Wanting Hunter: Book 1 in the Cameron Family Saga

by Shirley Larson

  Wanting

  Hunter

  Book 1, in The Cameron Family Saga

  By

  Shirley Larson

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright 2015 Shirley Larson

  Originally published in 2015 under the title, The Man Who Would Be Dad

  All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored on a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission by the author

  This book is dedicated to all the men and woman who have served and are serving in the armed forces. God bless you all.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  November invaded Rochester with intent to chill. Wet yellow maple leaves pooled on the sidewalks under a gray-clouded sky, making treacherous little traps for Hunter’s motorcycle. He swerved around the sodden leaves and roared up to his father’s decrepit ivy-covered house on East Avenue. Dull green moss shackled the roof and the broken attic window gaped with a reminder that he still hadn’t crawled up the ladder and covered it with plastic. One pumpkin with a sunken ghoulish smile sat on the porch under the eaves. A week past Halloween, Lynne’s jack o’lantern gave up the ghost. She cried tears that broke Hunter’s heart. At the age of seven, Lynne didn’t understand that the life span of a pumpkin was slightly shorter than that of a drone ant.

  He let his Harley idle and gave it several thunderous revs. Then he straddled his hog and balanced on his long, young leg and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. O’Reilly, their next door neighbor, shoved her door open with a whack.

  “Hunter Cameron, if you come racing up here again with that great noisy machine, I’m going to call the police on you.”

  He gave her his best endearing smile, the one that had all the senior girls in his high school class sighing after him. “Now Mrs. O’Reilly, you know you don’t have any grounds for calling the police.”

  “How about disturbing the peace? How about killing my crab apple trees with your noxious gases? How about…”

  Hunter kicked down his stand, strode across the lawn between his father’s house and his complaining neighbor and held out his hand. Before the good woman knew what was happening, he caught her into a dance position and with his great strength and height, pulled her into a semblance of a waltz. “How about giving me this dance? I haven’t taught you the tango yet, have I?”

  She sputtered, but didn’t pull away. He was a caution, this seventeen year old hellion, but she loved him with every beat of her withered heart. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was well aware she had three grown children and none of them came near her except at Christmastime when they wanted presents and Easter for her homemade chocolate eggs, whereas Hunter made sure she was alive by pretending to annoy her, while she pretended to be annoyed and loved every minute of it. He kept her in his strong embrace and waltzed her around the sidewalk as if they were in a ballroom. When at last he bent over her in a dramatic dance finale, she straightened, put a hand up to smooth down an errant curl and looked up, way up to his six four height. “You’re going to hell in a hand basket, you know that, don’t you?”

  “And be glad to go, with you at my side, me lassie O’Reilly.”

  She chucked a light slap at his arm. “Oh, go along with you then. You’re as full of blarney as my late husband.”

  He watched her go, thinking he’d like to give her children a good talking to. Did they know what they were missing, shutting their mother out the way they did? He’d sat in her kitchen and listened to her talk about her travels with her husband, her trips to Paris, London, Cairo. She was a wonderful raconteur. She’d opened up the world for him in a way his degreed father never had.

  He entered his home through the kitchen. He’d missed supper. Sadie the cook left a covered dish for him on the counter. He wasn’t interested in food. He lifted his booted heels to tiptoe down the hall, hoping to make it past the library. If his father was deep into Kant, he’d make it to his upstairs bedroom without…

  “Hunter.”

  Caught. “Yes, Father?”

  “I’d like a word with you, please.”

  He hated these sessions that seemed to be happening more and more often since he’d made up his mind to live his own life. He took a good grip on his courage and came to attention in front of his father’s desk.

  Inside this hallowed place of learning, time wavered, stumbled, and came to a standstill. The outside world was gone, vanished behind dusty wine draperies and towering library shelves crammed with book titles that mocked his ignorance.

  “I keep wondering when you’re going grow up, Hunter.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Father, I’m “up.” I thought it was time one of us did.” He tried not to sound bitter, but it was difficult. “Could we get on with this? I just came home to change clothes. I have a young lady waiting for me.”

  “You’ve been absent from your A.P. classes.”

  “Not much point in keeping up with them when I don’t have a prayer of going to college.” Just once, he’d like his father to lose his temper. Just once he’d like to hear something in Phillip’s voice other than calm reasonableness. Hunter lunged forward and planted his palms on his father’s desk to look directly into Philip’s blue eyes, so like his own. “I won’t be going to college, will I?” Hunter plucked up a pile of bills and let them flutter down like snowflakes. “Not when you owe all this money.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know because Mr. Biddle from the bank keeps calling about overdue mortgage payments. I know because Mother sent me to the grocery store and they told me they wouldn’t give us any more credit.” Hunter came around the desk and slammed shut the book his father had been reading. “Immanuel Kant doesn’t pay the bills.”

  “But he does feed my soul. Kant states that we are not rich by what we possess but by what we can do without. Do you consider me a failure, then?”

  “You can go without all you want. Just don’t expect your family to do the same. You have a responsibility, Professor Cameron, to your four children. Aren’t we entitled to at least as much of your consideration as you give Immanuel Kant?”

  “I do what I was born to do, son. Read, study, teach. I only pray that someday you may find your passion as easily as I found mine.”

  “You certainly weren’t born to be a father.”

  Philip did flinch slightly at that. “I loved your mother. She wanted a family. I hoped that her courage and intelligence would make up for my lack of parenting skills.”

  “It might have…if you had had any financial skills.”

  Philip merely sat gazing at him with that cool poise that heightened Hunter’s anger.

  “So what is my punishment for skipping school, then? That is why you allowed me into this…sanctuary, is it not, to pronounce my sentence?”

  “Well, for starters, since you’re so concerned about this family’s finances, you could sell
that machine you ride around on and put the money toward the grocery bill.”

  That was a hit Hunter did not expect. Sell his Harley? The one he’d bought with the money he made schlepping beer cases to the front of a convenience store nights and weekends for three years? “Is that an order?”

  “Consider it a suggestion.”

  Hunter curled his fingers into fists. If he sold his bike, he’d be giving up his one claim to fame. With his bike, he had street cred. Without it, he’d be the poor son of a poor college professor. Still, he supposed he would have to put his money where his mouth was. “Then I guess that’s what I had better do. Someone has to be responsible for the debts of this family.”

  “Yes,” Philip said.

  Hunter stepped away from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, Father. I have to see a dealer about a bike.” Hunter turned around without a backward glance. If he had looked back, he would have seen his father put his hand up to his chest and stiffen in reaction to the pain.

  In his room, he shrugged out of his t-shirt and tossed it on the floor. Stripped of his clothes, he stepped into the shower and put his face up to the weak spray. The plumbing needed a complete overhaul. Blast it all. Why was it whenever he had these confrontations with his father, he was the one who ended up feeling guilty? Now he’d have to call Jennifer and give her the bad news that he wouldn’t be picking her up tonight. Maybe it was just as well. She was cute and fun, but she’d been pushing him to have sex. He’d already decided he wasn’t going to have sex with her. No matter how safe it might seem, things happened. Condoms broke, birth control pills failed. The last thing he wanted was to be responsible for a child. He had his own family to take care of: Alex, Justin, and Lynne. He would provide for them, somehow, some way. But before he left, he needed to apologize to his father. He shouldn’t have said those things, even if they were true. He should have held his tongue. He’d go down right now and assure his father that he understood, that they would work together to support the family.

  “Hunter!”

  His mother sounded totally panicked, which was very unlike her. His mother was an English Countess by birth and she had brought her English poise across the pond when she’d married Philip Cameron.

  He yanked his polo shirt over his head and took the stairs two at a time.

  “Hunter. Your father. He’s…gone.”

  He looked into the study to see his father slumped over the desk. “He can’t be. I just talked to him a few minutes ago.”

  “He doesn’t have a pulse.”

  Hunter moved to go into the room, but his mother caught his arm. “No. There’s nothing you can do for him now. I’ve called the authorities.” She turned away. “I knew this was coming. He’s been having chest pains for a year. I begged him to seek medical attention, but of course he wouldn’t. He knew he couldn’t afford it. I told him we could go into debt, but he wouldn’t consider it. He said it wouldn’t be fair to us.”

  Hunter tightened his fists at his side to withstand the pain. He could never apologize, never take back the harsh words he’d said. He could never tell his father that he loved him, that he only wanted his love and his attention. All that was left to him now was to take care of his father’s family. He would have to be the man who put bread on the table and kept a roof over their heads.

  Twenty-two years later, present day

  Hunter Cameron’s Park Avenue office

  New York City

  April

  Chapter 1

  “Is he in? Is he sane? Do you still love me?”

  Justin Cameron, handsome as the devil himself in his dark gray suit complete with snowy white shirt and correct gray tie, clamped his hand on the back of Paula’s chair and twirled her around.

  Still slightly dizzy from both Justin’s actions and his presence, Hunter’s assistant gripped the arms of her chair to bring back her wits and stared up into that gorgeous male face that never failed to unnerve her. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “It’s the day before Thanksgiving. What are you thankful for, Miss Paula Perfect?”

  She wanted to say ‘you,’ but she was a married woman and ten years Justin’s senior. Even if she couldn’t think of him in a romantic way, he was always the bright spot in her day.

  “I’m thankful there are young men like you who are willing to defend our country. But I still wish you weren’t going, Justin. You will be careful, won’t you?”

  “And then some, my beautiful Paula.”

  She nodded her head toward Hunter’s office. “Go on in, then. I’m sure he’s anxious to see you.”

  “May not be when he hears what I have planned for him this evening. My last wish before I ship out tomorrow. He’ll consider it a fate worse than death.”

  “No!” Paula put her hand to her chest in mock horror. “You’re not taking him to see a musical.”

  “Oh, yeah. Facing the enemy in Afghanistan won’t be nearly as bad as telling Hunter he’s going with his family to the theater tonight.”

  Paula stood up with her hand on her heart in full military mode. “I salute you for your courage.” Then she sat down and reverted to her normal self. “And lots of luck with it, fellow.”

  “I’m waiting for reinforcements,” he said, just as Alex, also dressed impeccably in suit a shade lighter than Justin’s, walked through the door. “Ah, there you are, brother. Right on time as always. Did it ever occur to you to be late once in your life? Or disheveled? Or disorganized?”

  “Like you, you mean?” Alex shot back. “No. I prefer order in my life. You should try it sometime.”

  “I guess I will. In about forty-eight hours.”

  Alex grabbed him up in a bear hug. “You crazy nut. Only you would sign up for the National Guard.”

  “You guys don’t need me here. I thought I’d go somewhere where I might be useful.”

  “Damn it, I knew it was something like that. You know darn well Hunter would be willing to give you your own office, let you run with your ideas.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t have any. My one idea was to come out from under the umbrella of the Cameron millions and be my own man for a change.”

  “Just don’t get your idiot self killed in the process.”

  “That’s rather a good idea, old chap. I’ll work on that.”

  “See to it that you do.”

  Hunter stood inside his office, staring out at the forest of New York City canyons beyond his window while he listened to his brothers’ rag on each other. Paula had left the intercom open as he had told her to do the moment Justin entered the office. Pictures played relentlessly in his head. Five year old Justin, tagging after him on his chubby legs, begging Hunter for a ride on his shoulder. Ten year old Justin, standing at the window, watching Hunter roar off on his motorcycle. Sixteen year old Justin, tall and gangly, wearing a suit Hunter had bought for him and carrying the gold wrapped box containing his date’s gardenia. Thirty-two year old Justin, strangely cool and unemotional, telling them he’d been called up out of reserve.

  He hadn’t known why Justin was so adamant about fulfilling his commitment to serve in Afghanistan as part of a unit that was pulling out. Now he did. He’d been so busy running his empire to make sure his family was financially secure that he’d forgotten to see to it that his brothers felt a part of it. Alex was a genius with figures and had found his niche as comptroller for the company. He’d sent Justin around the world to check out possible acquisitions. Evidently it hadn’t been enough. Now here the two of them came, blowing in to his apartment cum office like a fresh wind, Alex switching on lamps as he walked, throwing light into the glassed-in darkness while Justin whistled a long whistle and said, “Geez, Hunter, you trying to save on the electric bill or what? “

  Alex and Justin had gone through hell with him, working like devils to dig the family out of financial disaster. He loved them, but of course he never talked about it and neither did they. They would deal with this crisis the way they had always done, by teasing the he
ll out of each other. They were like a marauding force these two, taking a seat at the breakfast bar on each side of Hunter, Alex slipping on the stool cowboy style, Justin immediately turning his stool into a spinner. They could read him like a book and they knew he was unhappy as hell.

  “That extreme measure of saving money would never occur to you, would it, little brother?” Hunter said, trying to act true to form.

  “I am not a spendthrift. I am wearing last year’s suit, thank you very much. Not much use to buy a new one when Uncle Sam is going to be dressing me for the next two years.” Justin took another spin around on his stool.

  “Will you stop?” Hunter said, doing his best to sound irritable. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  “What’s the matter, old man? Eyesight failing you?” Justin went round three more times for good measure.

  Watching his brother spin carelessly around on that stool made Hunter’s heart clench. He remembered how twelve-year old Justin hung on the back of his father’s desk chair while Hunter sat there after his father’s funeral, sorting through the bills. With every bill Hunter unearthed, four thousand and eight hundred dollars owed on the house mortgage, three thousand four hundred and twenty dollars owed to the grocery store, Hunter’s determination grew stronger never to let his family be anxious about money or fall into debt again. The first thing Hunter did was lie about his age and sign on with a construction crew. He then contacted all the family‘s creditors with an organized plan for repayment. The family home on East Avenue was saved and the debts paid up in three years. His brothers had, at fourteen and twelve been a little too young to understand. They’d caught on very quickly. Alex finished high school and went to work with Hunter in construction. Two years later, Justin followed. Now, Hunter realized he’d been lucky with the timing of his renovation business. It had come just ahead of the publics’ up tick of interest in restoring nineteenth century buildings. What he’d begun as a sideline catering to his own personal interest in bringing historic buildings to life had proved more lucrative than any of them dreamed.