A Worthy Pursuit

  “Lottie!”

  He thrust Lily away from him with all his strength, tearing her short limbs from around his neck and waist. As the bullet pierced his back, he saw Charlotte catch her daughter and tumble backward.

  Thank you, God!

  Then his leaden body fell from the tree. He slammed into the ground, and everything went black.

  37

  Charlotte immediately rolled her body on top of Lily’s. Scant seconds after the gunshot that felled Stone, a second one blasted from somewhere near the roof.

  Oh, Stone. She’d felt the earth vibrate when he hit the ground. She prayed he’d get up. Come to them. Wrap his strong, sturdy arms around her and Lily and reassure them he was all right. That he’d only lost his balance and toppled. The fall hadn’t been too high. Surely only the wind had been knocked out of him. That’s why he hadn’t gotten up. That’s why she felt nothing more than cool night air blowing against her back when she longed for his warmth.

  Even as she rationalized, hot tears scalded her cheeks. Please, God. Don’t take him from me. Please don’t—

  Footsteps thumped overhead as a man ran across the roof, cutting off her prayer. Charlotte lunged awkwardly to her feet, her skirt a tangled mess around her legs. Lily’s clinging weight threw off her equilibrium. Stone’s unmoving body tugged at the corner of her vision, but she forced her gaze upward. Was it friend or foe advancing on them?

  A familiar hitch in the man’s running stride soothed her fear a moment before he dropped from the overhang onto the front veranda. A scuffle ensued. Charlotte clutched Lily to her chest and dragged her behind the tree.

  Should she wait on Ashe or make a run for the horses while he battled with Franklin? And where was Dorchester?

  “Give me the girl,” a voice rasped from behind her. Charlotte whirled, instinctively shoving Lily behind her. Dorchester stood on the lawn in his nightshirt, his hair standing on end, his eyes wild, and a pistol clutched in his hand.

  “Never,” she vowed.

  “I need her. Just for a month or two, then you can have her back.”

  Was he actually bargaining with her? Charlotte was so astonished, she could think of nothing to say.

  “I lost another ship. Right before Rebekah died. That’s why I bribed Sullivan to close the school. Why I sent men looking for you. I needed Lily back to help me recoup my losses.” He advanced a step. Charlotte retreated, shielding Lily. “But you hid, and no one could find you. Not even Hammond. For months! Do you know how much money that cost me?” He advanced another step. And another.

  Charlotte backed away, careful to do so at an angle that would take her closer to the horses. If all else failed, she could send Lily running in that direction while she lunged for Dorchester.

  “I was counting on the funds from that cargo,” he rambled on. “Had moved ahead with other investments—investments made with powerful men who don’t take kindly to a partner who can’t fulfill his monetary obligations. I’ve held them off with paltry payments, but they’ve grown impatient. The girl is my ticket out. All I need is a little leverage on one of the men in the investment pool. She can ferret out a secret for me, and I can broker a trade. My silence in exchange for the remaining funds to cover what I owe. It’s simple.”

  “It’s sinful.” Charlotte ceased backing away and glared at Dorchester, heedless of the pistol aimed at her chest. “For pity’s sake. If you’re short on funds, sell your house. Don’t endanger your granddaughter. What kind of man are you?”

  Suddenly a dark shape loomed behind Dorchester. “An unconscious one,” Ashe announced as he brought the butt of his own pistol down on the man’s head.

  Dorchester crumpled to the ground. Lily whimpered. Charlotte immediately turned to gather the girl in her arms.

  “Franklin?” Charlotte asked Ashe as he bent to retrieve Dorchester’s weapon.

  “Tied up and waitin’ for the cavalry. Got a bullet in his shoulder and a few bruises for his trouble. Stone’s the one I’m worried about, though.” His face clouded. “Took me a few seconds too long to find the right vantage point to take Franklin out. The rat was protected by the overhang of the porch. Got to Stone before I could get to him.”

  Before Ashe could even finish his explanation, Charlotte had spun and hurried around the tree to the spot where she had seen Stone fall. She found him. Still facedown. Unmoving. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing. The utter stillness pierced her soul.

  I’ll pursue you until a parson either joins us in marriage or speaks words over my grave.

  The vow he’d spoken in love rushed through her memory with the strength of a hurricane. No! There’d be no speaking words over his grave. Not when he didn’t even know how much she loved him in return. Oh, why had she ever let fear still her tongue? She shouldn’t have whispered the words to his retreating back when he went to confront Dorchester. She should have shouted it from the rooftops until the neighbors all came out to gawk.

  With arms gone limp, she lowered Lily to the ground then knelt by Stone’s side. Holding her breath, she lightly placed her hand atop his back. It rose and fell beneath her touch, the movement shallow, but it was there.

  “He’s alive.” Praise God!

  Lily knelt beside her and stared down at her hero. “Is Mr. Hammond gonna be all right?” her voice sounded so small and scared, nothing like the brave adventurer she’d been just that morning.

  “I’ve seen him take bullets before and pull through.” Ashe had come up behind them, leaving Dorchester to rot where he’d fallen. “The ruckus is bound to have woken the neighbors.” He hunkered down by his friend’s head, scanning Stone’s body, lingering over the blood-soaked spot where the bullet had entered his back. He reached for a handkerchief then pressed the folded square atop the wound. “I’ll have to stay to give an accounting to the lawmen that show up. But Stone can’t wait that long. You need to get him to Lindy as fast as possible. She’s as good a sawbones as her old man. She’ll pull him through.”

  “We’ll need a wagon,” Charlotte said without glancing up, her mind spinning with all the details of what needed to be done. “And clean cloths from the house.” What other injuries might he have sustained that she couldn’t see? Broken ribs from his fall? Internal damage from the bullet? They needed to get him to Belinda as quickly as possible. “And servants to help us move him.”

  “I’ll be right down with a batch of clean towels, miss,” a feminine voice called from somewhere overhead. “And I’ll send Oliver to fetch the carriage.”

  Charlotte glanced up. “Mrs. Johnson?”

  The housekeeper held a lantern aloft and leaned over the railing. She nodded. “Saw the whole thing from my window, I did. When the shooting was done, I came out to take a look. Heard what the master said. Tell that Ranger down there with you that I’m willing to testify against the man. Not just about tonight but about a host of other things as well. Any man that would put his own welfare ahead of his grandchild deserves no loyalty. As of this moment, I’m turning in my resignation.”

  Charlotte’s eyes misted. “Thank you.”

  A weight lifted from her shoulders, but another remained. One that grew heavier with each moment that passed without Stone reviving.

  Charlotte pressed down on the handkerchief, trying to staunch the flow. He’d lost so much blood already. He couldn’t afford to keep leaking the vital fluid.

  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.”