A Worthy Pursuit

  Whatever she did, she had to do it soon. That curve was only a few hundred yards away.

  Not knowing what else to try, Charlotte did the only thing she could think of to close the distance between her and the reins. She slid off the seat onto the floor of the driver’s box, raised up on her knees, and leaned over the footboard. She reached for the lines. Stretched her fingers. Still . . . too . . . far. Inches separated her from her goal.

  She sagged over the rumbling, rib-bruising board, tears of frustration burning her eyes. “You can do this, Charlotte,” she whispered to herself. “You have to.”

  Throwing caution aside, Charlotte crammed her feet beneath the bench and pushed them against the back of the box to propel her farther over the footboard. She would reach those lines. The wooden edge of the footrest scraped down her ribcage to her belly. She reached again. The tip of her longest finger brushed one of the lines. So close!

  Too close to give up.

  She pushed off with her feet again until her shoes no longer connected with the box. The backs of her heels pressed into the underside of the seat as the footboard slid beneath her belly to catch in the bend of her hips. She reached. Stretched. And caught the two lines on the right.

  She reached for the left lines that dragged a little lower. Just . . . a . . . bit . . . closer. One of the front wheels hit a hole. The wagon bounced. Hard. Charlotte’s shoes slid out from beneath the seat. She fell forward. Screamed.

  Her hands connected with the shaft of the wagon tongue. She caught herself. And the reins. She’d trapped them beneath her left palm.

  “Miss Lottie!”

  She heard Stephen’s cry but could do nothing about it. She could barely breathe, bent double as she was, gripping the footboard as hard as she could between her thighs and belly to keep herself from falling farther.

  She had the reins, but how on earth would she ever right herself enough to get up? That corner had to be nearly upon them.

  Please, Lord. Just spare the boys. Save them from—

  Her prayer was interrupted by a small body wrapping itself around her left leg like an anchor and a pair of hands grabbing at the back of her blouse from the right, pulling her up.

  Charlotte thanked God for brave, disobedient boys as they hauled her over the footboard and back into the driver’s box.

  The instant she had her feet under her again, she drew back on the reins with all her might. “Whoa!” She stood in the box, leaning backward to add the pull of her weight to the endeavor.

  The horses ran on.

  Stephen grabbed the reins in front of her hands on the right side, and John imitated on the left. All three of them pulled. All three yelled, “Whoa!”

  Little by little, the horses slowed.

  “Whoa!” they all yelled again as they reached the corner, their pace still far too swift.

  The horses slowed a scant bit more, but the wagon swayed recklessly, swinging in a wide arc around the bend. The back wheels slipped off the side of the road into the grass, but the wagon remained upright.

  They made it around the curve in one piece, and a few dozen yards later, the team finally halted.

  The boys cheered. Charlotte flopped onto the seat, numb.

  Then all of a sudden panic seized her chest and all she could think about was getting off the demon vehicle that had nearly killed them.

  She set the brake, tied off the reins, and immediately ushered the boys down to the ground.

  “Let’s wait for Stone and Lily in that lovely grass,” she said, pointing to a thick patch of green prairie grass just a few steps away from the road. “I think I’m going to need a few minutes to recover.”

  Drained of all energy, Charlotte lay down flat upon the grass, one boy cuddled into each side. She closed her eyes as the sun warmed her wind-frozen face and thanked God for His timely rescue.

  Stone slowed Goliath to a trot when they reached the curve in the road, dreading what he might find around the bend. Every pain in his body intensified. His knuckles, his thigh, his knees from where he’d fallen into the wagon, his throat from the chokehold, his jaw and side from the hits he’d taken, the spot on his shoulder where a second bullet had grazed him. Everything throbbed, but none of his physical aches compared to the stabbing in his chest as he steered Goliath around the corner.

  “Look, Mr. Hammond! The wagon!” Lily bounced in his lap as she pointed. “But where’s Miss Lottie? I don’t see her.”

  He didn’t either. Not at first. He told himself not to panic. The wagon stood undamaged, the team calm. But what if they’d slowed on their own? What if Charlotte and the boys had been thrown some time before? He’d scanned the sides of the road with care, but what if he’d missed them? What if . . .

  He drew Goliath near the wagon. And spotted the flash of Charlotte’s blue skirt obscured by the tall grass.

  “Charlotte!” Hesitating only long enough to set Lily on the ground, Stone sprang from Goliath’s back and sprinted around the wagon. He slid to his knees in the grass beside her, his gut in knots, his eyes scouring her for injuries. But before his gaze could reach higher than her knees, she sat up.

  “Stone,” she said, her voice slightly groggy, as if she’d been asleep. Then she blinked and sat up straighter. “Is Lily . . . ?”

  She couldn’t even get the words out before the kid threw herself into her teacher’s arms, nearly knocking Charlotte back to the ground.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Stone silently echoed the sentiment as the two females embraced. Thank God, indeed.

  Stephen and John jumped up and grabbed at his arms, the story of their adventure bubbling out of Stephen so fast, Stone could barely keep up. John nodded vigorously throughout, as if eager to share in the telling.

  After several minutes, the kids finally turned their attention to one another, Stephen and Lily trying to out-horrify each other with their tales. Stone offered a hand to Charlotte and helped her to her feet. She immediately started fussing with her appearance, brushing grass from her skirt, picking at the torn collar of her shirtwaist, patting down her hopelessly windblown hair.

  He captured her fidgeting hand with his and tugged it down. “Leave it.”

  Her eyes met his, surprise fluttering her lashes.

  “I like you a little mussed.” He grinned. “Makes me feel less like a dirt clod in comparison.”

  She blushed then. Just a little, but it was enough to warm his blood.

  Charlotte dropped her gaze to her feet. “You’re the most heroic man I’ve ever met, Stone Hammond.” Slowly she lifted her face. “I owe you everything.”

  “Nah.” Now he was the one shuffling and fidgeting. “You don’t owe me anything.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You did all the hard work.” Stone reached out, took her hand in his, and squeezed. “You did good today, Charlotte. Real good.”

  She smiled at him, her expression softening to a degree he hadn’t seen since he’d caught her at the piano. It was as if she’d pulled back the curtain she usually left drawn and allowed him to peek inside to glimpse her vulnerability, her gratitude, and a longing so sad and stark it kicked him in the chest with the strength of a mule. Then she lowered her lashes, and the curtain fell back into place. A heartbeat later, she was gone, seeing to the children.

  Stone couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Talk about putting ideas in a man’s head. Women never looked at him like that. He was too rough, too coarse, too much of a loner. Ever since his mother died, he’d learned not to expect much softness from life. His ambition had provided income, and his skills had kept him alive. He had a handful of friends he trusted like brothers. It had always been enough to keep him content in the past. But now? He wanted more. He wanted softness. Closeness. Music.

  He wanted her.

  One mountain at a time, Hammond.

  First he had to get his charges to Dan’s place. The five yahoos he’d just sent off with their tails tucked between their legs were sure to flap their gums about his escort, so
there was no point in separating himself from Charlotte again. Not that his nerves could handle such a thing anyhow. His hands were still shakin’ from finding her and the boys laid out in the grass as if they were dead.

  He’d be driving the team the rest of the way to Hawk’s Haven. Give Goliath a rest, and maybe even find a creek to wash up in. Charlotte wasn’t the type to arrive somewhere disheveled, and he could probably stand to rinse the dirt out of his scrapes.

  “Stone Hammond!”

  Charlotte’s outraged voice had him spinning around to face her even as his hand reached for his gun.

  “What?” He scanned the area for a threat. None presented itself. He looked back at her.

  “You’re bleeding!” she accused. She marched up to him and started categorizing his paltry wounds. Out loud.

  “Quit your fussin’, woman. Nothing’s serious. It’ll keep until we find a stream to wash up in.”

  “We have a canteen.” Then she started throwing out orders. “Stephen, lower the tailgate so Mr. Hammond can sit down. John, fetch the water. Lily, unpack one of my petticoats. I’ll need to tear it into strips.”

  “Bossy female,” Stone grumbled as she forced him to take a seat. He glared at her. She glared right back. Man, but he liked that about her, the way she stood up to him. And if he was honest with himself, he rather liked the fussing, too.

  One mountain at a time, Hammond. One mountain at a time.

  21

  The arched entrance to Hawk’s Haven loomed over Charlotte’s head later that afternoon. The children exclaimed over the hawk outline burned into the wooden sign, but Charlotte gained no comfort from the symbol. As if she needed another predator stalking her and her charges. Dorchester and Franklin were quite enough, thank you. Not to mention the unknown others Franklin was apparently offering reward money to. How many men like those they’d just encountered waited to pounce? A shiver coursed through her, and she leaned a little closer to Stone as he turned the team down the drive toward their final destination.

  A cry from a real hawk echoed in the air. Charlotte’s gaze snapped to the sky, but she saw nothing. It was just a bird, she told herself, yet gooseflesh rose on her skin anyway. She rubbed it away with a brutal hand over her sleeve. She didn’t have time for such foolishness.

  Stone turned to look at her, concern lining his brow. “You all right?”

  She forced a smile. “Fine. Still a little skittish, I guess.”

  “Understandable.” He gave her one of his lopsided grins, the kind that made her stomach turn flips. “But we’re safe now that we’re on Hawkins’s land.”

  Charlotte nodded. She knew that. She just wasn’t sure how long that safety would last. Stone had assured her that Jonah Hawkins was a good man. Daniel Barrett had vouched for him, and apparently Stone’s friend didn’t hand out praise lightly. Yet that was no guarantee he’d welcome them onto his property. Daniel Barrett might owe Stone his allegiance, but Jonah Hawkins could turn them away in a heartbeat, especially if he suspected trouble followed them.

  “Ooooh, Miss Lottie, I can see the house,” Lily squealed. She stood in the wagon bed behind Charlotte’s right shoulder, her hands gripping the driver’s seat for balance. The more excited she grew, the more she bounced, and the more she bounced, the more the wooden seatback thumped against Charlotte’s spine. But Charlotte didn’t have the heart to reprimand her. After the harrowing adventure they’d survived, the girl deserved to bounce and squeal as much as she wanted.

  “He’s coming, Miss Lottie! I see him.” The rattling on the back of Charlotte’s seat intensified.

  “Where? I don’t see anything,” Stephen grumbled.

  “There!” Lily jabbed her arm straight forward, nearly scraping the side of Charlotte’s chin. “A horse. Heading this way.”

  “That could be anyone.” Stephen’s voice sounded beleaguered, but Charlotte caught him leaning over the side to look.

  “It’s not just anyone,” Lily insisted. “It’s Dead-Eye Dan! I know it is.”

  Stone chuckled softly. “That’s him.”

  Charlotte cast a quick, reproving glance at Lily. “Remember what we talked about last night. You are to address him as Mr. Barrett. We don’t want to offend or embarrass our host.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Charlotte turned forward on the seat and started smoothing wrinkles from her skirt. She lifted a hand to check her hair but stopped when Stone scowled at her.

  “You look fine,” he groused.

  And didn’t that boost a lady’s confidence? Dark frowns always enriched a compliment. What had gotten under his skin in such a short time? He’d been smiling at her not two minutes ago. Why did he care if she wanted to tidy her appearance? It only made sense to look her best when meeting the man who had the power to either offer them shelter or send them packing. First impressions were important. Unless . . . No. Surely not. She darted a sideways glance at the man beside her. Surely he didn’t think she was trying to . . . attract Mr. Barrett? The idea was laughable. Why, she hadn’t tried to attract a man’s attention in nearly a decade. And why would he care if she did?

  Her pulse fluttered as the obvious answer tantalized her. She glanced at Stone again. He was smiling now and raising a hand in greeting. Foolish spinster. Of course the man wasn’t jealous. He was probably just annoyed by her wiggling. Ordering herself not to feel disappointed by that conclusion, Charlotte pasted a polite smile on her face and turned her attention to the man approaching.

  The dark red of his beard caught the sunlight as he squinted at her with icy blue eyes, taking her measure, no doubt. Charlotte stiffened her spine and raised her chin as Stone reined in the horses.

  “Dan, you old rascal. Good to see you.”

  Let him look all he wanted. She’d not apologize to him or anyone else for what she’d done to protect Lily. And who was he to judge, anyway? He looked more like an outlaw than a ranch hand, armed nearly as extensively as Stone, minus the ammunition belt and the gun strapped to his back. He did carry a second rifle, though, one long gun slung on each side of his saddle. Only a man accustomed to trouble packed that kind of arsenal.

  Or one expecting trouble.

  Charlotte swallowed. He had every right to scrutinize her. In fact, she should probably be thankful that Stone had a friend with such obvious . . . talents . . . they could turn to for assistance. Combing down her hackles, she exhaled and forced her hands to unclench in her lap.

  “Charlotte.” Stone’s voice drew her attention back to him. His eyes held hers, connecting, encouraging. “May I present Daniel Barrett? Dan, this is Charlotte Atherton.”

  Mr. Barrett touched the brim of his hat and dipped his chin a fraction. “Ma’am.”

  So stoic. So hard. Did he resent her being there?

  “Mr. Barrett.” She bent her head to him. “I hope we are not inconveniencing you with our arrival.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She waited for more, but the man didn’t seem inclined to offer reassurances.

  “I’m Lily.” The words burst from the girl as if the dam holding them back had suddenly given way. “And I’ve read all your books. Do you think I could get your autograph later?”

  The man’s gaze shifted to Charlotte’s left, and his veneer cracked. His mouth twitched and his eyes widened with . . . apprehension? Surely not. What could this hardened warrior possibly fear from a tiny child? Yet his horse shook its head and sidestepped as if sensing his rider’s anxiety.

  “Easy, Ranger.”

  “That’s Ranger?” Lily’s excitement grew palpable. “The same Ranger that beat the door down with his hooves to save you from burning to death after Billy Cavanaugh locked you in that barn and set it afire? Wow! Can I pet him?” She scooted past John and Stephen in order to get closer to the edge of the wagon bed and reached out a hand toward the dancing horse. “Maybe you could give me a ride later. Mr. Hammond let me ride Goliath with him once. I know how to sit real still and not kick my legs . . .”

&
nbsp; Daniel Barrett wheeled his horse around and aimed him back toward the ranch. “I’m . . . ah . . . going to make sure everything’s ready back at the cabin, Stone. See you there.” He nudged Ranger to a trot then a canter and disappeared from sight.

  “Way to go, Lily. You scared him off,” Stephen huffed.

  “Did not!” Lily planted her hands on her hips. “Dead-Eye Dan’s not scared of anything. He was just in a hurry. Wasn’t he, Mr. Hammond?”

  Stone peered over his shoulder. His laughing gaze landed on Charlotte for a brief moment before continuing on to Lily, but in that moment, the humor glowing in his amber eyes lifted her spirits as nothing else could.

  “That’s right, squirt. I imagine he’s gonna let you, Miss Lottie, and the boys stay in his cabin while he and I bunk with the hands. He probably rushed off to pack a bag of clothes and stuff to take to the bunkhouse so he won’t disturb you later.”

  Stephen crowded in next to Lily. “I want to sleep in the bunkhouse. I’m no baby that needs to stay with the women and children.”

  “You’ll be staying with me, Stephen Farley,” Charlotte answered before Stone could be tempted to give the boy his way. “I’m the one responsible for you while your parents are away, and I’ll not have a bunch of foul-mouthed cowhands corrupting your morals while we’re here.”

  “But Miss Lottie . . .”

  “Don’t argue with your teacher, boy.” Stone’s deep voice cut off Stephen’s protest. “You’ll have plenty of time to hang out with the cowpokes during daylight hours. Nights will be better spent in Dan’s cabin, where it’s quiet. Believe me. I’d trade places with you if I could. Now settle back down.” He flicked the reins over the team and set the wagon back into motion. “Dan’s cabin is the first outbuilding on the right. See if you can spot it.”