A Worthy Pursuit (4 page)

Stone’s glare promised retribution.

“Are you two quite finished?” The impatient, snapping voice drew Stone’s attention back to the teacher. “I swear,” she muttered as she leaned forward to take hold of Stone’s arm. “It’s as if boys never grow up. No matter how old they get, they’re still determined to prove themselves the toughest, fastest, smartest, whatever-else-they-can-think-of-to-compete-about-est. It’s ridiculous. If they would just cease their posturing for a moment, they might actually manage to accomplish something worthwhile.” She tugged on his arm then, making it clear what she wanted from him.

Bossy bit of goods. But what did he expect from a tight-laced schoolmarm? Actually, he’d expected a lot more running and hiding. Tears. A screech or two. Seeing as how she suspected him of being Dorchester’s man. Not this quiet determination to see his wounds tended.

What was her angle?

Miss Atherton tugged on his arm again, and Stone complied with her not-so-subtle hint. Rolling slightly to the side, he tried to lever himself up—no easy feat with wrists and ankles bound. The teacher released his arm and gripped him about the waist instead. She wedged her shoulder against the side of his chest to help him find his balance as he stood.

Unfortunately, the sudden change in elevation sent his head whirling in a fit of dizziness. He winced and staggered sideways, forgetting the state of his ankles. The bindings tripped him, and he would have fallen if the teacher hadn’t tightened her grip and wrenched him back against her.

“For heaven’s sake, Dobson. Untie his feet or we’re both going to topple into the dirt.”

The bearded fellow came around to the front of them and scowled up at Stone as he pulled a long-bladed knife from the sheath at his waist. “I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t either, but that doesn’t mean we have the right to treat him like a prisoner.” Miss Atherton grunted a bit as she propped up Stone’s weight.

He tried to help her, but his legs didn’t seem to be working properly, and the ground kept swelling up and down. He gritted his teeth against the nausea building inside. Acting weak to gain information was one thing, but disgracing himself by casting up his accounts in front of a lady was not acceptable.

“You look a little green around the gills there, stranger.”

Great. Now the gnome was smiling. As if the urge to retch hadn’t been strong enough already.

“Quit taunting the man and cut him free, Dobson. He’s too heavy for me.”

Whether it was the woman’s authoritative tone or the revelation that she was suffering more from the delay than Stone was, Dobson finally gave in and sliced through the ropes at Stone’s feet. Stone immediately braced his legs apart and relieved Miss Atherton of the majority of his weight.

Stone held out his hands toward the little man in front of him, but Dobson’s face turned granite hard. Looked like he’d be keeping his hemp bracelets for a while yet.

Miss Atherton urged him forward. Together, they limped to the house.

“John,” she called. “Open the door, please.”

A tiny Chinese boy swung the door wide and held it open by leaning his entire body against it. His slanted eyes rounded as his gaze traveled from Stone’s boots up and up and up until he finally reached his face. He didn’t say a word, just kept staring until Stone shuffled past him into the house.

The girl was nowhere to be seen. Odd for such a giggly, curious thing. The way she’d run up to see him when Dobson first dragged him onto the property proved she wasn’t timid. So where was she?

Well, no matter. He’d find her. Find her and get her home.

“John,” Miss Atherton instructed. “Collect the ewer from my room then go find Stephen in the barn. Ask him to help you fetch some cold water from the well. I’ll need to make a compress for this gentleman’s head.”

The boy scurried around their legs without a word and darted into a room two doors down the hall on the left. A heartbeat later, he dashed out again, pitcher in hand. Casting Stone a wary glance, he made for the opposite side of the house. A door slammed a moment later.

“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 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 anticipating 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, but 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 on to 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 and closed it. What was she up to?

She set the knife 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.”

3

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, and the scars on his hands all 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 in addition to 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 in 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 more than a month 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 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 that 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 tellin’ 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.