Free Hannah Grace by Sharlene MacLaren Page A

buffed to a glossy finish. He tried to recall what Carolina's fingers even looked like, berating himself for having forgotten so quickly.
    Without glancing up, she said, "Whether he's here five days or five weeks, he'll still need clothes, Mr. Devlin."
    "Well, that's true, but he's not exactly our charge."
    "No, he's not ours; he's yours." She made a point to emphasize the last two words. "But because you've brought him to my father's store, I would like to share in the expense of outfitting him, if you don't mind. It's the least I can do. Naturally, we'll purchase them at cost, so the final total shouldn't be too extravagant."
    "I'm not worried about the cost."
    "Good." She moved to the "too big" pile and started folding, not missing a beat.
    `And for your information, he's not my charge," he added, coming up beside her.
    "Of course, he is,"
    He swallowed down a knot of anger. "The boy jumped on my rig and hid, miss. I had nothing to do with that. I don't even have a clue where he belongs, or to whom. I'm not a foster parent; I'm the sheriff. "

    She made a curt, snapping sound with her tongue. "Precisely. And, as such, you will see, I'm sure, that the boy is your responsibility. Now, you can arrange for his care, I'll grant you that, but he is ultimately your liability until you figure out where he belongs."
    He cocked his left eyebrow down at her, but she failed to look up. "You're a bristly thing, you know that?"
    No words of retort shot out of her mouth as he would have expected. Instead, she lifted her face and made an abrupt turn, advancing to the table where the boy's old clothes lay in a heap. "I'll just toss these in the waste barrel," she stated.
    "Fine, you do that."
    She picked up the pants with two fingers, as if they carried some kind of deadly disease. Next, she went for the shirt, but when she tossed it over an arm and bent to pick up the boots, the shirt slipped to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, she let out a little gasp.
    "What?"
    She plopped down on her bottom, extended her legs straight out, pants tossed aside, and stared at the inside of the boy's shirt. "What are you looking at?" he asked, coming up behind her to peer over her shoulder, making every effort to dismiss her lemony scent. "What is that?"
    "It's a tag-sewn into the back of his shirt-with a name and number on it."
    "Tag? I never saw a tag." But then he hadn't looked, either. The boy had undressed himself that morning.

    He hunkered down beside her, arms resting on his thighs, and tried to see around her mass of curls, but all he got in return was a glimpse of the small square cloth stitched neatly under the dirty, torn collar and that blasted feminine scent wafting through the air.
    "What's it say?"
    "It says Jesse Gant, #47," she whispered. A full ten seconds passed before she lifted her head to gaze full into his face, a smile tripping across her lips. "Jesse Gant."
    He bobbed his head in a slow nod, mouth pressed together as he let the name sink in. Jesse Gant.
    Reaching out, he snatched up the shirt to see for himself. There it was, clear as anything. Jesse Gant, #47. Quickly, he searched the garment for more clues. But nothing surfaced, so he handed it back.
    They stared evenly into each other's eyes, their faces only inches apart, as if to draw out some piece of wisdom from the other's gaze.
    "Let's see what happens when I call his name," Gabe whispered. Hannah swept her tongue across her upper lip and nodded in agreement.
    He pushed himself up and spotted the boy on the other side of the store, where he was surveying a fishing pole suspended from two hooks on the wall.
    Gabe cleared his throat and gave a little sniff. "Hey, Jesse, come here a minute."
    The boy glanced at him, beheld the fishing pole with one last wistful look, stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, and walked across the room.

    Hannah kept Jesse with her the rest of the day, putting him to work with Maggie Rose in the library for the first two hours. He helped