She grinned, taking up the challenge like a seasoned gamester. In less than a pair of heartbeats, she located the page in that mental catalog of hers and picked up right where he had left off.
“‘Bullets blasted shards of bark all around Dan, but he just brushed the pieces off his chest with a flick of his wrist. Billy’s gang couldn’t aim worth a hill of beans. That’s why they always sprayed so much lead. It was the only way they ever hit anything. Too often, innocent civilians. Dan scowled, his jaw tightening as he rolled onto his side to steal a peek over the top of the log. One against seven was lousy odds, but Billy Cavanaugh and his crew were vermin that needed e-rad-i-cation.’” She stumbled slightly over the large word, but it didn’t stop her. She passed right over it and forged ahead. “‘He’d just wait for them to reload then take them out one by one.’”
Stone closed the book and set it in his lap to signal Lily that she need not continue her recitation. He had no doubt she could quote the entire book to him if he asked it of her. The girl’s memory was remarkable. But her teacher had taken pains to keep the girl grounded, and he’d not undo that by gushing over her amazing talent. Besides, there was no telling how many chances Charlotte would willingly give him to speak with Lily unchaperoned.
“You do know this story is hugely exaggerated, right?” He tossed the dime novel to Lily. “There were only five men in the Gatling Gang, not seven. And Daniel Barrett didn’t bring them all in on his own. He had help.”
Lily’s blue eyes glimmered as she rose up on her knees, bringing her face level with his. “Are you telling me you know Dead-Eye Dan?”
Stone blew out a self-deprecating breath from the side of his mouth. “Know him? Shoot. He and I were partners back in the day. ’Course no one actually calls him Dead-Eye Dan. He’s a foreman at a ranch called Hawk’s Haven up north a piece. Gave up chasin’ criminals in order to chase cows. He is a crack shot, though. Saved my sorry hide more than once.” He nudged Lily with his shoulder, nearly toppling her back onto the cushions. “’Course I saved his hide a time or two myself.”
She grabbed his arm to catch her balance but didn’t let go once she was steady. No, she held on to his sleeve as if he weren’t a stranger dragged in by her teacher’s watchdog. She held on to him as if he were part of the family—or the ragtag bunch that passed as family here in Charlotte Atherton’s house.
Stone pressed the heel of his hand against the ache that sprang up in his chest. Stupid claw wounds.
“Wait a minute.” Lily drew in a breath so large, he expected her head to start swelling. “You’re . . . you’re . . . Hammer Rockwell. The man who shows up in the nick of time and takes the Gatling Gang by surprise by climbing down the box canyon wall with his knife clenched between his teeth!”
Hammer Rockwell? Knife in his teeth? “Of all the ridiculous, made-up nonsense,” Stone sputtered. “I’ll have you know, all my knives were safely stowed in their sheaths when I made that climb. And who came up with that outrageous name? Hammer Rockwell. I never heard anything so absurd.”
“Don’t you see?” Lily giggled, the joyful sound unruffling a few of his feathers. “They just switched your name around. Stone Hammond. Hammer Rockwell. Don’t worry—even though you were only in the story for a few pages, you lived up to your name. You were known as Hammer because your big fists were like steel. You smashed the bad guys with your bare hands, knocking them flat.” She demonstrated with a pair of enthusiastic jabs, one of which connected lightly with his shoulder. “You only used your knife when one of the gang members tried to shoot Dan in the back. That sorry outlaw became buzzard bait.”
Stone raised a brow at her obvious satisfaction in the fellow’s demise. “He actually got dragged in with the others after we patched up his shoulder.”
Lily frowned. “I like my version better.”
Stone snorted. Figures.
Charlotte stood in the hall and bit her lip. She shouldn’t be eavesdropping. How many times had she admonished her students against such rude and ill-mannered behavior? And here she was, shamelessly engaging in the very behavior she forbade. Definitely not her finest hour. Yet she couldn’t seem to manufacture any remorse, because Stone Hammond had been absolutely right. One could learn a great deal from watching and listening.
The man appeared to be unaccustomed to being around children, yet he interacted with each of them with great patience and kindness, never raising his voice or speaking with condescension. True, he had an agenda, but she’d learned long ago that children could sense when an adult was being less than genuine in their attention and typically responded with coldness or defiance. All three of hers seemed to crave Stone Hammond’s attention. Even John had stopped playing and moved to the floor next to Stephen, handing him clock parts while trying not to look too interested in the conversation occurring on the sofa.
How could they not be interested? The man was apparently a living legend, immortalized in literature. Well, if one considered a dime novel literature. Hammer Rockwell? Charlotte stifled a giggle. Dreadful name. Yet Stone’s reaction to it was what made her smile. He’d sounded so delightfully offended.
She had to give the man credit for coping with Lily’s giftedness with aplomb. Outside of a question or two to clarify her abilities, he carried on as if he were simply mildly curious. Had he guessed that probing her about it would make her uncomfortable and therefore less talkative? Charlotte wasn’t used to dealing with insightful men—men of restraint. And humility. She tipped her head closer to the doorway connecting the parlor to the hall as she listened to Lily and Stone argue over the merits of buzzard bait. He could have played up the embellished tale and his role in it in order to feed Lily’s adoration, but he hadn’t. Of course, the truth he’d shared was pretty incredible in and of itself.
“So how come Dead-Eye Dan gave up bounty hunting to be a boring old rancher?” Lily asked.
Stone scoffed, and Charlotte could picture the roll of his eyes. Rather warm, amber eyes, if she remembered correctly.
“Ranchin’ ain’t boring, squirt. It’s a lot of hard work. Just because the cattle don’t shoot at you don’t mean it’s not dangerous. Storms, stampedes, an ornery bull that’d gouge you with his horns as soon as look at you. It ain’t for the faint of heart. Besides, there comes a time in a man’s life when he wants to settle down and build something a little more permanent. A place of his own to call home.”
The genuine longing in his voice caught Charlotte by surprise. He seemed so rugged, so self-sufficient that she found it difficult to picture him in a domestic setting. Home and hearth. Wife and family. Although he hadn’t really mentioned family, had he? Only a home. Would he be content without someone to share his life?
Charlotte’s back stiffened. Exactly what business was that of hers? She frowned at her meandering thoughts and reached behind her to re-tie the bow in her apron strings. Her elbow bumped the wall lightly as she made sure the bow loops were equal lengths. Really, she silently fumed, the future life of Stone Hammond is none of my concern. The man can hide away in a mountain cave for the rest of his days as long as I get to keep Lily.
“You don’t have a home?” Lily’s question floated into the hall, distracting Charlotte from her apron strings. She stilled, hating herself for caring about the answer.
“Nope. Not a real one, anyway. Just a few hotels that keep a room ready for me whenever I happen to make it to town. Ain’t had a real home since my ma died back in ’68. My pa died in the war five years before that, and with times being so hard and me being so young, there was no way for me to hold on to the house. The bank took it, and I struck out on my own.”
And he’d survived. More than survived, Charlotte acknowledged. He’d succeeded. Admirably.
“The only thing I took with me from my mama’s house, besides my pa’s huntin’ rifle and a sack of food,” Stone continued, “was my ma’s Bible. Never go anywhere without it. Reminds me of her, of what home means.”
“I have a locket,” Lily said
quietly. “I wear it every day under my dress. Wanna see?”
Charlotte pictured Lily tugging on the thin gold chain until the oval locket pulled free of her collar. She would open it and show him Rebekah’s portrait.
“Your ma was real pretty.” Stone’s gruff voice held compassion. “Do you ever miss the home you shared with her?”
Charlotte stiffened again. He hadn’t mentioned Dorchester Hall, but she recognized the direction his question was leading. Maybe she’d only imagined his compassion. Maybe he’d made up his entire sad childhood tale just to soften up Lily, to manipulate her into sharing details of her own story.
“I miss the tabby cat that liked to curl up by the stove in the big kitchen. She used to let me carry her around and would always try to pounce on my shadow when we went outside to play. But mostly, I just miss my mama. She never really liked Grandfather’s big house. She wanted a cozy little place for the two of us, but Grandfather insisted we live with him.”
Lily’s voice tapered off, and Charlotte held her breath, not sure what the child would say next. If she told Stone she missed Dorchester Hall, would that be reason enough for him to take her back?
“I think Mama was right, though,” Lily said at last. “Miss Lottie’s house is little and cozy, and I like it. It feels like home.”
“I’m sure Miss Lottie would be very happy to hear you say that.”
Did his voice sound closer than it had a moment ago?
“Wouldn’t you, Charlotte?” Suddenly, Stone stepped into the hall and eyed her like a seasoned hunter who’d just flushed a dove from the bush.
12
Charlotte lifted her chin, refusing to let Stone Hammond get the better of her. “Why, yes, Stone.” She threw his Christian name back at him, a little alarmed at how easily it rolled off her tongue. “Hearing that Lily feels at home here makes me very happy.” She skirted around him and held her hand out to the little girl who watched the two adults with a puzzled expression.
Lily hopped off the sofa and obediently took Charlotte’s hand, but before she could ask her teacher if she’d been listening to their conversation, Charlotte steered her toward the kitchen.
“Come help me mash the potatoes, Lily. The roast is out of the oven.” Eager to focus her attention on anything other than the tall man watching her from the doorway, she glanced to the boys on the rug. “Stephen, when you finish with that clock, please find Mr. Dobson and let him know dinner is nearly ready. After that, fetch the apple cider from the springhouse.” Both boys’ eyes lit up. “Having a guest for dinner is a special enough occasion, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Stephen nodded vigorously, and John joined in with a more sedate version of the movement.
“Thank you, boys.” Schooling her features, she turned to face Stone. Chin up. Back straight. Smile in place. “Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, Mr. Hammond. Please make yourself comfortable in the meantime.” She tilted her head toward the book still clasped in his large hands. “Perhaps you’d enjoy reading some more of Dead-Eye Dan’s exploits. Lily assures me they are quite engrossing.”
“They aren’t gross, Miss Lottie,” Lily corrected with a huff. “They’re exciting.”
Stone laughed at that—a rich, deep sound that reached inside Charlotte and warmed cold places that had been long neglected. But like frostbitten fingers placed too quickly near the fire, the warmth hurt. So she drew away from the flame, and with Lily trailing behind her, scurried off to the kitchen.
Men were not to be trusted. Especially not charming men. And while no one would mistake Stone Hammond for a suave courtier, the man had a rugged charm that wormed its way under a woman’s skin before she could adequately guard against it. Well, he wasn’t going to charm her. Not with his bravery. Not with that wide, muscled chest. Not even with his kindness toward her children or his open-mindedness toward her claim to Lily. Just because the sound of his laugh threatened to melt her insides like whipped cream on hot apple pie did not mean she’d forgotten the lessons her father had taught her.
“Didn’t you want me to do that, Miss Lottie?” Lily’s question pulled Charlotte out of her mental tirade.
She glanced down. Her white-knuckled fingers were fisted around the handle of the masher, where eviscerated potato flesh clung to the steel grooves. Good heavens! She didn’t even remember pouring off the boiling water or picking up the masher.
“Yes, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” Charlotte scooted aside and made room for Lily to set her wooden stepstool next to the counter. “I got caught up in my thoughts and wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.” Once the girl was in position, Charlotte handed over the masher. “Here you go. Smash away.”
Lily threw herself into the task, pausing now and then when Charlotte added butter and milk to the mixture. She chattered about Dead-Eye Dan and how Stone knew him and how they used to work together. She wondered aloud over whether or not Stone had ever met an Indian or been shot while trying to bring in a bounty or fallen in love with a female outlaw who had a price on her head. Charlotte made a few noncommittal hmms at appropriate places in order to hold up her end of the conversation, all while wishing desperately for a change in topic. The last thing she needed to imagine was Stone Hammond in love with some beautiful young desperado. Especially when the thought set off a twinge in her stomach that felt remarkably akin to jealousy.
Charlotte dosed the potatoes with salt and pepper then took over the mashing duty and gave the mixture a final beating until it was creamy and smooth. She covered the pot to keep the contents warm then opened the roaster and moved the meat to a cutting board.
She had just started slicing when Lily spoke again.
“Why is he here, Miss Lottie?”
Charlotte’s eyes slid closed, the question stabbing into her as pointedly as the prong of the meat fork had just stabbed the roast. Oh, Lord, how am I supposed to answer? She’d vowed never to lie to the children. Growing up, she’d suffered through enough lies to recognize that the truth, no matter how painful, was always better in the long run. But she’d also vowed to protect her charges. How could she do both?
Setting down the carving knife, Charlotte turned to face the girl she loved like a daughter. “Why don’t we sit for a minute?” she suggested as she wiped her hands on her apron. Charlotte nodded toward the chairs encircling the kitchen table, and without a care, Lily hopped off her stool and skipped over to them.
Charlotte followed more slowly. Lily expected Miss Lottie to have all the answers. But she didn’t. She didn’t know anything. Not about raising a daughter, not about how to handle Stone Hammond, and certainly not how to explain his presence in a way that wouldn’t inspire anxiety.
Forcing her legs to continue at their usual sedate pace toward the table instead of whirling around and fleeing out the back door as she wanted to, Charlotte fingered her mother’s cameo and silently asked God to give her the right words.
Lily gazed up at her, her eyes full of innocent questions. Yet her mouth turned down a bit at the corners, proof that she’d sensed Charlotte’s unease.
“Well now,” Charlotte said as she pulled out a second chair and slid onto the seat. She smiled at the girl beside her and reached over to pat her hand where it lay atop the table, hoping at least one of the two actions would serve as reassurance. Heaven knew she wished someone would pat her hand and tell her everything would be all right. But that was a child’s wish, and she’d ceased being a child long ago. “Let’s see if I can explain.”
Lily scooted to the edge of her chair, her upturned face glowing with trust.
Charlotte swallowed, brushed the wrinkles out of her apron, then folded her hands in her lap and began. “Do you remember the night we left the academy? How it was still dark outside when Mr. Dobson drove us away?”
“Yes.” Lily’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What does that have to do with Mr. Hammond?”
“I’m getting to that.” Charlotte gave her one of the you-need-to-be-patient lo
oks that Lily collected as frequently as Stephen did his springs and bolts. “The reason we left while it was still dark was because I wanted to keep our leaving a secret. I knew your grandfather expected you to go home with him.”
Lily sat straighter and nibbled a bit on the side of her thumb. “But Mama said I was supposed to live with you. She didn’t want me to live with Grandfather.”
“That’s right.” Charlotte recognized the lost little girl she once had been when news she hadn’t wanted to hear bombarded her despite her wishes. She pushed her chair farther away from the table and opened her arms. “Come here, sweetheart.”
The instant the invitation was offered, Lily bounded from her seat and into Charlotte’s lap. Charlotte wrapped her arms around the girl and held her tight, leaning her cheek against the top of Lily’s head.
“I promised your mother I would take you home to live with me and love you as if you were my own little girl. And I do. Love you. So much.” The catch in her voice surprised her.
She was supposed to be in charge—of the children, of her home, of her emotions. Order out of chaos. It was how she survived. Control meant safety, protection. Yet, with Stone’s arrival, control had begun slipping from her grasp, leaving her—and those in her care—vulnerable.
Be strong and of a good courage . . . The verse she had memorized long ago, the one that helped her fortify her defenses whenever she felt exposed, ran through her head. She clung to it, to the promise inherent in the words. Fear not, nor be afraid of them: for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
He won’t fail me. He won’t forsake me. I can be strong. Strong for Lily. Strong for the boys. Inhaling a shaky breath, Charlotte pushed the emotion back down where it belonged. When she spoke, her voice once again resonated with the calm, steady tone she’d worked for years to perfect.