Hannah's Beau. Renee Ryan

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Three days of unsuccessful searching had brought Hannah to Denver, Colorado, feeling defeated and frustrated. Rachel and Tyler had completely vanished. The sheer gravity of their selfishness, the reality of the ensuing scandal, had nagged at Hannah during the entire journey from Chicago to Colorado.

      Hannah lowered her head and sighed. Why would Rachel run off with Tyler when she was engaged to a man who had adored her since childhood? Why would her sister throw away the guaranteed devotion of a good, Christian man for the wavering affection of a fickle actor?

      Well, this time Rachel would face the consequences of her actions. Hannah would make sure of it.

      Of course, she had to find her sister first.

      With Patience and Reginald O’Toole performing in London, and the rest of their acting brood in New York, Hannah had one potential ally left, a man who might be able to help her right this terrible wrong.

      Exhausted from her travels, but resolved nonetheless, Hannah checked the return address on the letter, folded the paper at the well-worn creases and shoved it into the pocket of her coat. For several moments longer, she allowed her gaze to sweep up and down the street, taking note of the houses and rushing populace, before her attention came to rest on the building directly in front of her.

      If houses had gender, this one was surely female. Elegant, whimsical, the two-story building was made of rose-colored stone. The bold lines of the roof and sharp angles were softened by rounded windows and sweeping vines. On closer inspection the house looked a bit neglected; the twisting wisteria covered a few sags and wrinkles that made the building look like a woman refusing to accept her age.

      A swift kick of mountain air hit Hannah in the face. She pulled her coat more securely around her middle and shoved her hands into her pockets. As her gloved fingers brushed against the letter, a fresh wave of guilt threatened her earlier resolve. At first, she’d been reluctant to read the correspondence addressed to Tyler from his brother, but after that initial hesitation she’d been too desperate not to open the letter.

      Unfortunately, all Hannah had gleaned was the deep affection one brother felt for the other, and Reverend O’Toole’s last known address. Thus, here she stood outside one of the most notorious brothels in Colorado, shifting from foot to foot like a nervous schoolgirl and praying Reverend O’Toole was still here, ministering to his mother’s friend.

      Buck up, Hannah, she told herself. God has protected you this far. Even with the gravity of the situation weighing on her heart, it was hard to marshal the courage to walk across the street and pass through those heavy double doors.

      But really, how did one go about entering such an establishment in the light of day?

      She took a deep, soothing breath and prayed for the nerve needed to continue her quest. Contrary to the cold, stale air, the sun hung high in the middle of the sky, bleaching the street with a blinding white light.

      Oh, please, Lord, he’s my last hope now. Let him agree to help me.

      If she found Rachel and dragged her home, would their father believe Hannah wasn’t to blame, after she had carried the burden of Rachel’s actions all these years? Ever since Hannah had refused to chase after Rachel when they’d fought over a neighbor boy, Hannah had faced the consequences of her selfishness. Rachel had lost her way in the woods that cold winter day. She’d caught a fever and ultimately had suffered permanent hearing loss in one ear. Out of guilt—the debilitating guilt of knowing she was to blame for Rachel’s disability—Hannah had accepted responsibility for her sister’s many transgressions.

      The pattern had been set long ago, the roles so familiar, to the point where Rachel was now a master at using Hannah’s guilt against her.

      Tears pushed at the backs of Hannah’s lids, bitter tears of frustration, of helplessness, of the sharp fear that she would once again bear the burden of shame because Rachel would not atone for her own sins.

      Of course, no amount of feeling sorry for herself was going to bring her sister back. Squinting past the sunlight, Hannah was filled with the strangest notion that the answer to her heart’s secret hope—one so personal she hadn’t known it existed—was near. She took a step forward. And another one. On the third, she froze as the doors swung open and out walked the man she’d come to find.

      Every rational thought receded at the sight of him. Why hadn’t she prepared better for this first glimpse of the rebel preacher?

      Hannah stared, riveted, as the tall, powerful figure stalked across the street. The bright daylight set off his sun-bronzed skin. His dark blond mane hung a little too long, artfully shaggy. She held her breath, enthralled by the bold, patrician face, the familiar square jaw and chiseled features that declared he was, indeed, an O’Toole.