Hannah’s Beau by Renee Ryan Read Free Book Online

into the waiting carriage the doorman had summoned for them.
    She looked at his outstretched palm as though she didn’t want any further physical contact with him. He waited as a myriad of emotions ignited in her eyes. Finally, she relented with a soft sigh and placed her hand in his.
    Palm pressed to palm, Beau liked how her warmth passed through her gloves and straight into him. With an odd sense of reluctance, he released her, gave the driver the address of their destination and climbed into the carriage, as well.
    He settled on the bench opposite her. In the ensuing silence, he took the opportunity to study his surroundings. The blue upholstery had seen better days. It was faded in places, frayed at the edges and missing several buttons. The air hung thick and heavy, carrying a musty, unpleasant odor.
    At least the wooden floor was clean.
    Once the carriage began moving, Beau could no longer remain silent. “I apologize for the harsh tone I used earlier.I have no excuse. My mind was on other concerns, but that doesn’t mean I had the right to judge you so quickly.”
    She waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s forgotten.” But her guarded eyes and distant tone told him otherwise.
    Accepting momentary defeat, Beau shifted the conversation to the reason Miss Southerland had sought his assistance in the first place. “Charity House has a school connected to it. The headmistress’s husband is a U.S. Marshal.”
    “Do you think this man will help us?” she asked, her voice filled with a weariness Beau had missed until now.
    Stunned at his own lack of insight, Beau took note of the purple circles under her eyes, the lines of fatigue surrounding her mouth. “When did you say Tyler and your sister left Chicago?”
    She blinked at him, but kept her lips tightly clamped together.
    He softened his tone and touched her gloved hand. “How long ago, Miss Southerland?”
    “Three days,” she said, pushing out of his reach.
    “How much sleep have you had since then?”
    Sighing, she turned her head to look out the carriage window. “I’ve had enough.”
    “Miss Southerland—”
    “I’m fine. Truly.” She returned her gaze to his. “Tell me about this U.S. Marshal you mentioned.”
    Beau let her switch the topic—for now—and called to mind the last time he had been in Denver. Trey Scott had helped him find a miner who’d run out on his wife and five children. Clearly an advocate for abandoned women and their families, the lawman had been ruthless in his search.
    “He’s a good man,” Beau said with sincerity. “He’lldo all he can to locate your sister, or, barring that, he’ll find someone who can.”
    “Thank you.”
    Relief glittered in her eyes. Still, 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