The door swung open with a loud bang, sufficiently cutting off the rest of her little speech.
“How could you, Mattie? This time you’ve gone too far.” A whirlwind of tangled skirts and angry female rushed into the room. “You have no right to interfere in my life, or in Sar—
“Oh.” The woman’s pursuit ground to a halt. “I didn’t realize you were...entertaining.” Her gaze settled on Hunter for a fraction of a second, swept past him, then returned with lightning speed, widening in shocked recognition.
His sentiments exactly.
Feeling as if he’d just been smacked in the head with a board, Hunter fell back a step. Beneath his skin, his muscles twitched and tightened.
Memories took hold, memories of another woman with the same startling blue eyes, the same Mexican heritage.
But this wasn’t Maria blinking up at him in obvious shock. This had to be her half sister, Annabeth. The last time he’d seen her had been at Maria’s funeral. But she was a woman now, no longer a girl.
Pieces fell into place in his mind.
Mattie’s unusually timed letter. Her interference in a matter that had nothing to do with her.
Except, it did have to do with her. Indirectly, at least.
“You...” Long, silky eyelashes fluttered rapidly as Annabeth’s small, plump mouth tightened. “I thought you were in prison.”
“I served my time.”
The initial shock in her pale blue eyes turned to something else, something resembling alarm. Tinged with fear.
More pieces fell into place.
“I...don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice cracking over the words, her gaze chasing around the room.
“Good evening, Hunter would be a nice place to start.”
“Yes, of course.” She twisted her hands together in front of her waist. “I... Good evening, Hunter.”
“Good evening, Annabeth. Or would you prefer a more formal address? Perhaps I should call you...” He paused, making sure he had both women’s attention before continuing. “Miss Silks.”
Chapter Two
Miss Silks.
Miss. Silks. Two simple words, spoken in that gravelly, deliberate tone and the carefully constructed life Annabeth had provided for Sarah and herself imploded. All because Hunter Mitchell knew her name. Her real name.
He knew she was Mattie’s daughter.
An avalanche of emotion crowded inside her. She could hardly breathe, could hardly make sense of the moment.
She wanted to pray—needed to pray—but the words refused to form in her mind.
Shivering, Annabeth lowered her gaze and stared at her entwined fingers.
She shouldn’t have come here tonight, shouldn’t have risked being seen in her mother’s brothel at such an hour. She’d made a mistake that could ruin everything.
If a man recently out of prison knew about her connection to Mattie, it was only a matter of time before the rest of Denver discovered the truth. Everything would change then, just as it had a year ago, when Annabeth had been released from her position at Miss Lindsey’s Select School for Girls.
The good people of Denver would know her private shame. Then what? No godly, moral man would want Annabeth as his wife, not when her mother was the most celebrated madam in town. She didn’t care so much for herself; she’d given up hope for a respectable marriage at this point in her life. But Sarah. Poor, dear, beautiful Sarah.
“You may call me Annabeth.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “Annabeth Smith.”
“Smith.” The silky, ironic tone had a dangerous note underneath. “Not very inventive.”
Annabeth stared straight into Hunter’s glittering eyes. His expression had grown fierce, ruthless even. A man on a mission, determined to get answers by any means necessary.
She forced herself to think fast, to sort through every possible solution to the threat he presented to her and the child she loved as her own.
What if he wanted to take Sarah away?
A chill ran up her spine.
There had to be a way to forestall the inevitable. But Annabeth couldn’t make her mind work properly, not with Hunter’s gaze locked so securely with hers, waiting, measuring, gauging her every reaction.
He stood over six feet, all broad-shouldered and lean-hipped. And those eyes. Piercing, intense, full of suspicion.
His lips curved at an ironic angle. “Finished with your inspection?”
“I...” She jerked her chin at him. “Almost.”
For a split second, humor filled his gaze. Then he gave her a slow, mocking perusal of his own. “You are looking well, Miss...Smith.”
He was intentionally trying to throw her off balance. Sadly, he was succeeding.
If only he wasn’t so handsome, so masculine, so rugged, so...so...handsome.
“Thank you, Hunter.” She resisted touching her hair, smoothing down the riot of curls she’d not bothered to tame before leaving Charity House. Another mistake on her part. Her desperation had made her careless. All she could do now was grasp for some semblance of control. “You, too, are looking well.”
His big shoulders shifted, flexed and then went still. Dangerously still. She should take care. She knew what Hunter Mitchell was capable of doing when pushed. If even half the stories were to be believed, the man was deadly. Yet beneath the day-old stubble, his chiseled features looked entirely too wholesome for a man who had spent two years in prison for manslaughter.
Could he be trusted?
Was his life of sin behind him?
So many unknowns. Too many to allow her guard to slip.
Why, oh why, had Mattie followed through with her threat to contact him? Why had she ignored Annabeth’s pleas to stay out of the matter?
Her mother would answer for her interference. Later.
For now, Annabeth had a very determined man to appease. No matter what happened next, he could not be allowed to take Sarah away with him.
He’s her father. The thought whispered through Annabeth’s head, filling her with renewed guilt. She’d come here tonight determined to do whatever it took to hide his child from him.
What did that say about her?
That she was cautious? Protective? Or simply selfish?
Silence grew thick in the room, making the air feel heavy, stifling. Even Mattie seemed to be rendered momentarily speechless, her gaze darting between Annabeth and Hunter.
More seconds ticked by. And still, Annabeth couldn’t stop looking into Hunter’s mesmerizing eyes. The impact of all that concentration directed solely on her was like a physical blow. And not entirely unpleasant.
For a brief moment, he looked as agonized as she felt. She wanted to soothe his anguish, to offer him comfort, to—
What was wrong with her?
Hunter was an unsafe man, one who knew her secret.
He could ruin everything she’d built in the past year.
“It’s been a while since we last met,” he said, breaking the silence with his deep, velvety voice.
She nodded. “At least eight years.”
Mattie sprang back