Warrior at Willow Lake

by Mary Manners

  “Would you like some breakfast? I have a taste for scrambled eggs and thought I’d whip up a batch.”

  “Eggs sound great.” He splayed a hand across his rumbling belly. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

  “Me, too.” Maci mirrored his gesture and he imagined her hunger gnawed, as well. “I was somewhat…distracted.”

  “As for the tea…have you got anything stronger—and preferably black?”

  “That’s right, you’re the coffee king.” Maci’s denim-blue eyes danced. “I think your stomach must be cast iron. But I can scare up a cup, if you don’t mind instant.”

  “After the hospital’s vending machine, anything will taste like gourmet.” He followed her into the kitchen. A mixing bowl sat on the counter along with a whisk and a mug filled with tea. On the stove, a skillet was smothered in a slab of butter. The aroma of sausage links brought Hunter’s stomach to full alert. “Have you talked to Ali this morning?”

  “I called her just a bit ago.”

  “And…?” He snatched a sliced mushroom from the cutting board.

  “Everyone is doing fine. Rory’s eating and squalling…doing all the things babies are supposed to do.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Maci filled a teapot with water and set it to boil as Hunter leaned against the kitchen counter. When she reached across him to draw a mug from the cabinet, sunlight spilled over the hair that cascaded down her back, turning it to coppery flames.

  “So, are you going to share?” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, her gaze full of questions.

  “Share?”

  “The kiss…our kiss—are you going to share why it set you off or just keep me guessing until I manage to figure things out on my own?”

  “Oh…that.” He pushed away from the counter, eased over to her. “I’m sorry about that. I just got a little rattled from everything with Ali and the baby, which is unusual, because I never—”

  “Everyone gets rattled sometimes.”

  “And then hearing that you’re a shr—I mean counselor…”

  “I told you that before you kissed me, so that can’t be the reason why.” She turned back to face him, grasping the mug in both hands. “Besides, does being a therapist make me some kind of alien creature?”

  Hunter grinned and reached for another mushroom. “All women are alien creatures, at least from a man’s perspective.”

  “I see.” Her lips pursed into a frown as she set the mug on the counter beside the stove where the teakettle sputtered and spat while water heated. “I’m just…more so?”

  “This is coming out all wrong.” Hunter backtracked. “Look, I’m not ashamed to say I’ve got some issues.”

  “Well, now that’s certainly a breakthrough.” Maci set the heat beneath the sausage-filled pan to low and turned the links, browning them. “Don’t we all?”

  “I’d rather not share mine…or have them dissected.”

  “And you think I’d do that.”

  “Would you?” He studied her plump lips and unfettered hair. Her skin was natural, bare…not covered in a bunch of gook and a palette of color. He liked that…a lot. He wanted to kiss her again. Here. Now.

  “Last I checked I’m not at the office.” Maci sighed and crossed to the refrigerator. She turned her back to him as she opened the door and gathered a carton of eggs and a half-gallon of skim milk. “Why are you here, Hunter?”

  “To return your violin.”

  “You’ve done that.”

  “And for some eggs. I love eggs.” Swallowing hard, he lobbed a change-up before the conversation became a complete strike-out. “Where do you go to church?”

  She set the eggs and milk on the counter and then turned back to fish a plastic bag of diced green pepper from the crisper. “Willow Lake Community, down on Main.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Really?” The vision of cheese, chopped mushrooms and green peppers across the counter sent Hunter’s stomach into convulsions. Maci dropped another slab of butter—real butter—into the heating skillet, and Hunter thought he might break into tears at the mouth-watering aroma. “I’ve never seen you there.”

  “I just got back to town.” He crossed to the glass bowl she’d set on the counter and began to crack eggs into it. “Today’s my first Sunday.”

  “I see.”

  “So, I guess we can ride together, seeing as we’re both headed in the same direction.” A dash of salt, one healthy splash milk, a sprinkle of pepper, and he gave the eggs a good beating with the whisk. “It only makes sense.”

  “You’ll risk being analyzed?” Her lips bowed into a grin. “After all, I may not be able to control myself.”

  “And I might not, either.” He set down the whisk and turned back to her. “Besides, analyzing me would only serve to scare you.”

  “I’m tougher than that.” Maci pressed her palm to his cheek and the tender gesture made every nerve ending hum. She smiled and eased from him to open a packet of instant coffee. She emptied it into a mug as the tea kettle began to scream. “I suppose I could...ride with you.”

  “And, after church I’m always hungry again.” He poured the eggs into the skillet and reached for a spatula as they began to sizzle. “So, I guess lunch will most likely be in order.”

  “Just lunch.” Maci removed the kettle from the burner. “Not a date, right?”

  “Your terminology.” Hunter gave the eggs a nudge with the spatula. “Just lunch, if that’s what you want to call it. You can file it however you’d like.”

  “Well…OK.” She poured water over the instant coffee granules, stirred, and then handed him the steaming mug. “But only if we can drop by the hospital afterwards.”

  “We’re on the same page, then. We stay there to visit long enough, it might run into dinner, too.” He sipped the muddy brew that passed for coffee, eyeing Maci over the rim of the mug. “Are you willing to take your chances?”

  “Why not?” She set two plates on the counter and leaned in close enough that the subtle scent of her perfume mingled with the scrambled eggs. “You look fairly harmless.”

  It pleased Hunter to find the light floral scent was already becoming familiar. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “It is.”

  “OK, then.” He set down his mug and sprinkled a generous amount of cheese over the eggs. When the cheese melted he scooped a portion onto a plate and added a pair of sausage links. He handed the food to her, winking. “Eat up. You never know what surprises a non-date might bring.”

  4

  Hunter never imagined a day could fly by so fast. His spine tingled from the back of his gut to the nape of his neck as he eased close to Maci while they ambled along the river walk. A sudden rainstorm had swept through, leaving the air cool and clear—a marked change from the day before when he’d stumbled upon Ali passed out on the band shell deck.

  “I love the rain.” Maci’s voice echoed through his thoughts. “It washes away all the bad, leaving everything clear and sparkling. Look at the stars.”

  “They’re really something.” But Hunter had trouble focusing on anything else with her so close. A cascade of copper hair and the way her lips twitched with the hint of a smile as they passed beneath a muted pathway light wreaked havoc with his thoughts. He focused only on her.

  “What made you come back to Willow Lake, Hunter?” The question drifted easily as the scent of lilacs blooming along the walk.

  “I’m not sure.” He shrugged, his voice low and quiet. “It was just time.”

  “Was it hard…after so long?”

  “Yes…and no.”

  “I’m sorry…for whatever still hurts you.”

  “Don’t be.” He reached for her hand, twined his fingers with hers. “How long have you played?”

  “Violin?”

  “Yes. How long?”

  “I started lessons when I was nine. My mom took me to the New York Symphony, and I fell
in love with the music, the rhythm.”

  “Is that all you’ve ever fallen in love with?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was there anyone…is there anyone?”

  “If there was, I wouldn’t be here with you.” She shook her head. “I would have never let you close enough to kiss me.”

  “Will you let me kiss you again?” Hunter grinned slightly, his pulse kicking up a notch. He felt energized, renewed since the church service that morning. Something inside of him had been nudged awake.

  “Maybe.” Maci’s eyes were blue gems beneath the muted pathway lights. “But I want to know you first. If you kiss me again, I want it to be more than an urge. I want it to mean something, Hunter.”

  “Fair enough.” The fact that it could mean something terrified him. Hunter forced the fear away. “You’ve got beautiful hands.”

  “I’ve been told a lot of things.” Her laughter was a melody. “But I’ve never been told that.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  He pressed her fingers to his lips. “Well, it’s just the start.”

  ****

  Maci struggled to make sense of things as they meandered along the river walk. The evening was calm, quiet, and not at all a reflection of the turmoil within. Hunter was so relaxed, so very easy to talk with. He couldn’t be for real.

  Or could he?

  Her mind raced with so many questions. Determined not to ruin what had been a glorious day, she forced them all back—all but one.

  “Why did you leave, Hunter?”

  “I had no choice.”

  His hand stiffened in hers, a ridge of scar pressing along her palm. Ali had told her a bit about the accident—and the day she lost her younger brother. But her story was like a puzzle with several missing pieces. Maci wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to gather those pieces and make everything whole again, especially now she realized that Hunter was the same man who captivated her right now.

  “It was my fault…all of it.”

  Let it go. Don’t ruin things…the way you always manage to do.

  “What was your fault?”

  “Josh—what happened to him.”

  “But I don’t understand. Ali’s talked to me a little bit, and she’s never blamed you, nor has Ryder. In fact, Ryder’s often claimed he was to blame.”

  “They don’t know the whole truth.” Hunter’s words were strained. His jaw tightened with the pain of the words. “No one knows…except for me—and God.”

  Maci’s shoulder brushed his as they walked. “Do you want to share?”

  “No.”

  The single, harsh word cut her to the core.

  “Hunter—”

  “It’s getting late.” He suddenly let go of her hand and eased to the edge of the walk, putting distance between them. He paused and turned back in the direction of his pickup. His voice was clipped. “I have to work in the morning, and I suppose you do, as well, although shrinks probably get to set their own hours.”

  So we’re back to that again.

  Maci dipped her head to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. She drew a deep breath before speaking, struggling to steady her voice.

  “Yes, we shrinks have it made. We set our own hours, make millions of dollars, and eat shrimp and caviar for lunch every day.”

  “Maci…” He slowed again and turned to face her, his eyes dark as the thunder clouds that had roiled overhead merely an hour ago. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did.” The tears spilled now, shaming her. She’d shown him a weakness and ruined things again—just as she always did. Oh, why couldn’t she just keep her mouth closed and let things go? Questions, questions. Her mother had always insisted she had an awful habit of asking way too many questions. Maybe she was right. “Take me home, Hunter.”

  “Not like this.”

  “Please.” Maci shook her head.

  “OK. I’ll take you.” He hesitated only a moment before closing the distance between them.

  But when he reached for her hand once more, Maci crossed her arms, refusing him. Her lips quivered.

  “But this isn’t over. We’ll talk some more...tomorrow.”

  ****

  He’d done it again.

  Hunter paced the living room of his house. His house. The fact that he’d decided to buy—not rent—when he returned to Willow Lake last month spoke volumes about his intentions… to put the past behind and move forward in the cozy town where he’d loved growing up. Friendships, strong and sturdy as the trunk of a two-hundred-year-old oak, were forged on the baseball diamond and along the shores of Willow Lake. The Fabulous Four, they’d been called—Ryder, Mason, Brody and him. Like brothers, they’d spent endless summers hanging out along the sparkling waters of the lake near the inn, lazing beneath the hot summer sun. Growing, learning…sharing everything from sports to school woes and later on, the mystery of girls.

  But those intentions had crashed and burned once again. Because he was impulsive, short-tempered, and—

  Face it, Hunter, you’re an idiot.

  He slapped his palms on the thighs of his jeans as he padded into the kitchen and yanked open the fridge door. Glancing at the meager contents, he slammed it closed once again and reached for the coffee. There was no point avoiding caffeine—he wouldn’t snag so much as a wink of sleep tonight anyway.

  His thoughts drifted as he dumped grounds into the filter and filled the carafe to the ten-cup line. They were small cups, he reasoned. He jabbed the power button and grinned as a satisfying sputter accompanied the aroma of strong, black java.

  I think your stomach is cast iron.

  Maci’s words drifted back, and once again Hunter heard her quick and easy laugh. Her smile had nearly undone him—but he’d turned that smile to tears.

  The day had been nothing less than perfect—complete—right up until the last half hour.

  They’d begun with a quick-witted conversation over eggs, and carried that into the drive to church. Walking into the sanctuary with Maci at his side had been like truly coming home. It felt so right. He believed, for the first time since he’d returned to Willow Lake, that he truly belonged again. Listening to Pastor Wilson’s sermon had conjured a plethora of reflections.

  Have you really let go of the past…of the hurt that darkens your heart so the light of God can enter?

  The words ignited restlessness deep inside Hunter. How long had he been stumbling through a veil of darkness, bound by guilt that riddled him, keeping him from truly living? Did he trust God to make all things new, or not? How strong was his faith—truly? The time had come for him to step onto the mound. No more hiding in the dugout.

  He reflected on the past as he filled a mug with steaming brew and then returned to the living room. He gazed through the picture window into a quiet, moonlit street. Yes, he’d once been guilty of a bloated ego. His pitching talents had given him a false belief that he was better than everyone—untouchable. The accident had punched a hole right through that belief, changed everything.

  Hunter could no longer sling a wicked curve ball. His change-up was like a slow-moving sailboat tossed in a storm. He was no longer Hunter Stone, future National Baseball League all-star. In a single reckless moment, he’d lost his identity…and his way. This blinding fork in the road came without a GPS.

  He thought he was OK coming home to Willow Lake, that just being here again proved he’d finally emerged from the fire unscathed. But arriving was merely the first step on this new path. It was time to dispel the darkness that shadowed his heart and walk into the light.

  He knew where to begin. Hunter crossed to a bookshelf and searched for the leather bound book tucked among a slew of mysteries. He found the Bible, blew dust from the cover, and settled in the recliner beneath a lamp. The digital clock on the DVD player flashed eleven fifty-eight.

  Almost midnight. Was Maci asleep? He delved into his pocket, grasping his cell phone, and fought the urge to call her. Of course, she
was asleep, and he’d only make things worse by phoning now and waking her. Like brewing coffee, he needed patience while these emotions steeped. Maci was definitely worth the wait—worth taking his time. Tomorrow was soon enough to forge through the mess he’d made. He’d go to her then, apologize and work to make things right.

  He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, turning back to the task-at-hand. Opening the cover of the dusty Bible felt like welcoming in a long-lost friend.

  5

  The counseling office was nothing like Hunter expected, and he mentally kicked himself once again for jumping to conclusions before he had all the evidence. Homey and bright, full of overstuffed couches with colorful cushions and cluttered with sheets of music and handheld instruments, Hunter felt at ease and welcome from the moment he stepped over the threshold.

  Music drifted through the inner room—something with a strong, methodic drumbeat accompanied by airy flutes, and Hunter’s attention was drawn to the viewing window. Beyond, Maci sat with a dark-haired girl who looked to be about thirteen. Their heads were bowed together as the girl scribbled notes along a tablet filled with staff paper. The two spoke, but the sound was muted. Hunter wondered what they were talking about. From the look of her pinched forehead and flushed pallor, the girl was pretty worked up.

  Hunter tried not to gape, but the image of Maci drew him in. Tall and lithe, she held an air of control that he was certain offered the young girl a measure of security and confidence. Her molten-copper hair, pulled back into a neat tail, spilled over her shoulders in waves. He could almost smell her perfume and was mesmerized by the delicate length of her fingers as they gripped a wooden pencil. Hunter’s heart did an odd stutter, and his pulse hitched for a moment before resuming at Mach speed.

  Maci turned and saw him. She paused for a moment, her eyes flying wide. Then she nodded slightly and held up two palms, fingers splayed wide, to signal ten minutes. He nodded back and settled onto the couch to wait. Sifting through magazines piled on the table he decided on a National Geographic and found an article on volcanoes. As he skimmed the words, the rhythm of the music soothed. He relaxed against the cushions and drifted into a memory from his early childhood.