Hannah's Beau. Renee Ryan

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СКАЧАТЬ she sat with her shoulders stiff and unmoving.

      Time, he told himself. In time she would learn to trust him, perhaps even forgive him.

      Uncomfortable on the bench that was far too small for his large frame, Beau shifted and rearranged his legs. “While we have a moment, I should tell you about Charity House so as to avoid any confusion once we arrive.”

      She nodded slowly, her eyes searching his as though she wasn’t sure why his voice had changed but had decided to hold on to her curiosity while he explained himself.

      What sort of woman had that kind of controlled patience?

      “Charity House,” he began, “is an orphanage—”

      “Orphanage?” Her eyes lit up, and she tilted her head forward. “How many children are housed there?”

      “Forty.”

      “So many.” She relaxed her head against the cushions and blinked up at the ceiling. Her eyes took on a faraway expression, as though she was calculating what forty orphans would look like.

      “I should warn you,” he said, pulling at a loose thread in the upholstery. “When I say orphanage, I don’t mean it in the strictest sense.”

      She cocked her head at him. “I don’t understand.”

      He tugged on the string, the gesture releasing three more strands. “It’s a baby farm.”

      She lifted a shoulder and shook her head in obvious confusion.

      Releasing the thread entwined in his fingers, he boldly pressed on. “A baby farm is a home for prostitutes’ illegitimate children.”

      Her eyes widened. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

      “The children aren’t accepted in other, more traditional homes because of their mothers’ profession. They can’t live in the brothels, so Marc and Laney Dupree take them in without question.” Beau kept his voice even, but the passion he felt for the orphanage sounded in his tone despite his efforts. “If not for Charity House, most of the children would have nowhere else to go. The cycle of sin and crime would continue in their lives.”

      “How—” Tears filled her eyes, skimming along her dark lashes like tiny ice crystals. They disappeared with a single swipe of her wrist. “Marvelous.”

      Beau hadn’t expected such a positive, heartfelt response from her.

      Why not? he wondered. Why had he expected her to show immediate prejudice?

      Because you were so quick to judge, yourself. You saw her from your own failings, not hers.

      “Yes.” Beau swallowed. “It is marvelous.”

      They shared a small smile between them, but then her forehead scrunched into a scowl, effectively dousing the moment with a dose of reality. “Didn’t you say you were going there on an errand for Jane Goodwin?”

      “Yes, to pay the board for her daughter.”

      Surprising him once again, Miss Southerland looked at him with glowing respect, as though he’d transformed into something good and noble right before her eyes. “How very kind of you.”

      Unnerved by the change in her, he rolled his shoulders. “It’s what I do.”

      “I know.”

      She really smiled at him then. It was nothing more than an attractive lifting of the corners of her mouth that revealed straight, white teeth, but the gesture carried a spectacular wallop.

      Beau had thought her beautiful before, but now…

      He had to cough to release the breath lodged in his throat.

      He should start anew with this woman, here and now. He should find a way to earn back her trust, in degrees if not all at once. He should do a lot of things that involved words and a healthy dose of groveling on his part.

      Instead, he repositioned his weight on the bench and released his own grin.

      Her smile widened in response. And for the first time in years, a sense of utter peace settled over him.

      Words, Beau decided, were highly overrated.

      Chapter Five

      Hannah sank back against the seat cushion and studied the pastor from beneath her lowered lashes. His eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. She hadn’t expected that. Although she should have.

      There was something familiar about this man’s masculine good looks, a charming vibrancy that was one hundred percent O’Toole. And yet the tilt of his head, the slash of his cheekbones, the bewildering sorrow in his eyes were all profoundly his own.

      Hannah released a slow sigh. After the last three days, she should be immune to any man with the last name O’Toole. She certainly didn’t want to be attracted to the one sitting across from her. Anger and distrust were much more manageable emotions, certainly easier to define.

      But he’d thrown her off balance with his passionate description of Charity House and the home’s special mission.

      The carriage bumped, jostling her forward then back again. Another bump. Another jostle, and Hannah had to place her palms on either side of her to prevent an unfortunate incident—oh, say, like diving headfirst to the floor.

      As she struggled, Reverend O’Toole’s smile dipped into a frown. “Can I assist you?”

      She made a noncommittal sound in her throat.

      He lifted a hand toward her.

      “No.” She glided smoothly out of his reach. “I’m steady now.”

      “We’re nearly there,” he said in a soft, understanding voice.

      Oh. Perfect. Now his tone and manner held the compassion she’d hoped to find in him earlier.

      At the genuine show of concern in his gaze, she had to work to catch her breath. His silver eyes held such depth, such consideration. He was worried. About her. Which made him infinitely more likable.

      The cad.

      The carriage suddenly felt too small, too confining.

      Hannah reached for her collar. Cleared her throat. Forced a smile. Cleared her throat again. “It’s hot in here.”

      His teeth flashed white, and the crinkles deepened around his eyes. “It is.”

      Careful, Hannah, she warned herself. He’s far too charming when he smiles.

      She had to keep her mind on the task she’d set before her. Not on the beautiful gray eyes of a rebel preacher who unfairly judged her one moment and showed genuine contrition the next.

      A surge of impatience had her tapping her fingers against the seat cushion. Time was running out. The longer Rachel and Tyler remained hidden, the harder it СКАЧАТЬ