Hannah's Beau. Renee Ryan
thought. Fragile. Tragically beautiful. He’d always been drawn to the poignant and injured, as evidenced by his unusual ministry. But something about this woman, with her large, exotic eyes and heart-shaped lips, put him on his guard. He’d seen many like her living in hopeless desperation in Mattie’s brothel. Who else in this town could afford the silk gloves and matching hat she wore to draw attention to herself?
The wind kicked up, whipping a strand of her pitch-black hair free from its pins. She shoved the lock back in place. There was such delicate grace and quiet dignity in that tiny gesture that Beau, exhausted from his efforts with Jane, felt something inside him snap.
On your guard, Beau. This one’s trouble.
Beau couldn’t shake the notion that no matter how young this woman was now, no matter how outwardly beautiful, she would end up just like Jane and the others in Mattie’s employ.
I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. At the reminder from the Gospel of John, Beau knew he owed this woman his full attention and an open mind. Nevertheless, her mysterious allure somehow added to his earlier sense of defeat.
He swallowed. Blinked. Swallowed again.
“Reverend O’Toole, are you ill?”
At the warm pitch of her voice, his confusion vanished, and the sound of horse hooves hitting gravel separated once more from the shouts of vendors yelling over one another.
“No. Yes,” he said. His stomach twisted at the hard note he heard in his own voice, and he struggled to soften his tone. “That is, no, I’m not ill. And, yes, I am Reverend O’Toole.”
She sketched a small nod then glanced into his eyes again. He saw relief there. Determination. And something else. Fear? Desperation? “I’ve come from Chicago to find you.”
Chicago? By herself? Without a chaperone? Beau could no longer hear the activity around him. He flicked his gaze behind her, searching the area to see if his suspicions were correct. Baffled, he shifted his eyes back to her face. “You came here alone?”
She clasped her hands in front of her, frowned, and then lifted her chin. “I’m on a desperate errand that could not wait to find an appropriate companion.” She swallowed, locked her gaze to a spot on his shoulder. “I’m a friend of your parents’.”
“Are my parents…” Beau’s heart tightened and began to throb in his chest. A riot of emotions slashed through him—worry, fear, dread—too many to sort through. “Has something happened to them?”
Her eyes widened at his question. “No.” She reached out to touch him and genuine kindness replaced her earlier agitation. “Indeed, they are quite well.”
“Good.” He gave her one solid nod. “Good.” But his heart was still rattling in his chest. He took a slow, deep breath. “Then why are you searching for me?”
A shadow of some dark emotion tightened her features. Guilt? Shame? A mixture of both?
Beau felt something equally dark inside him come to life. He couldn’t help but think of Jane again. The famous actress had once been beautiful, as well. She’d been a friend of his parents’, too. And yet, that hadn’t shielded her from making poor decisions.
“What made you travel so far, alone?” He knew his voice was too sharp, nothing like the way he spoke to Jane and the rest of the women in Mattie’s brothel. But surely no errand was worth this delicate woman embarking on such a dangerous journey by herself.
“I must find your brother Tyler.” Her eyes went turbulent and she drew her lower lip between her teeth. “Before it is too late.”
That wasn’t the whole truth. Beau knew it with the same instincts that kept him from falling for every lie he heard from the less reputable in his flock.
But, still, it was only an instinct. And she’d said she was a friend of his parents’. Calling on the patience he’d used with Jane, Beau commanded this woman’s gaze with his. He saw a deep pain there, much like the look in the eyes of the women he’d met in Mattie’s parlor house.
Despite knowing she couldn’t possibly be one of them, not with her obvious connections to his parents, why could he not stop comparing them? Was it the way she dressed with the sort of expensive, flamboyant clothing that captured his attention?
“Please. You must help me find Tyler,” she said. “It is a matter of grave importance.”
Moved by the distress in her eyes, the somber tone in her voice, his breath turned cold in his lungs and ugly possibilities assaulted him. He touched her sleeve. But her arm seemed very fragile, too fragile for handling, and he let go gently. “Tell me what sort of trouble my brother has put you in? Miss…”
“Southerland. Hannah Southerland. But I think you’ve misunderstood me. That is—” she sighed and folded her hands in front of her “—I am not in trouble. It’s my sister.”
Southerland? Beau knew that name well. But the odds were too great that there could be a connection between this woman and the imposing reverend. Thomas Southerland was many things, including a respected member of the Rocky Mountain Association of Churches. He was also a man who openly questioned Beau’s dedication to Christ because of Beau’s penchant for ministering to hard drinkers, gamblers, prostitutes and the like. Although the age of the two would make a father/daughter relationship possible, Beau could not imagine a situation where the man would allow his own girl to travel alone.
Besides, this woman was too delicate to be related to the stern, hard-faced reverend. Except…there was something about Miss Southerland that was familiar to him. A look, a fierce determination, perhaps?
“Miss Southerland, my mind has been occupied all morning with pressing concerns of my own. I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
Her answering sigh was filled with impatience—at him—at herself—at them both? “I’m not making myself clear.”
She blew out a miserable breath, and he realized her cheeks were growing red from the frigid air.
Where were his manners? Had he been so long out of polite society he’d forgotten the basics?
“Let’s find another place to talk. Out of the wind and cold,” he offered.
She nodded, but in the next instant she was jostled by a passing man. Beau reached out to steady her, quickly releasing her when she cast an odd look at his hand on her arm.
“I am staying at the Palace Hotel, several blocks in that direction.” She pointed behind her. “There is a respectable restaurant on the ground floor.”
“The Palace Hotel it is.”
Beau fell into step beside her. A dull drumming started at the base of his skull. His brother, her sister…
The news couldn’t be good. But he held his tongue as they crossed the street and continued forward. Two blocks later, as they entered Denver’s business district, the seedier buildings of Market Street morphed into more respectable brick and granite structures.
Beau quickly noted how Miss Southerland drew sidelong looks and murmurs from some of the men they passed along the five-block trek. Did she not see their interested stares? The speculation in their eyes? Hoping to shield her from the predators, Beau shifted her slightly behind him as they walked.
Best not to take any chances.
Once they turned onto 16th Street, the Palace Hotel loomed large and impressive before them. The nine-story building was one of a kind in the West, viewed as the best in town for both its elegance and service. Built exclusively from red granite and sandstone, the hotel was fashionable, eye-catching and well-dressed. Beau hadn’t seen so handsome a building since he’d left New York seven years ago to pursue his education.
Upon entering the large structure, Beau took note of the opulent decor of rich fabrics and expensive mahogany paneling as they crossed the marbled lobby.
In