Free Hannah Grace by Sharlene MacLaren

quiet a roomful of tyrants, Gabe thought. Where was that voice when she addressed him?
    When the mute boy did nothing but survey the store, Hannah reached down and took his hand. "Come on, I'll show you." Skirt swishing and heels clicking, she led him across the worn, wood floor, bobbing her head of red curls as she walked. Gabe followed like an obedient pup.

    To say she'd laid aside a few clothes for the boy was an understatement. A wagonload better described it. He wanted to argue that outfitting the child for the next year seemed extravagant, mainly because he planned to unload him on the folks responsible for his care just as soon as he could locate them.
    But he kept his thoughts tucked away, thinking now wasn't the best time for bursting her bubble.
    "Let's try on a couple of these shirts," she suggested, maintaining her gentle tone while showing him a long-sleeved, plaid cotton shirt. She reached for his top button, but he quickly wretched away and took a giant step backward, his brown eyes untrusting.
    Standing at the ready, Gabe said, "No one's going to hurt you. Remember the talk we had on the way over here?"
    The boy's dark eyebrows slanted downward as he looked from Gabe to Hannah. Then, dropping his chin, he looked at his big toe protruding from the hole in his right boot and started to unbutton his shirt of his own accord. He took it off and handed it to Hannah. His shoulder blades were peppered with bruises-bruises Gabe had seen that morning when he'd forced the boy into the tub. He gave Hannah credit for not mentioning them now, even though her mouth temporarily slacked open at the sight. Hannah tossed the old shirt aside and handed him the new one. At first, he eyed it with incredulity; then he rubbed his hand over the fabric, as if he'd never seen or felt anything quite like it.

    Slipping both arms through the sleeves, he stood a little straighter as he fastened the buttons. He looks half-pleased, Gabe thought. When he was done, Hannah led him to a cracked mirror propped against a wall, where he gave himself a silent inspection, his lip twitching in one corner and looking ready to break into a smile. Gabe remained in the shadows, almost afraid to breathe for fear of ruining the moment.
    Hannah's own smile bounced off the mirror as she stood there, hands folded at her skimpy waistline, moss-colored eyes never straying from the boy. One red lock fell forward on her face. "He looks very dapper, don't you think, Sheriff?"
    Unexpected tenderness came welling up. Were they looking at a child who'd never owned a new shirt? "He looks mighty fine."
    For the next fifteen minutes, Hannah assisted the boy in trying on everything from bib overalls to trousers to knickers, from denim shirts to woolen socks to dark, ankle-high, lace-up shoes. She even plopped a blue cap on his head, which she said would be handy for keeping out the sun. When they were finished, three piles of clothes resulted: the "too big," the "too small," and the "just right." Naturally, the "just right" rose higher than the rest.
    The dark-haired urchin examined himself from head to toe, taking in his new cap, his white button-down shirt under his bib overalls, and his new socks and shoes. A long interlude seemed to pass while he stood there staring at himself, hands shoved into his pockets, outwardly awed by his own reflection.
    Hannah and Gabe exchanged a fleeting glance, along with a glimmer of a smile. "You want to wear those?" she asked the boy.

    His reply was a simple nod.
    "How about we split down the middle-the cost, I mean?" Hannah said later as she gathered up the clothes that fit, folding each piece with care. The boy had wandered off to a table to look at an assortment of toy wagons and miniature farm equipment, all handmade from fine wood.
    "Does he need all these?" Gabe kept his voice to a low murmur. "It's not like he's going to be here forever."
    He watched her hands perform the folding task and noted her neatly trimmed fingernails,