by Mary Manners
“Oh.” He took the silver-toned container, twisted off the cap and sniffed. “It smells good.”
“It’s from the bakery down on Magnolia. I picked it up on the way over. It should still be warm.”
He filled the cup, drew a sip. “It’s perfect. Would you like some?”
Maci wrinkled her nose. “No thanks. I’ll stick to tea.”
“Right. You enjoy a kinder, gentler hit of caffeine.” He nodded toward the to-go cup she’d already drained. “Well, I brought something for you, too.”
“More tea?’
“No.” He delved into his pocket and withdrew a small box tied with a thin, yellow ribbon. “I stopped by Posts and Pages this morning to pick up a newspaper, and when I saw this I thought of you.”
“Hunter, that’s so sweet.” Maci gave a small, delighted clap. “What is it?”
He handed her the box. “Open it.”
Maci loosened the bow and lifted the lid. A gasp escaped her lips. She pressed a finger to the tiny violin on a silver chain. “Hunter…it’s lovely.”
“Try it on.” He took the necklace from the box and waited while Maci turned her back to him, lifting her hair while he slipped the necklace over her shoulders, clasping it so the delicate violin settled over her collarbone. When she turned around, Hunter smiled appreciatively. Small, blue gemstones along the length of the violin’s arm made her eyes pop. “Wow, beautiful.”
Maci’s eyes twinkled. “Me or the necklace?”
“Both.” He pressed a palm to the nape of her neck and drew her close, kissing her again. It felt so right to hold her safe in the crook of his arm. “It’s fun…buying little things for you.”
“This is hardly little.”
“It’s just a necklace, Mace.”
“You shouldn’t have, Hunter. It’s too much.”
“It’s just perfect.” He kissed her again, grinning. “You should paint more often. Mint looks good on you…tastes good, too.”
“The room is almost done, but you can help hang the wallpaper chair rail if you’d like.” She motioned to a pile of paper rolls stacked on the dresser in the corner of the room. “Ali chose that border weeks ago. I know she’d be thrilled if we got that up, as well.”
“We’ll have it done in no time.”
“Hope you brought a change of clothes.” She skimmed his pressed khakis and navy polo with her gaze. “The glue can get messy.”
“I sure did.” He patted the small knapsack slung over one shoulder. “It’s so nice of you to do all this work, Mace. I know Ryder and Ali both appreciate it.”
“I don’t want them to come home to a lot of chores. Running the inn will be more than enough with a baby to take care of, too. Ryder would have had the nursery finished if Rory hadn’t come early, so it’s the least I can do to help out. Everything will be in order here by next week, and I think Ali even has a few guest reservations penciled in on the schedule.”
“I know. She told me when I stopped by the hospital after my meeting with the town council—”
“It went OK?”
“Yeah. The new emergency management plan goes into effect next month. Everyone is on board.”
“Good. Willow Lake is growing and you’re working so hard to implement necessary changes.”
“Just doing my job. I love living here again.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do.” He leaned in to gather a wisp of her hair and tuck it behind one ear. “And you’re a big part of why.”
“That makes me happy, Hunter.” She pressed her palm to his cheek, smiling through the smudges of mint-green. “Truly happy. How about if I get the border finished while you wash up and then we can sit on the back deck and have a glass of sweet tea while we wait for Ali and Ryder to get home.”
“Now, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
****
Maci loved watching Hunter work. The muscles along his shoulders rippled as he smoothed the chair rail over a section of one wall. Just the site of him made her melt. She fingered the necklace he’d given her. It was beautiful, and such a lovely token—perfect.
“Ali told me you brought Rory a baseball glove.” Maci crossed to stand beside him. “Don’t you think it’s a bit premature, seeing as he’s barely a week old?”
“Not at all. Gotta start the kid off right. I began tossing a ball with my dad before I turned three.”
“Wow, that’s young.”
“I used to wait on the front steps for him to come home from work. He didn’t even make it into the house to kiss my mom before I had him lobbing balls my way.”
“That’s a nice memory.” Maci smoothed a hand through her hair. “Where’s your dad now?”
“He died when I was sixteen…trucking accident. He was on his way home to watch one of my games.”
“I’m so sorry, Hunter.”
“I have good memories.” He shrugged. “My dad loved baseball, and I might not be able to pitch anymore, but I still love the game, too.”
“Have you ever thought about coaching?”
“A time or two.” He stood and stepped back to scrutinize the finished chair rail. “Maybe if Rory decides to play, it will give me an excuse to take the plunge.”
“There’s no need to wait for that. I happen to know the community league is down a peewee coach. They could use your help.”
“Peewee league, huh?” Hunter nodded, turning to grin at her. “I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”
“It looks so good in here…ready for a baby—for Rory.” Maci walked over to the crib and ran one hand over the rails before settling into the rocking chair. She gave a little push, setting the chair into motion. “Have you ever thought about it?”
Hunter wiped his hands on a damp rag and reached for the coffee. “Give me a hint.”
“You know…a family of your own.” Maci hesitated, her gaze locking on his. “Having kids…a white picket fence, a dog, and a sensible eight-passenger van.”
“Does a wife come with that?”
“I should hope so.”
Hunter drained the coffee with one healthy gulp. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
He set the empty cup on the changing table and crossed his arms. “I don’t think I’m the marrying type.”
“You don’t?” Maci’s heart sank. “Why not?”
“I couldn’t trust myself with a kid. Look at what happened to Josh.”
“I thought you were past that.”
“So did I.”
Maci frowned and stilled the rocker. “My questions, they’ve messed things up again.”
“You don’t like to let things go, do you?”
“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” She pursed her lips. “I saw you with Rory. You glowed when you looked at him.”
“Glowed?”
“That’s right. You can’t deny you love kids.”
“Oh, I love them. They just don’t love me.”
“That’s silly, Hunter. How do you know what Rory’s feeling?”
“He cries, doesn’t he?”
“I suppose so. But that could mean anything.”
He went to her, knelt at her feet. “Doesn’t it scare you—the thought of being completely responsible for another human being?”
“Of course it frightens me.”
“Then how can you even consider—”
“Because I refuse to live my life afraid. I want more than that, Hunter. I want the full package. Jumbo size it.”
“Jumbo size…”
“That’s right. Everything. No holding back.”
“I can’t give that to you, Maci.” He shook his head. “I can’t even give that to myself yet.”
Though his words wounded, she fought the urge to pull away. Instead she leaned forward in the chair and drew him close, nestling her head against his chest.
“Kiss me, Hunter.”
“I’m splattered in wallpaper glue.”
“I don’t care.” She
sighed and splayed a hand across his shoulders. “Kiss me.”
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer. “You should run.”
“I love you. I’m not going to run.”
“You’re a foolish woman.”
“Many would agree.” She pressed a hand to his chest, felt his heartbeat, steady and true. “But I don’t care. Just kiss me.”
8
“Need some help?” Hunter called to Ryder as he made his way down the cobblestone path toward the lake. Moonlight spilled over the water, turning rivulets to floating gemstones. The song of crickets serenaded between Rory’s gasps. His wailing echoed off the cliffs.
“He’s restless.” Ryder jostled the padded baby carrier where Rory was nestled to his chest. The baby had doubled in size over the past several weeks; his harrowing birth was no more than a distant memory. “It happens this time of night. Sometimes the fresh air helps, and he seems to like the sound of the water.”
“Must take after Ali. The water has always been a draw for her, too.”
“She’s happy you came home, you know.” Ryder placed his palm over Rory’s head, stroking the damp crown. “It seems like everything is coming back together again.”
“Mason and Brody…have you heard from them?”
“No.”
“Maybe one day…”
“Maybe.”
“You have a full house tonight at the inn.”
“Yeah. Ali’s begun to publicize the evenings that Maci comes by to play her violin, and it really draws a crowd. We hardly ever have a vacancy anymore.”
“Maci’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?” Just the mention of her name caused a rush of warmth through Hunter’s veins.
“She’s been good to Ali…to us.” Ryder nodded. “She’s pretty special.”
Rory continued to squall, his tiny cries piercing the moonlight. Ryder swayed absently, and then began to hum a lullaby.
“You’re a natural.” Hunter laughed. “Who’d have thought?”
“And you?”
“Mulling things over. I’m not so sure about the kid—or the wife—part.”
Since the afternoon in the nursery, he’d given both a lot of thought. After a few weeks of feeling as though he were moving forward, he found himself in a rut—and mired in the darkness—once again. The song of Maci’s violin drifted, and he imagined the scent of her perfume. Both brought the stark reality of the situation—he cared deeply for Maci. But if he failed to leave the past where it belonged—firmly in the past—where would it lead?
“Who do you think you’re fooling?” It was Ryder’s turn to laugh. “I think you’re the only one who hasn’t figured out just how in love you are with Maci. But you will…eventually.”
“I…” Hunter meant to deny the assertion, but reached for Rory instead. Ryder had known him long enough to detect anything outside of the truth. No sense trying to shovel Ryder something else. Time with Maci had changed him, made him long for things he’d never even considered. But Hunter wasn’t yet ready to share his feelings concerning Maci with anyone—at least not officially. “Do you want me to take him for a while?”
“Thanks.” Ryder lifted Rory from the carrier and handed him over. “I hear the violin. Maci’s started up again. Why don’t we head that way? Rory likes the music. Maybe it will work its magic.”
Hunter turned, cradling Rory to his chest as they started back toward the inn. “Does it ever scare you, holding someone so tiny?”
“Only when he needs a diaper change.”
“Seriously.” Rory was warm, his damp hair scented like musky leaves. A tiny thumb went to his mouth as he began to suckle. “It’s a huge responsibility.”
“Yes, sometimes it scares me. I haven’t enjoyed a decent night’s sleep in over a month. I don’t watch TV nearly as much, and sometimes I leave for work with spit-up on my shirt. But I wouldn’t go back to a life without my son for all the clean shirts in the world. Ali and me…we’re on this journey together, and it’s deepened our love for one another in ways I never could have imagined. Having Rory has changed everything—but in a good way. I have to be a better man now—hold a higher standard. It’s not just about me anymore. I like that.”
“I could do without the spit-up…” Hunter laughed. “But I think your son likes me. He’s already stopped crying.”
“He knows his Uncle Hunter.”
“Uncle?”
“We always were like brothers, weren’t we?” Ryder grinned. “Why should that change now? If anything ever happens to me, I need you to keep an eye on Ali, to help her, OK?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know.” Hunter nodded. “You have a son now…a family.”
A place to belong…forever.
The song of the violin drew him like a beacon along the path, making everything clear. Hunter tucked Rory in closer as he quickened his pace back toward the inn…and Maci.
****
Maci paused the bow in its glide across the violin’s strings as Hunter entered the great room of the inn through French doors opened wide along the back deck. He cradled Rory in his arms, one huge hand splayed protectively over the baby’s tiny head.
His gaze found hers and he smiled, an intimate gesture meant for her alone. Maci’s pulse stammered and for the slightest moment, a hush came over the room. Then she nodded slightly and resumed her serenade as the crowd of guests settled back in Adirondack chairs that Ali had strategically placed along the deck rail.
The night was gorgeous. A breeze kissed Maci’s cheeks, bringing with it the scent of changing leaves that signaled the waning days of summer. Soon autumn would rush in, bringing with it cooler temperatures and a festive air. Bullfrogs sang to one another along the shores of the lake while moonlight glazed the willows beyond in milky shadows.
Hunter settled against the rail as Ali approached. She handed him a baby bottle, smiling, and then left again to replenish a tray of finger sandwiches. Maci drank everything in as, mindlessly, she coasted through Beethoven’s Romance No.2 in G major. When Hunter pressed the bottle to Rory’s puckered mouth, his lips moving in what she was sure were gentle and coaxing words, her heart ripped in two.
He was great with children…a natural. Every time she saw him hold Rory, she knew it to be true. But she had to face facts—Hunter might love other people’s children but he’d never want a family of his own. He’d told her so that day in the nursery. Since then he’d avoided the subject. She had to respect his wishes.
Once, she’d been perfectly content to throw herself into her job and the symphony orchestra—to live a solitary life—but all that had changed when she met Hunter…and with Rory’s birth. She’d tasted, through Ryder and Ali, a life that was rich and fulfilling, one filled with laughter and love. In some ways, it had ruined her. Now, she could never settle for less.
She thought of the necklace Hunter had given her. It swayed as she worked through the piece, the bow caressing strings. She thought of his kisses, tender and sweet, that ignited emotions so powerful she wondered how she survived them.
She loved him—that much was certain.
But was it fair to stay with him—to ask for his love in return, when their differences provided little hope for a future together?
Tears marred Maci’s vision and she sniffled through the piece. Finishing, she placed the violin in its stand, nodded slightly as the crowd clapped appreciatively, and turned away to rush from the room before Hunter noticed her tears.
9
Hunter parked his pickup outside the concert hall and killed the ignition. The lot was illuminated by security lights—part of the security plan recently implemented by the city council. People skittered about, climbing the steps and entering through grand double-doors that led to the concert hall. The chill of fall whispered through the air and leaves, dried and lifeless, scratched the pavement as they scattered and danced.
Hunter rested his hands
on the steering wheel and sat for a moment, sighing and wondering how everything had become such a train wreck. For a full two weeks, since she’d played for guests at the inn, Maci had expertly avoided him—failed to return every one of his calls. No matter how hard he tried to talk to her, she closed up like a vault.
She’d fled the inn that night without so much as a goodbye. She’d even left her violin sitting in its stand; Ali had returned it a few days later. He couldn’t fathom what had gotten into her. No calls…no texts…nothing.
So he’d bought a ticket to the concert. If she wouldn’t come to him, he’d go to her. He’d been patient long enough, and the patience was killing him.
Worse yet, veiled beneath the bite of anger sat the truth—he missed her.
And he didn’t even know what he’d done to set her off. But tonight he’d find out. He deserved at least some explanation.
Jaws clenched, he slipped from the cab, the concert ticket clutched in his hand. Music drifted from the hall as the orchestra played through their warm-up. Mingled among the cacophony of sound he listened for Maci and heard the captivating melody of the violins section.
He’d come to a fork in the road…one that demanded attention. He knew which way to turn. But the question remained—would Maci walk the same path or careen away…down a different road?
Hunter picked up the pace, crossing the lot to moonlit steps. Inside, he’d find his answer.
****
Maci adjusted the bodice of her gown and reached for her violin as the director gave a two-minute warning. As the soloist, she was dressed differently from the others—white satin instead of the standard-issue black rayon skirt and silk blouse. Hot stage lights—and the titter of nerves—caused perspiration to dampen the nape of her neck. The concert hall was packed for the first night of the Fall Concert Series.
“Gonna be hard to concentrate tonight.” Marianne, the youngest violinist at barely twenty-one, tossed back teased blonde hair. “Get a look at that guy in the front row, center. Isn’t he a load of eye candy?”
Maci peeked through the curtain, gasped.
