Read Online Renee Ryan by The Outlaw's Redemption - Free Book Online
Authors: The Outlaw's Redemption
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Sarah.
Sarah.
Hunter’s hand started to shake. Flexing his fingers, he opened his eyes and resolved to keep his emotions contained.
No mistakes.
No loss of control.
Calm. Cool. Careful.
The wait was endless, an eternity. The voices grew louder, closer. The individual words were muffled as they mingled with the footsteps, but there was obvious affection in both female voices. Love, too.
Hunter’s throat closed shut.
His daughter— if she was his daughter—was well loved. By Annabeth. And no doubt others who lived in this house. His shoulders shifted, then went still again. He forced himself to turn toward the doorway, to remain calm as he did so.
With his arms hanging loosely by his sides, he planted his feet a little apart and tried not to hold his breath.
Another moment passed.
And then...
Annabeth entered the room, her jawline tight. The moment their gazes connected her eyes deepened to a dark violet, the color of thunderclouds. The unmistakable warning beneath the turbulent expression was easy enough to read.
A wasted gesture. Hunter had no intention of hurting his own daughter. Or Annabeth. Regardless of what she thought.
A young girl suddenly shifted into view. And smiled directly at him.
He fell back a step.
Oh, Lord. Lord.
Restraint shattered. Calm evaporated. Well-thought-out speeches died on his tongue. The only emotions left were shock, and longing. Painful, heartrending longing for something always just out reach.
He hurt, at the core of his being. The sense of loss was overwhelming, loss over all he’d missed in his daughter’s life.
And, yes, this happy child was his daughter. He had absolutely no doubt. Her hair was the exact color of her mother’s, her dark coloring the same. But it was his eyes staring back at him in that small, thin face.
His daughter had his eyes. And his tall, lean build, mostly lanky at her age. He’d been lanky as a child, too. As had all of his brothers and sisters. It was a Mitchell trait.
This girl was a Mitchell, through and through.
What was he supposed to say now? Nine years ago he’d created this beautiful child with a woman who hadn’t wanted him, who’d rejected him. Lied to him, prevented him from knowing his own flesh and blood.
Feeling mildly desperate, torn between anger and distress, he glanced at Annabeth for assistance. She was studying her feet as though all the secrets of the world were in the flowered rug beneath her toes.
No help there.
Sarah solved the problem for him. “Hello.” She continued beaming up at him. “I’m Sarah. Who are you?”
There was no nervousness in the child, no fear. Just innocent curiosity. And a welcoming smile that cut straight to the bottom of Hunter’s black heart. The child had his smile, too.
“Hello, Sarah.” He swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again. His voice sounded too raw, too hoarse with emotion. He swallowed one last time and tried again. “I’m your fa—”
He cut off the rest of his words, something preventing him from declaring himself, something that ran deeper than his silent vow not to act on impulse. Perhaps he simply wanted the child’s easy manner to continue, didn’t want to watch that beautiful smile disappear when he declared who he was, and why he’d come here today.
“My name is Hunter Mitchell. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”
Not entirely true, but he had so little to work with here. He’d planned poorly for this moment, he realized that now. Annabeth wasn’t helping matters. She was now staring fixedly at some point over his shoulder, not acknowledging Hunter at all, as if afraid to give him an ounce of encouragement.
“Did you say you were Hunter Mitchell? ” Sarah’s dark eyebrows drew together slowly, her mind working fast, her eyes lit with excitement. And the sweetest emotion of all. Acceptance. “I know several people with that same name.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Let me see.” She pressed her fingertip to her lips. “There’s
Sarah.
Hunter’s hand started to shake. Flexing his fingers, he opened his eyes and resolved to keep his emotions contained.
No mistakes.
No loss of control.
Calm. Cool. Careful.
The wait was endless, an eternity. The voices grew louder, closer. The individual words were muffled as they mingled with the footsteps, but there was obvious affection in both female voices. Love, too.
Hunter’s throat closed shut.
His daughter— if she was his daughter—was well loved. By Annabeth. And no doubt others who lived in this house. His shoulders shifted, then went still again. He forced himself to turn toward the doorway, to remain calm as he did so.
With his arms hanging loosely by his sides, he planted his feet a little apart and tried not to hold his breath.
Another moment passed.
And then...
Annabeth entered the room, her jawline tight. The moment their gazes connected her eyes deepened to a dark violet, the color of thunderclouds. The unmistakable warning beneath the turbulent expression was easy enough to read.
A wasted gesture. Hunter had no intention of hurting his own daughter. Or Annabeth. Regardless of what she thought.
A young girl suddenly shifted into view. And smiled directly at him.
He fell back a step.
Oh, Lord. Lord.
Restraint shattered. Calm evaporated. Well-thought-out speeches died on his tongue. The only emotions left were shock, and longing. Painful, heartrending longing for something always just out reach.
He hurt, at the core of his being. The sense of loss was overwhelming, loss over all he’d missed in his daughter’s life.
And, yes, this happy child was his daughter. He had absolutely no doubt. Her hair was the exact color of her mother’s, her dark coloring the same. But it was his eyes staring back at him in that small, thin face.
His daughter had his eyes. And his tall, lean build, mostly lanky at her age. He’d been lanky as a child, too. As had all of his brothers and sisters. It was a Mitchell trait.
This girl was a Mitchell, through and through.
What was he supposed to say now? Nine years ago he’d created this beautiful child with a woman who hadn’t wanted him, who’d rejected him. Lied to him, prevented him from knowing his own flesh and blood.
Feeling mildly desperate, torn between anger and distress, he glanced at Annabeth for assistance. She was studying her feet as though all the secrets of the world were in the flowered rug beneath her toes.
No help there.
Sarah solved the problem for him. “Hello.” She continued beaming up at him. “I’m Sarah. Who are you?”
There was no nervousness in the child, no fear. Just innocent curiosity. And a welcoming smile that cut straight to the bottom of Hunter’s black heart. The child had his smile, too.
“Hello, Sarah.” He swallowed, cleared his throat, swallowed again. His voice sounded too raw, too hoarse with emotion. He swallowed one last time and tried again. “I’m your fa—”
He cut off the rest of his words, something preventing him from declaring himself, something that ran deeper than his silent vow not to act on impulse. Perhaps he simply wanted the child’s easy manner to continue, didn’t want to watch that beautiful smile disappear when he declared who he was, and why he’d come here today.
“My name is Hunter Mitchell. I’m a friend of your aunt’s.”
Not entirely true, but he had so little to work with here. He’d planned poorly for this moment, he realized that now. Annabeth wasn’t helping matters. She was now staring fixedly at some point over his shoulder, not acknowledging Hunter at all, as if afraid to give him an ounce of encouragement.
“Did you say you were Hunter Mitchell? ” Sarah’s dark eyebrows drew together slowly, her mind working fast, her eyes lit with excitement. And the sweetest emotion of all. Acceptance. “I know several people with that same name.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Let me see.” She pressed her fingertip to her lips. “There’s
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