet. Do you hear me?” She badgered him with her best headmistress tone, the one she knew he hated. “There’ll be no quitting. You will fight, Stone Hammond, and you
will
recover. I insist upon it.”

A hand on her shoulder halted her harangue. She twisted her neck and glanced up into Ashe’s concerned face.

“The carriage is here.”

Charlotte nodded. “Good.”

The coachman who had driven her earlier in the day hurried forward when Ashe beckoned. “I’ll help you get him into the carriage, sir.” He bent and circled his arms about Stone’s knees.

Ashe levered his friend’s torso and Charlotte rose to walk beside them, holding the now-saturated towel in place. Mrs. Johnson pushed the remaining towels into Charlotte’s free hand then wrapped her arm about Lily’s shoulders and followed the procession toward the carriage.

It took some jostling to get Stone inside, but they finally managed, draping his long body across the seat while Charlotte knelt on the floor beside him. Mrs. Johnson settled Lily on the rear-facing seat and gave her a quick squeeze before stepping back. She clasped the door handle then paused to look approvingly at Charlotte.

“You were right to come back for her, miss. Ever since her
mama whisked the young thing off to school, I suspected something was amiss. Now that I’ve heard a hint of the truth from Dorchester himself, well, I’m just thankful someone was willing to go toe-to-toe with the old buzzard for the child’s sake.” The carriage shifted as the driver hoisted himself into position. The housekeeper stepped back to close the carriage door. “I’ll be praying for Mr. Hammond’s recovery.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Johnson.”

Then the door closed, and the coach lurched into motion.

I’ll be praying, too.
Charlotte bowed her head over Stone’s back to do just that.
Every
step of the way.

38

The ride to the boarding house stretched interminably long. The jostling of the carriage kept throwing Charlotte off balance, making it difficult to keep consistent pressure on Stone’s wound. After one particularly brutal jounce, she fell backward, and Lily had to throw herself across the gap to brace her arms against Stone’s side to keep him from rolling onto the floor. Thank heaven for the girl’s quick reaction. The last thing the man needed was another set of bruises.

The only signs of life Charlotte had to sustain her were the quiet moan elicited when Lily crashed into his side and the warmth of his skin when Charlotte’s little finger strayed from the toweling to stroke the exposed skin of his back. Her finger strayed regularly, reinforcing the connection she needed so desperately.

“As soon as we get to the boarding house,” Charlotte instructed Lily, “I want you to rush inside and alert Mrs. Ashe. Don’t wait on the coachman, just open the door and run inside as fast as you can. She’ll be waiting in the front parlor and will have the door unlocked for you.”

“I will.”

The girl proved as good as her word. The instant the driver pulled the team to a halt, Lily burst out of the carriage and ran for the door. By the time the coachman climbed down from his perch and arrived at the door, Belinda was on the scene, giving orders.

“Carry him into the kitchen,” she ordered the driver. “Grab his upper half. Charlotte and I will each take a leg.”

Charlotte’s limbs tingled like fire as she finally unbent from her kneeling position, but she ignored the pins and needles. “Bullet to the back,” she recounted. “He also fell about five feet from a tree and landed facedown. I didn’t notice an exit wound or blood on his front when the men moved him, but it was dark, so I can’t be sure.”

Belinda shot her a glance. “Are you up to assisting me?”

Charlotte met her gaze without hesitation. “Whatever you need.”

“Good.”

The woman offered no sympathy, no softness, just straightforward instruction. Exactly what Charlotte needed—a way to be useful.

She worked with Belinda through the night. Wiping away blood as Mrs. Ashe dug out the bullet, spraying carbolic acid solution over the wound to fight infection, clipping off sutures when the stitching was done. Only after they had finished did Charlotte spare the time to change out of her soiled mourning clothes, and even then, she hurried back to Stone’s side without doing more than washing her hands and splashing a bit of water on her face.

She vaguely recalled Mr. Ashe coming into Stone’s room at some point during the night to let her know that Walt Franklin and Randolph Dorchester had both been arrested. She supposed
she should feel relieved. Lily was safe. The battle for custody was over. But as she sat by Stone’s bedside, all she could concentrate on was the rise and fall of his chest. She watched each inhale lift his ribs and each exhale deflate them. She breathed with him, matching his rhythm, as if by doing so she could somehow make it easier for him. Never once did she close her eyes.

Dawn’s light streamed through the boarding house’s curtains and reflected off the white of Stone’s bandages. He lay on his back now, bared to the waist except for the wide bandages wrapped about his middle to protect his fractured ribs and keep his wound clean. Belinda had not wanted him to lie on his stomach, more concerned about his breathing than his comfort. The bullet had nicked both his liver and right lung. Too much weight on his ribcage could turn a fracture into a break and puncture the lung the bullet had weakened.

Charlotte dreaded the pain he would feel when he finally awoke, but she prayed fervently for him to wake anyhow. She wanted to see his eyes open, to witness recognition light the amber depths as his gaze landed upon her, to revel in the love that shone there—a love she’d been too fearful to glory in before but one she was now ready to return a hundredfold.

Stroking her mother’s cameo in indecision, she scooted to the edge of her chair and hovered on the brink for a moment as desire battled propriety. She wanted to be closer to him, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin. She needed the connection that holding his hand always brought. Her spine stiffened.

Propriety be
hanged
.

Without so much as a glance to the door to ensure the moment was a private one, Charlotte slid from the seat of her chair and knelt on the oval rug beside the bed. Adjusting her skirt to allow movement, she inched closer to the mattress until her chest rested flush against it. Then she took Stone’s
hand in hers and gently brought it toward her face. She kissed the tanned, weathered skin, tracing the lines age had wrought there, the scars experience had left behind. She pressed her lips against each of his roughened knuckles and savored the feel of his palm once again nestled with hers. It was a strong hand. A capable hand. A hand that could bring comfort with as much skill as it could wield a gun or take down an outlaw. A hand that had brought her back from the brink of loneliness and taught her to trust again. A hand she wanted to hold for the rest of her days.

Charlotte closed her eyes and lifted Stone’s hand to her cheek as she spread her elbows atop the mattress and settled in. She stroked her face back and forth along his hand like a kitten giving affection. After a moment, she stilled. A sigh slipped from her parted lips.

“I love you, Stone,” she whispered. Frowning at the timid sound of her voice, she cleared her throat and tried again as her eyes squeezed together more tightly in concentration. “I love you, Stone.” There. That was better. Firm. Convicted. Loud enough to be heard out in the hall should anyone be strolling by. “I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my days.” The words came easier now. Stronger.

Charlotte opened her eyes and stared at his hand. Such vows should not be made when one’s eyes were closed, after all. One should be well grounded in reality when offering one’s heart. Although she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at his face. His lack of awareness reminded her too much of all she might lose if he didn’t recover.

“I need you to wake up, Stone,” she pleaded. “Wake up and tell me I’m not too late. That you haven’t given up your pursuit.”

His fingers twitched against her hand.

Charlotte gasped and lurched backward. She stared at those
beautiful, blunt-tipped fingers as her heart thundered.
Please move again. Please!

But they didn’t. Instead, a hoarse, gravelly voice croaked into the silence of the room.

“Never . . . give up . . . on you.”

Charlotte’s gaze shot to his face. Amber eyes met hers. Eyes brimming with love.

“Stone!” She jumped to her feet and hurled herself at him, barely catching herself before she grabbed his shoulders and embraced him with a fierceness that would surely tear his stitches. She settled for cupping his beloved face between her hands and dropping a tender, barely perceptible kiss on his mouth.

When she pulled back, his lips quirked at the corners. She beamed at him in response.

“I love you, Stone.” The words burst from her, needing to be heard, needing to prove to him that she was no longer afraid. “I love you with all my heart.”

“Told you . . . I always . . . retrieve . . . what I . . . set out for.”

A joyful tear escaped the corner of Charlotte’s eye. “That you did, sir. That you did.” She dropped her forehead to rest against his. “Only the most tenacious retriever in the country could have accomplished such a task. You own my heart now. A heart you brought back to life. It’s yours for as long as you want it.”

Stone’s eyes slid closed, unable to fight his exhaustion any longer. But as his lashes fell, a single word breathed out of him. “Forever.”

Epilogue

S
IX
MONTHS
LATER
M
ADISONVILLE
, T
EXAS
T
HE
H
AMMOND
A
CADEMY
FOR
E
XCEPTIONAL
Y
OUTHS

“Hammond! Help me hang this infernal sign. This foolishness was your idea,” Dobson groused from the roof of Charlotte’s cottage.

Stone crossed the front porch to where his wife was busy cleaning the windows and handed her the glass of water he’d just fetched from the kitchen. Leaning close, he kissed her cheek and circled her waist with his arm. His fingers splayed wide over the barely rounded womb that housed his child.

His child. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Charlotte had worried that she’d be too old to conceive, not that he had cared. They had Lily and John, family enough. Yet they’d only been married for three months when Doc Ramsey had given her the joyous news.

Charlotte turned to him and smiled, her eyes bright and carefree and so beautiful he just had to brush his lips against hers.

“Hammond!”

Stone sighed then winked playfully at his wife. “The gnome calls.”

Charlotte swatted him with the rag she’d been using to clean the panes. “Hush,” she scolded, but the giggle that followed stole all the heat from her tone. “You shouldn’t call him that. Mr. Dobson’s a loyal friend.”

“And a gnome.” Stone dodged away from Charlotte’s snapping rag, his deep chuckle resonating between them.

Reluctantly turning away from Lottie, Stone grabbed hold of one of the porch pillars and jumped atop the railing. He reached for the eaves of the roof, fighting back a grimace at the soreness that still radiated down his back whenever he stretched overhead. It had taken two weeks for him to regain his strength after Franklin’s bullet had taken him down. Two weeks for him to recover enough to stand up as Charlotte’s groom.

They’d been married in Marietta Hawkins’s parlor at Hawk’s Haven. Dan had stood at Stone’s side, Marietta with Charlotte. Ashe and Belinda had attended as well. John had played the piano. Lily had recited a love poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning—completely from memory, of course. And Stephen had rigged a set of poppers from rolled paper and some kind of plunger mechanism. He’d filled them with dried flower petals and bits of paper pilfered from Miss Hawkins’s stationery box, and the moment Stone and Charlotte had stepped out onto the porch, he and the rest of the guests had shoved their plungers upward and showered the happy couple with a burst of colorful blessing.