Hannah Grace (6 page)

ou!" Hannah's breathing seemed to come in short spurts, her otherwise pretty face assuming a sour expression. "What are you...? What, exactly, is the meaning of this?"

Gabe smiled, enjoying this other-side-of-the-fence feeling. "Was there a problem?" he asked.

She made a grumpy, disdainful noise-not at all of the ladylike variety, as it wound up coming out both her mouth and nose. Steely eyes shot him a look that was piercing-no, murderous. "Problem? Of course, there's a problem." With every word, her voice rose in minute decibels. "And you know exactly what I'm talking about, Mr.-Mr. Deluder, Mr. Deceiver, Mr. De-"

"-lightful?" he supplied.

"Aargh!" Another unbecoming growl came from somewhere deep within her skinny frame. He stepped forward to lift the gate, then proceeded into the lobby area, where he hoped to be able to calm the waters of misunderstanding.

"No need to scream."

"I am not screaming," she screamed. Mr. Brayton, appearing completely bewildered, had not yet made one move to speak.

"First of all, my name is not any of those `D' words you mentioned; it's Gabriel Devlin, Gabe to my friends." His eyes made a quick pass over her mop of rust-hued hair, then moved on down to her dusty shoes peeking out from the hem of her full-skirted yellow calico. Clearly, she didn't intend to shake the hand he held out, so he dropped it. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked, knowing full well, thanks to Kitty, that her name was Hannah Grace Kane.

"You are a beast. An abusive beast."

A good deal of throat clearing came from Mr. Brayton. "Miss Hannah, you are speaking to our new sheriff."

"Hannah. I like that name. I'm Gabe," he repeated.

Her face looked near the popping stage, red and silky with perspiration. "If you are who I think, you have no business holding the sheriff's title."

He smiled. "More likely than not, I'm not who you think, then."

She nearly sucked the air out of the room, then slowly gave it back. "Where is that child?"

"He's sleepin' in the cell," offered Nathanial, suddenly all eager about jumping into the conversation. "Little whippersnapper, he is. Don't mind saying I'll take my leave when he wakes up. No telling what'll happen."

"In a cell, did you say? You're holding that poor, innocent child in a jail cell?"

If looks could kill, he'd be lying flat out on a board. "Innocent, you say? If he's innocent, I'll eat my socks for dinner. That boy's been-" But she whirled around, skirts flying, before he could finish and made a beeline for the gate he'd failed to lock.

He chased her through the office and down the hall. `Just a minute, there'

"Where is he?" she demanded. `And where's his mother?"

`Just hold on," he said, watching while she opened one door after another.

"Where did you put the jail?" she asked.

The question struck him as humorous, so he laughed. She turned and stomped her foot. He quickly sobered and put out a hand in much the way he would to calm a wild filly. "I did not put the jail anywhere, my dear lady. It is in the basement, where it's always been."

Stepping forward, he seized her by the arm.

"Unhand me," she ordered, viewing his hand as she might a snake.

Frustrated, he murmured into her ear, knowing Nathanial stood at the end of the hall watching the fiasco. "I've a mind to slap some sense into you. You're about as obstinate and willful as Zeke."

She blinked twice, and suddenly their eyes connected. "My mule," he explained, drawing close enough to pick up a lovely citrus scent.

"Everything okay?" asked Nathanial.

Snapping to attention, she threw up her arm and stepped back, glaring at him with the eyes of a woman who means business.

"If you'll settle down, I'll take you to the boy. How's that?" And to Nathanial Brayton, "Everything's fine. Go on about your job."

That curbed her little conniption. They walked to the next door, and Gabe pulled it open. Wooden steps led to a dimly lit basement. When Hannah meant to proceed ahead of him, he grasped her arm midway up, noting how his thumb and middle finger met behind her elbow. Slender as a cornstalk.

"Be forewarned," he whispered. "The boy does not speak, and need I remind you that the last time you talked to him, you scared the living caca right out of him."

"Mr. Devlin!" she exclaimed.

He grinned and let her go. "Just warning you, that's all."

She hesitated when he nudged her forward. "I asked you where his mother is," she reminded him.

Besides underfed, he could add persistent to her wonderful list of attributes. He sighed in spite of himself. "Well, there's the rub. I haven't a clue."

Shocks of jet-black hair stuck out from the tattered quilt covering the little boy, who'd rolled himself up into a ball and lay sleeping on the narrow cot, his whiffing snores proving how deeply he slept. The twelve-square-foot jail cell with the bare cement walls showed signs of mildew, impelling Hannah to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Shivering in the dampness, she wrapped her fingers around the cool steel bars and peered through them. A chamber pot stood in one corner, as did a pitcher of water and a tin mug. Hanging from the ceiling, a dim electric lightbulb with a pull chain gave off a muted glow, indicating the glumness of the place.

Never had she felt such compassion for another human being. Oh, she'd always loved children, and she longed to have a few of her own someday, providing Ralston shared her enthusiasm-if she ever married him, that is-but this little fellow stole her heart, broke it in several places, tugged at the core of her emotions.

"Where did you find him?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Fool kid jumped under the canvas on the back of my rig while I was getting ready to set out from Holland last night. He must have overheard me talking to the fellow at the livery stable. Maybe he thought he'd be safe with a lawman-who knows?"

"I should think he'd have thought otherwise, especially if he's on the run. You could turn him in to your superiors."

"He doesn't know it, but I'll be forced to do just that in the next day or so. I'd like to get some answers first, thoughfigure out where he comes from, why he's running. Could be something as simple as him running away from home on a whim and then getting himself lost, and he's just too scared to talk to strangers about his predicament."

"He shows signs of abuse," she said, staring at the lump under the quilt.

"Or maybe they're just the natural bumps and bruises of a runaway. He looks like he's been in a scrape or two."

They stood in silence as if ruminating on one another's words.

"Got an appointment with judge Bowers this afternoon," he put in. "I'll run the story by him. Maybe he'll have some ideas for me. Lord knows I don't have time for the little chump, but I can't just turn'im loose, either."

In the span of a second, she glanced up at the strong, rigid profile of this Gabriel Devlin, noted again his compelling blue eyes, the firm features of his face and frame, the confident set of his shoulders. Mere moments ago, she'd come close to kicking him in the shins. Now, they were standing side by side outside a jail cell, contemplating the fate of a tiny boy.

`Any thoughts on what his name might be?" she asked, still holding her voice to a whisper.

He answered with a shrug. "There hasn't been a peep out of him, so I've no way of knowing."

More silence.

"Unlock it, please," she finally said. "So I can go inside,"

"Huh?"

She felt her shoulders tighten in resolve. "Unlock it,"

Gabe stared at her as if she'd lost a good piece of her mind, and maybe she had. After all, she had responsibilities at the Whatnot, and she had left Maggie Rose in a bit of an inconvenient place, having to mind both the store and the library.

Perhaps she could send word to Abbie Ann to cover for her, at least for the remainder of the day-or until they decided this child's doom or destiny. Surely Grandmother Kane wouldn't mind releasing her youngest granddaughter from her garden duties.

"I don't think..."

"Mr. Devlin, I am fully capable of defending myself against a mere child,"

He slipped his hands into his rear pockets and rocked back on his heels. "You haven't a clue what you're talking about, miss. The little devil tried to bite me, and he took a swing at Kitty just before I nabbed him from behind and hauled him, kicking and spitting, down those stairs."

"Just the same, unlock the cell door, please."

He studied her for a full ten seconds. "You're a stubborn woman, you know that? You're not married, are you?"

A dratted blush crept up her face. "Not yet."

"Yet? Ah, so you're attached, then?"

She shifted on her pointed-toed, Prunella walking boots, feeling her arches go weak. "That is none of your business, Mr. Devlin, Kindly unlock this door."

He shook his head and chuckled under his breath as he dug into his side pocket and withdrew a ring of keys, his eyes glinting with merriment. "Have it your way, then. What are you going to say to him when he wakes up?"

She hadn't thought of that. "I will cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Okay." He gave a half nod. "You best prepare yourself for a battle, missy."

Missy? She bit back a retort.

"If you need anything, give a holler. One of my deputies will come down. You know Gus van der Voort?"

"Yes, but...you won't be here?" she asked, annoyed with her sudden feeling of ineptness. Surely a three-foot-something child posed her no threat.

His mouth curved into a boyish grin. "You hardly know me and already you're missing me?"

She had half a mind to knock his pearly whites crooked. "Don't flatter yourself."

Still chuckling, he unlocked the cell. "Just joshing you." His apologetic tone did little to ease her irritation. "I'll be around. I have an appointment with Judge Bowers in..."-he looked at his watch-"...an hour or so. You need anything in the meantime?"

On a whim, she asked, "Would you mind sending someone over to fetch my sister, Abbie? She needs to fill in for me at the Whatnot,"

"Where do you live? I'll go myself."

"What? No. Kitty knows where I live. She'll be happy..."

He threw her an irritated look. "Where do you live?" he repeated.

She made a huffing sound. "In a two-story foursquare off Water. It's within walking distance,"

`Address?"

She felt foolish. It was his first day and she had him running an errand for her.

"Turn south on Third and go three blocks until you come to Ridge Street," she sputtered. "It's at the top of a pretty steep hill. The house number is 210 Ridge. It's right on the corner."

"Great. I'll deliver the message. Anything else?" Was that a hint of curtness? He shifted his weight as he stood there holding the door.

"No."

"Well, then..."

Hesitating, she stepped inside the cell and felt the cold grip of confinement. A silent chill ran from head to toe.

"Shall I lock it behind you?" he asked.

She glanced at the still-sleeping boy. An unlocked cell would give him opportunity to escape. She swallowed. "Yes, lock it."

"You sure?"

She raised her chin. `Absolutely."

But when the lock clicked into place, her confidence wavered. The boy stirred under his blanket, and when she turned to see what the sheriff's reaction might be, he had turned his back and was sauntering off