by Jillian Hart
The carpet muffled his gait as he crossed the living room. A bunch of cardboard boxes still flattened and waiting to be folded leaned against the wall. Others had been made into boxes, half full of picture frames, books and what looked like a serious collection of old Western DVDs.
He caught sight of her in Whip’s room on her knees sorting clothes from an open dresser drawer. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice him, so he took a moment to notice her. Strain bunched tightly in her delicate jaw. She’d drawn her dark hair into haphazard pigtails. She wore an old white T-shirt a size too large with a streak of dust across one shoulder. Her cheeks seemed hollow and dark circles bruised the skin beneath her eyes. Her movements were jerky as she shook out one of Whip’s shirts, studied it and tossed it in a box.
She must have spotted him out of the corner of her eye. Her spine snapped straighter. Her jaw muscles clamped ever tighter. She didn’t look at him as she scooped another shirt from the drawer. “Hunter, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Simon told me about Whip.” Awkward, not sure if he dared to come closer, so he hung in the hallway. “I’m sorry about Whip.”
“Thanks.” She hurled the shirt into the box, her tone clipped.
She was holding in a lot of pain. If this had been yesterday and before he’d known the truth, he would have knelt beside her and gathered her in his arms. He would have let her lean on him and hold her against his heart. He’d have let his softer feelings for her rule him.
But not today.
“Hunter, because you’re here we should talk.” She pushed off the floor, moving slowly. His guess she’d been up all night. “About Simon. I—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” His words boomed in the hallway, magnifying them, and he winced. Not so hard, Hunter. You have to make this work. “This isn’t the time. I’m still too mad to talk this through.”
“I see.” She bit her lip, that vulnerable little crinkle setting in above the bridge of her nose. “That’s wise. It must take some time to adjust to news like that.”
“You stole my son from me.” Iron control, he reminded himself. “I can never get those years back. It’s going to take a long time before I can accept what you did.”
Again, harder than he meant. He watched her shoulders sink in agreement. Millie was a good person, and that made this harder because it wasn’t black and white. He pulled a check out of his pocket and thrust it at her. “It’s nine years of child support.”
“No.” She held up her hands, backing away. “I can’t accept it, Hunter. Not your money.”
“Too bad.” He dropped the check on the dresser. “You will take it. I don’t know what kind of father I am yet, but I’ll never be the kind who doesn’t support his son.”
“Fine, but I can’t accept it.” She glanced at the amount scrawled across the face of the document. “It’s way too much.”
“That’s your guilt talking.” Again, too harsh and it wasn’t what he meant. How did he tell her that behind the fury was hurt? “It’s what a judge would have made me pay if I’d known. You’ll take the money. That’s the end of it. Now, I have a question for you. With Whip gone, how much longer will you stay here?”
“Just long enough to clear out the house, help the attorney with the estate and make sure the animals are taken care of. No idea how long that will take. Probably a few weeks.” She crossed her arms over her chest, a barrier over her heart, and asked the question she dreaded most. “Are you going to fight me for custody?”
“No, but I want him to stay with me for a while this summer.”
“For h-how long?” Air stalled in her chest. She’d never been apart from him, aside for a few sleepovers he’d had at friends’ houses.
“For as long as it takes. Face it, when you’re done here you’ll need to find a new place to live. I’m assuming you still want to go back to Portland. It might be easier on Simon to stay here with me while you hunt for an apartment. Plus this way I can get time to know my son.” Not a flicker of emotion marked his face. Cold, controlled anger radiated from him.
Didn’t he know her guilt was too much to deal with? Besides, how could she say no? “You want him for just a few weeks, right? Until school starts?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fight you for custody.” What could have been a hint of tenderness broke the intense force of his gaze. “All I want is to be a part of his life. That seems fair.”
“More than fair.” Especially for a man who hated her and what she’d done. Hunter really had changed. “It would be good for Simon to spend time with his dad.”
“Then we’ll work out the details later.” He turned to go and hesitated, seeming uncomfortable. “I’ve always been afraid what kind of father I’d make, but I l-love that little boy. I’ll do my best for him. If I fall short of being a good dad, I can count on you to point it out.”
“That’s a promise.” Tears prickled behind her eyes. He had no idea what his words meant to her. This was about Simon. It had always been about Simon.
“You probably have things to do at the funeral home and with the lawyer, huh?” He took a step back, putting more distance between them. “I know this can’t be easy for you.”
“Keeping busy helps. I have errands to run. Things to do for the funeral.” Pictures to go through, flowers to order and decisions to make on the service. “I can’t believe he’s gone. It’s such a shock. I thought there was more time, you know, that he would be here a while longer. But his heart just stopped.”
“If it’s easier, I can keep Simon busy today for you.” Cords stood out in his neck, evidence of his tight control.
“Good idea. Hanging with you might be better for him than tagging along after me.”
“Okay.” His hands fisted at his sides, his only reaction. “I’ve got hay to cut. He might like helping me drive the tractor.”
“I think he would.” This was what their relationship had become. Polite conversation and so much distance between them Jupiter felt closer. Her gaze slid to the wide expanse of his chest, remembering how comforting it had felt to lay her cheek there and feel his arms fold around her.
You don’t need him, Millie, she thought, but it wasn’t true. She needed him with all the depth of her spirit and every fiber of her being.
“All right, then. Call when you want me to bring him back.” Rigid, a controlled force, his indifferent gaze raked over her, betraying no emotion. He pivoted, his back to her, and didn’t say goodbye.
Time to admit one more undeniable truth. She didn’t just need him. She loved him, the man he had become, and he would never feel the same way. He didn’t have it in him.
Chapter Sixteen
“That was cool.” Simon bounced through the sunshine, full of pent-up energy. While being cooped up in the air-conditioned tractor for a few hours had been exciting, it hadn’t run him down any. “I think I’m a pretty good driver.”
“I’d say so.” Funny kid. Hunter had let the boy take the wheel, and although some of the cuts hadn’t been exactly straight, the boy had gotten a kick out of it. Sharing the time with his son had put a cozy feeling in his chest he’d never felt before. He liked it. He led the way around the barn. “Glad Brandi took over for us. Now come on over here. I want you to meet somebody.”
“Who?” Simon skipped along beside him, up and down like a yo-yo. Watching him made the cozy feeling go up a notch.
“It’s one of my best buddies.” He cut around the back of the barn and slipped two fingers into his mouth. The shrill whistle echoed across the field. Two acres away, a red horse looked up from grazing. The gelding answered with a nicker and a head toss and sailed across the green pasture toward them. “That’s Dakota.”
“Awesome.”
The sorrel gelding really was. A registered American quarter horse with a champion lineage and a big heart, Dakot
a was one of the best working horses around. The animal loped up to the fence with majestic grace and a flip of his silky mane. His chocolate eyes zeroed in on the little boy. Eager to say hello, Dakota arched his neck over the top rail and lipped Simon’s shirt. The boy laughed, the horse snorted and they were friends.
“I like him.” Simon tipped back his head gazing up at Dakota’s immense beauty. “I’m guessin’ he can really run fast.”
“So fast he beats my brother’s horse every time.” Hunter ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “Want to help me saddle up?”
“Oh boy. Do I get to ride him?”
“We’ll ride him together to your place, how’s that? Then we can round up Sundae and start your first riding lesson. What do you say?”
“I say it’s a plan. Oh boy, this is really gonna be fun. Can Mom come, too? Her horse is there and everything.”
It was incredibly hard to look in those eyes and say no. But how could he say yes? Hanging around Millie was not how he wanted to spend his time.
“We’ll have to see. C’mon.” He took Dakota by the bridle, opened the gate and led the horse to the barn. He showed his son how to saddle a horse. The boy talked the whole while, watching every step of the process while Dakota stood companionably, lipping the kid’s hair every time Simon bounced into range.
He’d saddled up thousands of times in his life, but doing it with Simon changed everything. He wasn’t prepared for the cinch of emotion around his chest, banding tighter with every breath. His natural instinct was to shut it down and close it off, but it was too late to even try. What he felt was too great and powerful to stop.
“Are you ready to ride, cowboy?” He slid his boot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle.
“Sure. Maybe we can see how fast he can run, what you do think?” Simon squinted up at him.
“Let’s take it one step at a time. Step one is learning to stay on the horse.” He took his foot out of the stirrup for Simon, caught the boy’s hand and up he went.
“Wow.” The kid settled onto Dakota’s back. “This is like in Grandpa’s movies, except we aren’t in the Wild West.”
“Well, some folks think there is a lot of the Wild West left in Montana.” He gathered the reins in one hand. “Hold on and I’ll show you.”
In answer the boy’s arms snaked around Hunter’s waist and wrapped tight. The band around his heart tightened hard and fast with love so forceful that it ached in his chest.
Instead of taking the paved road, he nosed Dakota along the pathway up the hill. Betty mooed as they passed, tail flicking. The roll of Dakota’s gait, the clop of his shoes on the earth and the sweetness of riding with his son made it a stellar day. A day he would remember forever. This was the start of his life as a dad.
Simon asked this and that, and Hunter did his best to answer. They followed the path up the hill along a shady grove of trees. Every step the horse took brought them closer to the Wilson property. His anger returned when he thought of Millie.
What had she been doing keeping a secret like that? How many times had she had the chance to tell him the truth since she’d been back? He’d filled in milking for her, fixed her roof and finished her to-do list and not once while he’d been right there in front of her was she honest with him.
Dakota stepped around the trees, onto the Wilsons’ driveway and the house came into sight. Hunter’s gaze shot to the windows and there she was. Her ponytail swung with the force of her cleaning as she washed the living room walls with a scrub brush. Not the casual swish of someone doing a light cleaning, but the hard, I-mean-business scouring of a woman on a mission.
He closed his eyes, willing the image of her from his mind. He refused to let the softer feelings he harbored for her rule him. Somehow he had to get control of them. Stay angry. Stay in control.
“Mom! Look!” Simon’s holler caught her attention. She looked up, set down the brush and came to the sill.
“I see.” She smiled out, giving the window a shove to open it wider. Her dark hair escaped her ponytail and framed her face in sleek gossamer curls. “You are quite the horseman.”
“Just like my dad.” Simon’s arms, clasped around Hunter’s waist, tightened. “I think I’ve got the saddling thing figured out, so we’re gonna try it on Sundae.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Can you come and ride, too?”
“I’ve got cleaning to do, kiddo. Maybe tomorrow, though. You two have fun. Give me a holler if you need some juice.” She adeptly avoided his gaze, Hunter noticed, as she backed into the room.
Not so fast. “Hey, Millie.”
“What? Do you need some juice?” She arched a brow at him with a hint of humor.
“No. I’m wondering what you’re doing in there.” The wall of his chest went tight, his muscles bunching protectively. “It’s not your home anymore. It’s part of your father’s estate. Why are you cleaning it?”
“Because I don’t want whoever buys this place to have to do a ton of work before they move in.” She shrugged her shoulders in a this-is-no-big-deal way. “Someone from the bank is coming out tomorrow after the funeral. I want it to be presentable for them.”
“Right.” He clamped his teeth together, struggling with anger that he was beginning to realize wasn’t really anger. Because she really wasn’t at fault. No, not Millie. She’d never changed. He could see it now. She’d always been sweet and good and strong. All her life she’d done her best for others—her father, her mother and now her son. Millie always did the right thing, not the easy thing.
Maybe it was the way the sunlight caught her for one moment in the house, burnishing her with a soft glow. The image flashed him back ten years to the last evening he’d spent with her. Beneath his defensiveness had lurked a small voice he hadn’t bothered to listen to. That was the night she’d tried to tell him the truth, he could see it now. And she was right. He remembered what he’d said when she’d asked if he ever wanted a child. No way, he’d told her. Not under any circumstances. I’d jump off a cliff first.
He hated how those words must have hurt her. How was she to know that that harsh statement was more about his fears of turning out like his father than anything. That wasn’t her fault. He saw the past in a whole new light.
“Time to dismount, cowboy.” He offered Simon his stirrup and lowered the boy safely to the ground. Dakota, standing patiently, gave a low-throated nicker, as if calling the child over for another round of affectionate nibbling.
Leather creaked as he swung down. He caught sight of Millie through the windows, emptying a pail of wash water in the sink. Regret hit him so hard that his knees buckled. There were things he needed to say to her, but not with Simon around.
“C’mon, kid. Let’s get Sundae saddled.” He held out his hand and the boy’s palm met his, small and trusting, sealing the bond.
* * *
Regardless of how hard she tried not to glance out the window, her eyes betrayed her. She went to throw away the ancient vacuum cleaner’s dust bag, and when she walked through the kitchen, she saw him helping Simon with Sundae’s saddle cinch. Or when she put out food for the cats, the rich timbre of Hunter’s voice murmured across the field. Each time she looked away, places in her heart stinging.
You knew it would turn out like this, she thought, putting the box of cat food kibble back in the pantry. She drew the door shut, her movements echoing in the empty house. She felt empty, too, as if sorrow had carved a chunk out of her. She leaned her back against the counter, staring out at the back porch where two gray heads popped into sight, making sure she was a safe distance from them before scampering to their food bowl.
She took a sip of lemonade from the glass she’d left on the counter. The ice cubes had melted into little slivers. Simon’s laughter sailed in through the open window, drawing her attention. Just seeing her boy happy
lit her up inside. He was the bright spot in her life and always would be.
But Hunter was something else entirely. He was never going to love her. He’d never let his walls down. She had to be tough enough to close the doors on her heart and pretend she wasn’t in love with him. In time, maybe she could even convince her heart of it.
The rumble of an engine drew her attention. John Denton hopped down from the cab of his box truck with the logo from his secondhand store painted on the sign. He waved at her, striding up the walk.
“Sorry I’m late,” he called through the screen door she opened for him. “I had a customer who took her time deciding on a purchase and I didn’t want to rush her.”
“No problem. The furniture isn’t going anywhere on its own.” She led the way into the living room. “Would you like some iced tea or lemonade?”
“No, thanks.” He whipped open the cover of his tablet computer. “Mind if I wander around on my own, or is there anything specific Whip’s attorney wanted to get an estimate on?”
“My instructions were to let you look around. Let me pull down the attic stairs for you—”
“I can get it, Millie. Looks like you’ve been working hard around here.” John had a kind smile as he gestured toward the kitchen counter where her glass sat half-full. “Go ahead and finish your break. I’ll poke around on my own. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”
“Okay.”
“Looks like your boy is having fun.” He passed by the window. “Hunter’s turning him into a true Montana boy.”
“Apparently. Simon’s doing well with his first lesson.” It was impossible to miss the boy’s wide grin as he sat astride the mustang, riding in large circles in the field.
“I’ll say.” John nodded his agreement. “He’s posting already? He’s a natural rider, just like his mother.”
