A Child Shall Lead Them (Mills & Boon Love Inspired)

Hunter couldn't help but feel he was being watched, a remnant of his former life when he had to look over his shoulder wherever he went. But those days were over, the members of his former gang either dead or living in Mexico. His breath formed a fine mist around his head, adding a sinister feel to what he'd come here to do.

And yet, and yet, he felt a sliver of hope building inside him. Hope for the future, hope that he could become the godly man he'd once been. And maybe capture some stability along the way. He lowered his hands and stepped in the direction of the brothel's threshold. The physical act of moving brought the rest of the world into focus. Sights, sounds, the smells of stale liquor and wet horse flooded his senses. Music drifted out of the brothel's open windows. The bawdy songs suited the raucous laughter and coarse shouts. Golden light called to Hunter, the soft glow promising warmth from the cold and a momentary respite from the constant loneliness that plagued him.

Nothing but pain and regret followed a night with one of Mattie's girls. And Hunter had stalled long enough. With single-minded focus, he shoved away his dark thoughts, then took the steps two at a time. As he shouldered into the vine-covered building, a sickening dread crept through his stomach. Not the hideous decor.

Not the musky odor of cigar smoke mingled with cheap perfume. Not the seedy clientele.

The brothel wasn't as bad as he remembered. It was much worse. Mattie Silks was nothing if not obvious. The gaudy red velvet furniture stood in stark contrast to the gold filigree wallpaper. Tasteless rugs with bold, floral prints covered the wood flooring.

Vulgar paintings hung on the walls. Their vivid colors and shocking themes gave Hunter a new perspective on past sins. Only recently back in the habit of praying, he lifted up a silent request. A simple prayer, born from a lifetime of bad choices and wrong living.

Shaking free of the thought, Hunter stepped deeper into the brothel and caught sight of Mat-tie's right-hand man striding toward him, a scowl on his mean, ugly face. But he wanted answers more than he wanted to appease a difficult woman like Mattie Silks. Jack stepped into his path. Left to cool his heels, Hunter shifted out of the main traffic area and looked around.

He heaved a heavy sigh. The curvy blondes, willowy brunettes and pouty redheads perpetuated the cycle of sin and degradation. All had similar expressions on their faces, blank, distant, slightly separated from the moment, as if they'd given up hope a long time ago. Hunter understood such brokenness, such pain. Understood all too well. A small commotion broke out near the back of the room, saving him from further reflection. Low, excited murmurs filled the air, followed by a quick straightening of female shoulders, a widening of male eyes.

Dressed in a blue silk dress with layers of cream-colored, frothy lace, the infamous madam sauntered through the main parlor of her brothel like a queen lording it over her realm. She ignored everyone but Hunter. With a half smile on her lips, she took her time crossing the room, striking a pose every fifth or sixth step.

She carried a flute of champagne in her hand. A prop, nothing more.

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Mattie never indulged in alcohol, especially not during peak business hours. Her head was always the clearest in the room, and the reason she'd been able to run her business for the past thirty years with alarming success. Hips swaying, her face overly painted, Mattie stopped her approach inches shy of running into Hunter, close enough for him to get a whiff of her cloying perfume. Let me look at you. Her gaze traveled from the top of his head, down to his toes and back up again. He worked to contain his need to speed things along.

This was Mattie Silks, after all. The woman had her own set of rules. If he wanted answers, he had to play her game. I must say, you don't look a day over twenty-nine. Is it any wonder I like you better than that holier-than-thou brother of yours? Hunter had spent most of his adult years on the wrong side of the law. While his brother was a former U. Hunter had no such compunction, as evidenced by his two-year stint in prison. An eye for an eye, a life for a life. He hadn't been a boy for a very long time. Grinning at his reaction, Mattie walked her fingertips up his arm, squeezed his biceps.

He swallowed his distaste. All part of the ritual, he reminded himself. Dare I hope you've returned to your old ways? The woman couldn't help playing her games. As if she'd only just become aware of the interested stares, her entire demeanor changed. The tiny lines of worry around her mouth were impossible to miss.

And yet, he realized, greatly appreciated. Hunter knew the way, for all the wrong reasons. He kept his eyes on Mattie and his senses trained on the activity around him. The air of forced revelry was palpable, depressing. Sounds and bodies moved past him in a whirl, sometimes brushing against him, sometimes steering clear. Some of the patrons knew him, a few too many feared him. He'd once cultivated that reaction. Now he wondered if his past would ever be forgotten.

In uncharacteristic silence, Mattie bypassed the kitchen and directed Hunter down a darkened corridor that ran along the southern perimeter of the first floor. A few more twists and turns, then, at last, she stopped in front of a nondescript door and indicated he take the lead.

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Reaching around her, he opened the door then stepped inside the room. He had to blink furiously to accustom his eyes to the burst of light. Memories of the last time he'd been in this room warred with his attempt to remain outwardly calm. The decor was different in here, at complete odds with the rest of the brothel. Frankie the Make-Up Fairy.

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