did not.
He waited her out, taking note of how the soft glow from the streetlamp brushed her dark hair with golden light. For a long, tense moment, her eyes flickered over him, too, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t frightened of him, that much was evident, but she was wary.
For the first time since she’d barged into Mattie’s private rooms unannounced Hunter considered what his presence meant to Annabeth. How involved was she in Sarah’s day-to-day life?
With me living there and teaching at the school...
“How long have you been at Charity House?”
“Almost a year.”
She had more to say, but he saw her hesitation as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Go on, Annabeth.” He gentled his voice to a mere whisper. “Say your piece.”
“About tomorrow. I...don’t want you upsetting Sarah. I...” Not quite meeting his gaze, she drew to her full height before continuing. “What I mean to say is that she isn’t expecting you.”
Easy enough to put right. “Then you’ll tell her I’m coming.”
“No, you don’t understand.” Her chin shot up, her gaze full of challenge, the pose reminiscent of her notorious mother. “The situation is more complicated than that.”
At a loss for a reason behind her hostile tone, he eyed her closely. “Then maybe you should explain the situation to me.”
She braided her fingers together at her waist, a gesture Hunter was coming to recognize as a nervous habit, one that reared whenever she had something unpleasant to say.
He braced himself.
“Sarah doesn’t know she has a father.”
“You haven’t told her about me?” His voice was raw in his own ears. He hadn’t expected this, wasn’t sure how he felt about this new bit of information. Angry?
No. Disappointed.
“Try to understand. I didn’t want to disrupt her life, or give her false hope, in case you didn’t—” she spread her hands in a helpless gesture “—you know, want her.”
Now he was angry. The hot burst of emotion made his breath come in fast, hard spurts. He forced himself to speak slowly, to remember Annabeth didn’t know anything about the man he’d become since the judge had sentenced him to prison. “What made you think I wouldn’t want her?”
She looked pained and stressed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a father didn’t claim responsibility for a child living at Charity House.”
Was she speaking only for the children now, or was she thinking of herself, as well? Her own father had been a Mexican outlaw that hadn’t been known to stick in one place, or remain loyal to one woman, for long.
Hunter’s anger dissipated, turning into something close to sympathy. Considering her past, Annabeth’s reasoning made sense. But this wasn’t about her father. This was about Hunter, and whether or not he would make the moral choice. “Would you have told me about Sarah if Mattie hadn’t done so?”
“I don’t know.” Annabeth lowered her head. “I’m sorry, Hunter. I’d like to think that I would have, eventually, but I just don’t know for certain.”
Appreciating her honesty, Hunter absorbed her words. For all intents and purposes, Annabeth had conspired to keep his daughter a secret from him and would have done so indefinitely if not for her mother’s interference. Did he blame her?
No, he didn’t. He knew countless men who’d walked away from far less responsibility than a child. At one point in his life, Hunter had been one of them.
That was then. This was now.
A swell of emotion spread through him, seeping into the darkest corners of his soul. After all he’d lost, dare he hope for this new beginning, this second chance to get it right?
He had to try, had to go at this logically, rationally. Anything was possible with God. Or as his mother was fond of saying: We can’t out-sin the Lord’s grace, or His forgiveness.
A good reminder.
Hunter needed to be alone, to think, to plan, to work through the particulars of what came next. “I’ll call at Charity House first thing in the morning.”
“Better make it after school,” she said. “Say, four o’clock?”
“Good enough.”
He turned to go.
“Hunter, wait.”
He stopped, but didn’t pivot back around.
“I think it best we don’t tell Sarah who you are, at least not at first.”
It was a good idea, a wise suggestion, all things considered. However, a part of him rebelled. He’d spent the past two years being told when to wake, when to work, when to eat. He’d had enough. “I’ll make that decision when I see the child for myself.”
“Hunter, please.” She hurried around him. “You can’t just show up out of the blue, claim a daughter you never knew you had and then make promises you can’t be sure to keep.”
He bristled at her unwarranted accusation. Hunter never made promises he couldn’t keep. Except once. Two people had ended up dead, one an innocent, one a very bad man.
Beneath his calm exterior, Hunter burned with remembered rage.
This time would be different, he told himself. Because he was different.
No more death, no more loss, no more bad decisions. “I didn’t say anything about making promises.”
“But—”
“One step at a time, Annabeth.” He flexed his fingers, stopped short of making a fist. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”
“One step at a time.” She repeated his words through tight lips. “Yes, that sounds like a good plan.”
He moved a fraction closer, inexplicably drawn to her despite the tension flowing between them.
Chin high, she held her ground. For three long seconds. Then, she scrambled backward. One step. Two.
Hunter had seen that same look in many gazes through the years, some he’d deliberately cultivated. Annabeth thought him a threat.
She was right.
If Sarah was his daughter, no one—not even her devoted aunt—would keep him from claiming her as his own.
* * *
Heart in her throat, pulse beating wildly through her veins, Annabeth watched Hunter disappear around the corner of her mother’s brothel. Nothing had prepared her for her first encounter with the man after all these years. She’d expected to meet a hardened criminal, an outlaw who’d earned his place in prison.
Annabeth had been wrong.
Ice-cold dread shivered across her skin. Hunter Mitchell was a man full of remorse. And hope. Yes, she’d seen the hope in him. It was that particular emotion that made her the most troubled. Ruthless and cruel, she could handle.
But a man with a desire to do the right thing?
How did she fight against that?
Was she supposed to even try?
She shivered, and not merely because Hunter could take Sarah away from her. In the depth of his eyes Annabeth had seen an aching loneliness that had called to her, one human to another, two lost souls searching for their place in a world that had dealt them cruel blows.
Now she was being fanciful.
Annabeth was never fanciful. She was practical, down to the bone. In that, at least, she