but quickly covered the move by drawing the wool blanket up over his face so that only his big brown eyes peered out.
"There's nothing like a good chicken stew to fix what ails you. Don't you agree?"
Even with her long skirts tucked around her ankles, a chill from sitting on the cold, damp cement scampered up her spine. She heard scuffling noises on the floor above and wondered if he planned to come down anytime soon. So far, the door at the top of the stairs hadn't so much as cracked. From the dangling, dim lightbulb, she could see by her wristwatch that five o'clock had come and gone. Surely, his appointment with the judge had ended long ago. Did he have even more appointments to follow that one?
She eyed the boy with caution. They'd been playing this staring game long enough. There had to be some way to get through to him. "Sure is nippy down here. You plan to sleep here tonight?" She exaggerated her chill by hugging herself and forcing her teeth to chatter. Truth was, the air, though damp and musty, felt far better than the muggy heat of the past several days.
The boy eyed her with a critical squint. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. A reaction-a milestone! Hannah tried not to show too much delight.
"That's good. It'd be a might lonely in here, don't you think?" How many nights had he spent out under the stars, or perhaps holed up in some vacant building? Surely, solitude was nothing new to him. "Besides, this is a place for criminals, and you're no criminal. Nor am I. Fact is, I'd like to get out of here and go have some of that stew I was telling you about." She played with a lazy, auburn curl at her temple and tried to feign nonchalance, sitting forward to take in his coffee-colored eyes. "'Course, if you'd rather stay here, I would understand."
Suddenly, his hands came out from under the blankets and he sat up, swiveling on the cot so that his short legs dangled over the edge, his stockinged feet peeking out, his worn boots meeting the floor like those of a tired little soldier. Again, his head gave a slow shake, and he took great care not to show any emotion. Still, Hannah considered this reaction another milestone.
His black hair pointed everywhere like dry sticks on a leafless bush, and his grimy hands, arms, and face, covered in scratches and bruises, looked like they hadn't seen a tub of hot, soapy water in over a month. Was there a mother somewhere who had taught him the importance of cleanliness? Was she frantic with worry over her son's whereabouts? What was he running from-or was it that he'd just gotten himself so lost and in his plight had forgotten what it meant to trust another human being?
A sudden rush of steps overhead and a familiar female voice, rather demanding in tenor, drew her attention to the stairs. "Please open the door," she was saying.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Bloomed if you Kane sisters aren't an impatient bunch," the sheriff's voice sounded.
The door hinge squeaked when it opened. Hannah sprung up from the floor, then turned and shot the boy a reassuring glance when his eyes widened with apprehension. "It's okay. It's just my sister, Maggie. You'll like her. And, of course, you know the sheriff" He didn't budge; he just pulled back his bony shoulders and sat taller, training his eyes on the stairwell, as if he had some weapon hiding under his ratty overalls and meant to haul it out if needed.
The tantalizing aroma of roast chicken beat the pair down the stairs. "Hannah Grace? Where is she, Sheriff?"
"Straight ahead," came his cool reply. "Watch your step."
"Oh, forevermore, it's like a dungeon down here. Hannah?"
"I'm here," Hannah said into the dimness of the room. "No need to make such a clatter." She found herself clenching the cold steel bars and pressing her nose between them.
When Maggie Rose came into view, it was with her brown skirts flaring and her arms full of covered dishes. Trailing in her wake was Sheriff Devlin, looking not the least bit
"There's nothing like a good chicken stew to fix what ails you. Don't you agree?"
Even with her long skirts tucked around her ankles, a chill from sitting on the cold, damp cement scampered up her spine. She heard scuffling noises on the floor above and wondered if he planned to come down anytime soon. So far, the door at the top of the stairs hadn't so much as cracked. From the dangling, dim lightbulb, she could see by her wristwatch that five o'clock had come and gone. Surely, his appointment with the judge had ended long ago. Did he have even more appointments to follow that one?
She eyed the boy with caution. They'd been playing this staring game long enough. There had to be some way to get through to him. "Sure is nippy down here. You plan to sleep here tonight?" She exaggerated her chill by hugging herself and forcing her teeth to chatter. Truth was, the air, though damp and musty, felt far better than the muggy heat of the past several days.
The boy eyed her with a critical squint. Slowly, he shook his head from side to side. A reaction-a milestone! Hannah tried not to show too much delight.
"That's good. It'd be a might lonely in here, don't you think?" How many nights had he spent out under the stars, or perhaps holed up in some vacant building? Surely, solitude was nothing new to him. "Besides, this is a place for criminals, and you're no criminal. Nor am I. Fact is, I'd like to get out of here and go have some of that stew I was telling you about." She played with a lazy, auburn curl at her temple and tried to feign nonchalance, sitting forward to take in his coffee-colored eyes. "'Course, if you'd rather stay here, I would understand."
Suddenly, his hands came out from under the blankets and he sat up, swiveling on the cot so that his short legs dangled over the edge, his stockinged feet peeking out, his worn boots meeting the floor like those of a tired little soldier. Again, his head gave a slow shake, and he took great care not to show any emotion. Still, Hannah considered this reaction another milestone.
His black hair pointed everywhere like dry sticks on a leafless bush, and his grimy hands, arms, and face, covered in scratches and bruises, looked like they hadn't seen a tub of hot, soapy water in over a month. Was there a mother somewhere who had taught him the importance of cleanliness? Was she frantic with worry over her son's whereabouts? What was he running from-or was it that he'd just gotten himself so lost and in his plight had forgotten what it meant to trust another human being?
A sudden rush of steps overhead and a familiar female voice, rather demanding in tenor, drew her attention to the stairs. "Please open the door," she was saying.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Bloomed if you Kane sisters aren't an impatient bunch," the sheriff's voice sounded.
The door hinge squeaked when it opened. Hannah sprung up from the floor, then turned and shot the boy a reassuring glance when his eyes widened with apprehension. "It's okay. It's just my sister, Maggie. You'll like her. And, of course, you know the sheriff" He didn't budge; he just pulled back his bony shoulders and sat taller, training his eyes on the stairwell, as if he had some weapon hiding under his ratty overalls and meant to haul it out if needed.
The tantalizing aroma of roast chicken beat the pair down the stairs. "Hannah Grace? Where is she, Sheriff?"
"Straight ahead," came his cool reply. "Watch your step."
"Oh, forevermore, it's like a dungeon down here. Hannah?"
"I'm here," Hannah said into the dimness of the room. "No need to make such a clatter." She found herself clenching the cold steel bars and pressing her nose between them.
When Maggie Rose came into view, it was with her brown skirts flaring and her arms full of covered dishes. Trailing in her wake was Sheriff Devlin, looking not the least bit
Similar Books
