For Love and Family

by Victoria Pade

  Terese’s mind emptied of all thoughts but that kiss and what she was experiencing. What she was relishing. The feel of her hand at his hip. The feel of the honed pectorals beneath her other palm. The feel of his arms around her, of being held close to that masterful body.

  His lips parted farther still and the tip of his tongue jutted in only enough to test the very edges of her teeth like a ruddy rebel at the garden gate hoping to attract some company.

  Terese’s tongue answered the call, tip to tip, timid and brazen at once.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. His mouth opened wider over hers and his tongue came boldly in to circle hers, to tease and taunt, to stake a claim as that kiss grew hotter and more sensual by the minute.

  Almost too sensual not to inspire thoughts of doing more than kissing. As Hunter’s arms wrapped her more tightly and held her so closely to him, she had to slide her hand from his chest around to his back. Her breasts were nearly flattened against him and her nipples kerneled into knots so hard, she wondered if he could feel them nudging insistently into him.

  Terese was beginning to notice how many things inside her were coming alive and craving more than kissing—even hot, hungry kissing. Hunter’s hands had started a massage of her back that said things might be coming alive in him, too. But just as those messages reached her rational mind, he must have decided it was better not to let this go much further because his tongue did a reluctant retreat and he drew the kiss to a slow, equally as reluctant end.

  And then his mouth was gone from hers.

  Still, though, he kept his arms around her, remaining where he was as he said, “I hope you weren’t too bored at the meeting.”

  There was never anything boring about the time she spent with him. But she didn’t think she should reveal that so she merely said, “I wasn’t bored, no.” And even if she had been it would all have been worth it for that kiss….

  “I had a good time,” he added.

  “Me, too.”

  “Thanks for filling in some gaps for me about your sister and Johnny.”

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner,” she countered.

  Something about that made him smile that deliciously evil half smile again. “You’ll make it up to me tomorrow night when you cook, remember?”

  Terese smiled back at him. She was going to like proving that she really could cook. “I remember. Do you want the bread on your peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches toasted or not?”

  Hunter laughed. “Not.”

  He kissed her once more then. A brief buss.

  But even so, he stayed looking into her eyes for a long enough time after that to make her wonder if he might be thinking about kissing her yet again—which would have been very, very all right with her.

  In the end, he simply smiled another of those sweetly devilish smiles before he finally let her go.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, walking backward from her doorstep.

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, secretly wishing they would never run out of them as she leaned against the doorjamb herself to watch him go.

  Then he gave her a little wave and spun around on the heels of his cowboy boots to disappear into the mudroom door.

  Terese took a last, deep breath of the chilly night air, sighed a happy sigh and then stepped away from the threshold to close her own door.

  And that was when it occurred to her that her worst-case scenario had not been played out. Not in any way, shape or form. That, in fact, if she had had a best-case scenario, the evening would have been it.

  So she’d just been silly to fret about all she’d fretted about earlier, she told her suspicious side victoriously as she kicked off her shoes and headed to the bedroom portion of the cabin.

  But as she did she realized something else.

  Deep down there was a tiny flicker of hope that the kiss from the previous evening, their dinner tonight and that kiss they’d just shared might mean that Hunter really did see something in her that he liked.

  And that tiny flicker of hope was enough to scare her to death.

  Because where there was that kind of hope, hurt could follow…

  Six

  “Yoo-hoo! It’s me!”

  “Come on in. I’m in the kitchen,” Terese called when the front door opened without a prior knock or ring of the doorbell and Carla announced herself.

  It was just before dinnertime on Thursday evening—the time Carla usually picked up Willy—so Terese had been expecting her.

  Carla didn’t respond but Terese assumed that she’d been heard because the front door closed and a moment later Carla pushed through the swinging door to join her.

  “Willy is out in the barn with Hunter and Johnny,” Terese said in greeting. “They’re carving pumpkins but they’ll be in any minute.”

  Carla nodded at that information but her interest seemed more on the platter of chicken Terese had set in the center of the table before returning to the stove to clean the mess she’d made.

  “Oh boy, that smell just gave me déjà vu,” Carla said as she headed for the table.

  “Fried chicken?” Terese asked. It had been Johnny’s request for the meal she’d agreed to prepare to prove to Hunter that she honestly could cook.

  “Fried chicken here,” Carla qualified. “Funny how a smell can just whisk you back in time, isn’t it?”

  “To something good, I hope.”

  “To something bittersweet now that Margee is gone. A picnic Willy and I and Hunter and Johnny and Margee went on the summer before she died. Margee fried chicken for it and that was what the house smelled like when we got here.”

  “Hunter told me how close you all were,” Terese said.

  She couldn’t help being curious about Hunter’s late wife. The fact that Carla had brought her up and there was no one else around seemed as if this might be Terese’s chance to do a little fishing.

  Carla didn’t seem opposed to it. “Margee and I were best friends,” she said. “Hunter and Willy were best friends and worked together. So, yes, it just came naturally that the four of us would be about as close as any four people can be without being related by blood.”

  Carla sat at the table then and began to dig through her purse in search of something.

  “Willy said you were having dinner tonight with your parents so you couldn’t stay,” Terese said, concealing the fact that she hadn’t been sorry not to have the company for the meal. “But can I get you something to drink while you wait for him?”

  “No, thanks,” Carla said. Then she pulled her wallet out of her purse, opened it and went through the clear plastic sleeves that held credit cards and what appeared to be a few photographs.

  Carla took out one of the pictures, looked fondly at it herself and then handed it to Terese. “I think this was taken on that same picnic.”

  Terese was finished cleaning the stove and went to the table to accept the photo, eager to see it. “I wondered what Hunter’s wife looked like. There aren’t any pictures of her around the house.”

  “That was the way Margee wanted it. She was a model, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Mostly catalog work. But she always said having pictures of herself on display was like bringing her work home with her so she didn’t want any out. Besides, even though you wouldn’t think it was true of someone who made a living from the way she looked, Margee was the least vain person I ever knew. She always said she didn’t want to have to see her face around every corner, that it was the last thing she’d want to decorate with. So all the photographs of her are in albums.”

  Terese studied the photograph. In it, Carla, Willy and Hunter’s late wife stood side by side, their arms linked.

  “Hunter took the picture—that’s why he isn’t in it—and Johnny was sleeping on a blanket under the tree behind us and we didn’t want to disturb him,” Carla said.

  It didn’t matter to Terese because it was only the stunning blonde she was interested in
at that moment.

  Margee Coltrane had been tall and thin, but still shapely enough to have noticeably perky breasts in the tight, midriff-baring T-shirt she’d been wearing. She’d had sun-streaked blond hair that was shoulder-length and glistened with perfection. And she’d had a face that Terese had no doubt had been in demand—flawless peachy skin, a bone structure the camera loved, heart-shaped lips, gleaming white teeth, a perfect nose and big blue eyes that actually sparkled.

  “She was beautiful,” Terese said with awe in her tone. Genuine awe. Margee Coltrane had been exquisite. More exquisite than any of Eve’s plastic surgeons could ever accomplish.

  “I know,” Carla said. “And it was all natural, on top of it. She never wore makeup except for a photo shoot; she washed her hair and let it dry on the go and it still looked good. She could eat more than Hunter and Willy put together and never gain a pound. Me, I pack on the weight just thinking about food, and I have to put on makeup and smooth the frizzies in my hair before I go out in public or I might scare small children.”

  Terese laughed and glanced from the picture to Carla. Carla wasn’t classically beautiful the way Hunter’s late wife had been, the way Eve wanted to be, but Carla had her own charm. She had an oval face with full cheeks that dimpled when she smiled, bright green eyes, a turned-up nose and extremely curly hair that she wore cut very close to her head in a style that few people could pull off, but that made her look sporty and carefree.

  “Scare small children? You?” Terese said.

  “I don’t even need a Halloween costume. I just let the circles under my eyes go unconcealed and my hair go unconditioned and that’s all it takes.”

  Terese laughed again. “You are so wrong,” she said, meaning it. “I’ll bet you could walk into cheerleader tryouts right this minute and win hands-down. You look that young and fresh-faced and adorable.”

  “Kind lies,” Carla said even though she smiled as if the compliment had pleased her. “But I’m no Margee. And I can’t even say she just took a good photograph. As good as she looked in pictures, she looked even better in person.”

  Terese glanced back at the snapshot, not heartened to hear that. “It’s sort of demoralizing,” she said more to herself than to Carla.

  But Carla heard her and gave a wry chuckle. “Tell me about it!” she agreed. “If she hadn’t been so nice, I would have hated her!”

  That made Terese laugh again. She didn’t hate the other woman. But she did suffer a few unpleasant twinges as she studied the image a moment longer. Unpleasant twinges about how any ordinary-looking person could ever compete with someone who had been that beautiful.

  Or attract a man who had already had someone that beautiful…

  “Here come the boys,” Carla said then.

  Terese glanced up from the photograph to see through the kitchen window that Hunter, Willy and Johnny were headed for the house.

  It seemed to be Carla’s cue to get rid of the picture because she reached to take it from Terese. “Let me put this away before the boys see it. I don’t want anybody feeling bad.”

  Terese relinquished the photograph without objection. She was only too glad not to have Hunter see the picture.

  Not that she thought he needed it to remind him of his own wife. But she definitely preferred that he not be reminded of just how beautiful that wife had been.

  Or, worse yet, glaringly reminded of what Terese believed to be the current reality—that she herself paled miserably in comparison.

  Carla stood then and put her purse strap over her shoulder, making it look as if she’d only just arrived.

  But even as the men and Johnny came in and greetings and small talk were exchanged before Willy and Carla left, the image of Hunter’s late wife haunted Terese.

  “Here it is—the pretty princess book! I told you guys I had one,” Johnny announced as he climbed into bed that night and waited for Terese to sit beside him on the mattress so she could read his bedtime story.

  After the dinner that had received rave reviews from both father and son, Terese, Hunter and Johnny had gone shopping for Johnny’s Halloween costume as planned. In the process Johnny had decided that Terese should have a costume, too. That she should be the pretty princess he claimed to have seen in a storybook. The pretty princess he insisted Terese looked exactly like.

  Terese had gently rejected the idea of a costume but her nephew hadn’t given up until she’d agreed to buy at least a rhinestone tiara that she could wear when she and Hunter took Johnny trick-or-treating.

  And now that they were home again and the little boy had had his bath and was ready for bed, he’d dug out the book he’d told them about to show Terese and his father, who sat on the end of the bed.

  “See?” Johnny said, opening the book and pointing to the picture of the princess. “You look just like her! She has long hair that she wears in a big braid like yours is now, and blue eyes that twinkle like yours, and some of those dots on her face.”

  “The dots are called freckles,” Terese said, peering over the tiny shoulder at the book.

  She didn’t see a resemblance between herself and the princess but it pleased her that Johnny thought there was one.

  “That’s why you have to be the princess for Halloween,” Johnny concluded. “You shoulda buyed more than the crown. You shoulda got the whole dress and everything. You woulda been pretty as the princess.”

  “Okay, enough about the costume,” Hunter said. “Just let Terese read the story so you can get to sleep or you’ll be too tired for your party or for trick-or-treating tomorrow night.”

  That was warning enough. Johnny handed the book to Terese. But not without a disclaimer.

  “It’s really a girls’ book. It just came in a box with some other books—boys’ books. You know, books about cowboys and soldiers and trucks and things. But I threw it out of my toy box once and it opened up when it landed and I remembered the picture and that’s how I knew it was you.”

  “I don’t know if this is a book that’s only for girls,” Terese said, putting a fair share of intrigue in her tone. “Usually if there’s a pretty princess in a story, there’s a handsome prince, too. And princes are boys.”

  “But do they ride horses and fight bad guys and stuff?”

  “Bad guys or ugly monsters, sometimes,” Terese said, opening the book to the first page. “We’ll just have to see.”

  The book was more pictures than story so it didn’t take long to read. And since there was, indeed, a handsome prince who rescued the princess on horseback from a fire-breathing dragon, Johnny was appeased.

  When Terese was finished reading to him, Johnny slipped beneath his covers and said his good-nights to Terese and his dad as if he were in a hurry to get to sleep so the next day would come quicker.

  Terese and Hunter aided that cause by wasting no time leaving the little boy’s room to go downstairs.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” Hunter asked her along the way. “We can still run by the store before we go to the preschool tomorrow and buy cookies.”

  “I’m sure,” Terese answered as she headed through the living room.

  Hunter had only remembered tonight that he’d drawn the honors of providing cookies for the next day’s Halloween party. When Terese learned that he intended to buy a package of them to bring, she’d offered to make them instead—tonight after Johnny went to bed. And since Johnny had supported that idea with enthusiasm, because he said the other kids’ mothers always brought homemade cookies, Hunter had conceded.

  But not without insisting that he help Terese with the chore.

  That was just fine with Terese, because even though she’d done a lot of cooking already today, she hadn’t done any of it with Hunter as her assistant.

  “You’re putting in a lot of K.P. duty,” Hunter observed as if he were providing another excuse for her to beg off if she wanted to.

  “I enjoy it,” she assured. “Think of it as my chance to dig in and get dirty.”
/>   “Ooo, I like the sound of that,” he said in the sexiest tone she’d ever heard.

  She knew it was only a teasing innuendo but it still set off little tingles of excitement in her—little tingles of excitement that stayed with her all the way into the kitchen.

  “Okay, where do we start?” he asked when they got there.

  “We start with rolling up our sleeves and washing our hands,” she answered as if he hadn’t just turned her thoughts completely away from baking.

  Not that baking had made as much of a resurgence in her mind as that suggestion might have indicated. There was actually no reason Hunter couldn’t have worked without rolling up the sleeves of his burgundy plaid flannel shirt. But making him roll them up meant that the thick wrists and forearms she found so intriguing would be exposed. Inch by inch. And all while she watched…

  Too, while he was at the sink and she was waiting her turn, she couldn’t keep from glancing down at his rear end encased in a pair of tight jeans.

  She was only human. And besides that bit of sexy insinuation that had just stirred her up, he had kissed her until her toes had curled the night before. Kissed her and roused a whole lot of feelings inside her that were still churning around today in spite of her best attempts to get rid of them. Feelings that were obviously brought to the surface again with very little provocation…

  “Your turn,” Hunter said, interrupting her train of thought as he dried his hands with a paper towel and moved out of the way.

  Terese regained herself in time to yank her gaze up from his derriere and look him in the eye before she replaced him at the sink.

  She’d changed clothes after dinner tonight to shed the fried-chicken smell that had infused her shirt and pants. But she hadn’t thought she’d end the day baking, and so she’d chosen a white blouse with an embroidered satin strip on either side of the crossover neckline. Despite the fact that it wasn’t the best choice for a chef’s smock, she didn’t want to change again. Besides, the sleeves were only three-quarter length, so she easily pushed them above her elbows.