by Jillian Hart
“Meant it to be.” Warmth, kindness, strength. He moved in, stood beside her, gazed out at the field. “You’re a good mom.”
“Just trying to be half as good as mine was.” A lark flew by and landed on the porch rail, tweeting a merry tune.
Life, so vivid and bright and magnificent, surrounded her, yet the sadness from the hospital remained, clinging stubbornly. She wasn’t sure why, but the feel tonight of shadows in the air and impending darkness made her remember the night her mother died of an aneurysm. It had been sudden, without warning and final. One minute she was doing the supper dishes and the next she’d tumbled to the floor lifeless.
“When your mom looks down at you from heaven, she’s proud of you.” Hunter winced, shook his head, took a few steps back. “Think that’s my quota of touchy-feely for the year.”
“I’m totally shocked you have a quota at all.” She blinked, trying to clear her blurry eyes. Did she want him to know he’d touched her deeply? No way, no how. “You really have changed, Hunter. There’s a crack in those iron walls you keep around your heart.”
“Don’t let that get around. The rumor would spread and the next thing you know, my reputation is shot.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She bumped his arm with her shoulder, like old times. He tipped his hat back, revealing a tender gleam in his eyes as he folded a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the way he used to.
She pressed her cheek against his hand, just slightly, unable to stop herself. His gentle touch. It soothed her heavy soul and she longed to step into his strong arms and cuddle against his chest, to lean on him.
“He’s sure sound asleep.” Hunter broke the moment, turning away. “Want me to carry him in?”
No. That was what she should say. “That would be nice.”
With a tip of his hat, Hunter moved away like a part of the coming night. She followed the shadows up the grass to the porch steps and turned the key in the dead bolt, her every sense attuned to the man. The pad of his step, the squeak the truck door made when he opened it, the rustle of blanket and clothing as he gathered the boy into his arms.
She propped the screen door open, tumbled into the entry way and stared at the TV set up in the living room. It was a sleek, slim-screen model, but hooked up and ready to go on a stand brought down from the attic. She sniffed and smelled carpet cleaner in the air. Sure enough, the carpet looked slightly damp. The screens were fixed, there were mousetraps set in the kitchen, the smoke detector blinked overhead, alive once again.
“You did this, didn’t you?” She accused him the moment he appeared in her line of sight.
“I found your list. Couldn’t help myself.” Hunter swung through the open doorway, Simon in his arms. “Are you mad?”
“Pretty much.”
“Fine, let me have it. I can take the hit.” He didn’t look worried. “Where do you want him?”
“My old room, end of the hall, the bed near the window.” The words grated up her throat. Overwhelmed, exhausted, she leaned against the wall, fighting the burn behind her eyes. She could cope with disliking Hunter, she could handle never seeing him again. But his kindness? No, it was too much. It was the one thing she couldn’t handle.
Chapter Twelve
The last time he’d seen Millie that exhausted had been after her mother died. Troubled, he fumbled through the dark room, stubbed his toe on the foot of the bed and bent to lay the sleeping bundle on top of the covers. Slack with sleep, the boy snuggled into his pillow, lost in dreams.
Weight settled on his chest, compressing his ribs. What would have happened if he hadn’t driven Millie away back then? What if he’d realized she’d really been asking him to open his heart and love her? If he had, maybe he would be a father by now, putting his son to bed. Not that he could imagine it. Him, a father? Not likely. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It was a cozy feeling, watching the boy sleep and hearing Millie’s footfalls in the hallway, knowing she was near.
“Thanks, Hunter.” She moved silently, brushing past him. “Sure.” He walked away, snapping out of it. What was he thinking? Marriage and family were a misery he didn’t want. He left her to cover Simon with a light blanket and turn on the fan. The weight on his chest grew, making it hard to breathe. He tugged the envelope from his pocket, every item checked, and set it face up on the coffee table. He’d done what he came to do. Time to go.
“Hunter?” The moment his boots hit the porch steps, her voice called him back. She stood behind the mesh screen, biting her bottom lip. He saw the crinkle above the bridge of her nose and knew what it meant.
“You’re unhappy.” He unbuckled his tool belt. “What did I do wrong?”
“Just about everything.”
“That’s nothing new.”
She stalked out onto the porch, gilded by the last long rays of sunlight, framed by the bright crimson and purple of the encroaching sunset. “I wondered where my list went. How did you get it?”
“Found it in your truck the day I drove it.”
“And you just took over without asking me?” She stormed down the steps, a formidable force for so small a woman. Lips pursed, gaze narrowed, slender hands fisted.
“Uh-oh. You look a little mad.” He lowered his tool belt into the back of his truck. “I was just trying to help.”
“You can’t walk into my life and take over.” Her voice cracked.
Poor Millie. Time to face it. He cared. He always had. Always would. “I thought I could stand by and mind my own business, but I can’t take seeing you unhappy.”
“Well, you’ve made it worse. Having you here like this, pitching in the way you used to—” She didn’t finish, ducking her chin to stare at her toes. A muscle ticked along her jaw line. “Look at me. Unhappy.”
“Yeah, I see. But it was my only option. You’re overwhelmed trying to handle everything. No one, not even super Millie, can do this alone.” He added the extra lumber leaning against the fender into the truck bed. “You might not want help, but you need it.”
“Fine, maybe you’re right.” The last sunlight bled from the sky, cloaking her, and slid away to leave her in shadow. “But does help have to come from you?”
“Yes. Some habits are tough to break.” He grabbed the last board and tossed it in. “Apparently, I’ll always be here for you, given the chance.”
“No, no, you really aren’t.” She lifted her chin, stalking toward him, hardly aware of anything but the upset driving her. “Sure, here you are taking care of things for me. But you don’t get it. All this does is remind me of all the times you were never there for me.”
“Hey, I was always there for you.”
“You do all this, but what I really need—” She winced, realizing what she’d almost said. She didn’t need him.
“Hey, Millie.” His fingers beneath her chin forced her to meet his gaze. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing, not one thing.” She felt like an idiot, so angry at him for being thoughtful and neighborly. “You’re being a nice guy and I want to throw something at you.”
“No doubt I deserve it. Let’s see what’s around. There are some rocks, a couple of sticks in the flower bed. The hammer from my tool belt.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh. You’re being so wonderful and I—” Was it guilt tearing at her? Or the fact that his chest looked so strong, the safest harbor she’d ever known? She wanted to be tougher than this. She needed that harbor again, wanting to rest, just to rest, in his arms for one brief respite. For one moment, to close her eyes and listen to the beat of his heart and let his comfort surround her.
Need him? That would be the worst mistake.
“Millie.” As if he read her mind, his arms folded around her, drawing her against his warmth. His voice rumbled in her ear. “It’s all right. Just relax. It’s going to
be okay.”
It really did feel that way. She pressed her cheek against his cotton tee and rested against him. At last. It felt like coming home to the place she’d always belonged. She let her eyelids drift shut. The steady thump of his heartbeat filled her ear, his muscled arms held her tight as if nothing—not one thing—could hurt her. Weary, she drew in his strength, felt the fan of his breath in her hair and held on.
Never wanted to let go.
Night fell softly, the shadows darkened and an owl hooted in a nearby tree. She felt his lips against the crown of her head, a tender and chaste kiss, and the gathering of his muscles told her he’d had enough. Gently he pulled away, he was the one who always pulled away. She rocked back onto her heels, standing on her own steam, separate from him, feeling oddly bereft.
“Guess I’d best get home.” Caring. It shone in his eyes, deepened his voice and extended the closeness between them, a closeness neither of them wanted.
“It is getting late.” She bit her lip, holding back the obvious. They’d tried that before, it had failed. For all the ways he’d changed, he remained uncomfortable with emotional closeness. Would he treat a son that way, too? There for him in all ways except the ones that really mattered?
“Is there anything else I can do before I leave?” The warmth in his tone had never been like this, but he took a step back, pulled his keys from his pocket, leaving. Always retreating.
Just stop wishing he’d keep holding you, Millie. She wasn’t ready to let him go. How sad was that? The worst mistake she could make would be to fall for him a second time. “No, go home. I’m just really tired.”
“Then go to bed. Get some sleep. Don’t worry about the morning milking. Brandi, Milton and Cal have it covered. I think Jerry’s pitching in again.” He pulled his keys from his pocket, his silhouette black against the night. “You’ll probably be heading to the hospital tomorrow?”
“First thing.” Stars blinked to life and spilled a silvery glow across the yard, lighting her way to the porch. “I’m thinking about asking Brandi to stay with Simon tomorrow, do a little babysitting. What do you think?”
“I’m sure she’d love to. I’ll let her know.”
“Hunter, you’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” He planted his foot on the running board, hesitating, wondering what he’d done now.
“Forget it. Probably impossible to get you to stop.” A half smile closed the distance between them, turning yards into inches. The power she had over him boggled.
“Okay. Whatever I did, I’m sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe it’s best to apologize up front.”
“Good strategy.”
She stopped on the porch step, awash with starlight, surrounded by darkness. Tenderness ached within him with a force he could no longer deny, a force he’d never known before. It was a power that held no regard for the barriers around his heart. Ridiculous, feeling this was. He wasn’t foolish enough to go down that road with Millie again. Love was for saps and fools. Love failed you. It always let you down. End of story.
But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want it to be like that.
“Good night, Hunter.” Something that sounded strangely like affection knelled in the soft notes of her alto. Affection? No, that couldn’t be right. Millie had never really loved him. How could she care about him now?
“See you tomorrow.” He had to fight his instincts to go to her and protect her from the world. He gritted his teeth, held his ground and popped into the truck. “I’m praying it’s a better day for you.”
“Thanks for everything you’ve done. The list. Everything.”
“My pleasure.”
She lifted three fingers in a little wave. His instincts shouted at him to go back to her, but he had to do what was right. Giving in and caring for her would be a colossal disaster, even if she seemed utterly solitary, sweet Millie without her smile.
Just be smart and drive away. He closed the door, plugged in his key and rolled down his window. Her back to him, she opened the screen door, stepped into the light and disappeared from sight. The door closed, the living room lights blinked on and here he was, hurting over her.
Lord, help me. He sent a prayer heavenward because he needed fortitude. Getting himself to stop caring for Millie would take Herculean willpower. Maybe even a miracle.
He backed around and nosed his truck down the driveway. The lights snapping on through the house filled in his rearview. He thought of Millie. The scent of her lilac shampoo clung faintly to his shirt and like a key turning the lock on his heart, he could not stop the click. Maybe it was inevitable.
* * *
Hunter. Why couldn’t she get him out of her mind? Millie’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, yanking hard to manhandle it around a curve in the road. She blinked against the too-bright sunshine, her eyes were sensitive from a bad night’s sleep.
Again, Hunter’s fault. He’d been the reason she’d tossed and turned, praying for sleep. Morning had come and even well into the day, the brush of his kiss in her hair and the security she’d felt in his arms still dogged her. It had followed her around all day at the hospital, talking to doctors, listening to test results and now on the drive home. Hunter.
Why couldn’t her gray stuff come up with something else to dwell on? There were certainly plenty of other things to worry about. Namely, her passenger in the truck, which would be her father.
“Bet this is a disappointing day for you.” Whip leaned propped up against the locked door, halfway sitting and lying down. “Having to bring me home like this. You were probably hoping that’d be it for me.”
“Of course I don’t want you to die.” Honestly. She gave the truck more gas, watching the speedometer needle zip upward. It had been a long day. “Why would you say something like that? To upset me?”
“Upset you? Girl, you’re too sensitive. I’m saying it because it’s fact. Don’t think when I’m gone that you’re getting the farm. That’s why you really came back, didn’t you?” Cold blue eyes glittered. “What? You don’t have anything to say? Not even a tear of disappointment?”
The last turn in the road never looked better. Relief poured through her. If only this drive would end. “I know you’re not feeling well. Maybe you should close your eyes and rest.”
“Not feeling well? I’m dying.” A spiteful grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, turning his hollow face skeletal. “I know that’s something you can’t face. You pretty it up with fairy tales of heaven and a kindly Father. You’re weak-minded. That’s why you’re after my money.”
Bite your tongue, Millie. Don’t say what you think. The man is coming home to die. She wrestled the truck off the road and bumped up the driveway, as she was going a tiny bit too fast. She hit the breaks, experienced a mild case of whiplash, and gave thanks from the bottom of her heart. They were home. Hallelujah.
“Hey, Millie!” Brandi looked up from her paperback, where she rocked back and forth on the porch swing. “Simon and I got your dad’s room all ready. Fresh sheets, new batteries in the remote. Even have lunch in the oven.”
“You are a gem. Thank you.” Her sneakers hit the ground and she choked in the powdery dust rising up from the driveway. “That was beyond the call of duty.”
“I like to stay busy. I couldn’t help myself.” She plopped her book on the cushion beside her. “It’s my nature.”
“So I see. Did you mow the lawn?” She blinked, realizing how short it was, glittering green and neatly trimmed.
“No, Hunter did yesterday, but we watered it this morning, didn’t we, Simon?”
“Yep.” He stood up clutching his handheld video game. He thumbed up his glasses, the adhesive tape holding them together beginning to fray. “We went into the shed to find a hose. Things are living in there, Mom.”
�
�Great.” She shivered, making a note to either scare out whatever creatures had taken up residence or never to go in the shed at all. The latter sounded like the best deal. She rescued her purse from the seat and tugged out the brand-new glasses case. “Here you go, kiddo. Try to make these last more than a month.”
“No guarantees.” Simon loped over. “Hi, Grandpa.”
Nothing but a grunt by way of an answer. Dad must have run out of steam. Being mean looked mighty exhausting.
“We’d better get him in.” Bracing for more verbal abuse, she circled the truck with Simon dashing companionably ahead of her.
“Look! It’s Hunter.” A grin split the boy’s face as he went up on tiptoe to wave.
A pickup lumbered up the driveway, towing a horse trailer. Sun glinted and sparkled off the windshield as the truck stopped. Dust flew, the door opened and an artery strummed in her throat at the sight of the strapping man hopping to the ground. So not prepared to see him again.
“Oh boy!” Simon took off, feet drumming. “I thought you’d ride him over or something.”
“Not if I wanted to bring all his things.” Hunter tipped his hat, his gaze sharpening when he spotted her. “Hope now’s a good time?”
“Sure. As good as any.” Why did her voice crack like that? Because she couldn’t stop remembering last night tucked in his warm arms, that’s why. Was he remembering it, too?
“Is that Whip in the truck with you?” He ambled closer, slow and easy, like a man who wasn’t affected by why he’d held her last night. As stoic as granite, his gaze collided with hers. “Why isn’t he at the hospital?”
“I got tired of arguing with him.” She shrugged. “So I gave in and brought him home."
“Don’t trust those places.” Whip’s mouth compressed into a sour line. “They’re full of doctors.”
“I see.” Hunter strode closer, his dark piercing gaze unwavering. “Millie, you look exhausted. Worse than yesterday. Didn’t you get any sleep?”
“I had a lot on my mind.” How did she tell him he was the cause?
