by Sue MacKay
‘Friday afternoon. I’ll be back about six on Sunday night.’ A little smile flicked on. ‘Poppy is fine with children, in case you’re wondering.’
‘It didn’t cross my mind. You wouldn’t have accepted if you thought there’d be a problem.’ See? They did know each other well. Too well, if the memories his body had dredged up during the night were anything to go by. ‘If anyone’s in danger of being over-petted, it’s Poppy. She’ll be begging you to come home early. Dylan adores dogs.’
‘Good.’ She turned to open her car door.
‘Brenna,’ Hunter called. ‘I hope the weekend goes okay for you. I know how much you must miss Chris.’ Her father had been her rock after her mother had deserted them when Brenna had been a child, apparently not once letting her down. He still remembered her grief the day Chris had been diagnosed with dementia. Even though she’d been expecting it, hearing it for real had hit her hard.
‘It doesn’t get any easier, but somehow going to the cabin where we all had so much fun as a family helps. I don’t go very often any more.’
That was sad. ‘I guess I understand, but it seems a waste.’
‘Shane and I used to go a couple of times a year, but not any more.’
‘Shane?’
Her face closed down. ‘Another story.’ Flapping a hand at him, she slipped into her car and gunned the motor.
In a hurry to get away from him? His gut squeezed tight when it shouldn’t. There was no reason for Brenna to stay around talking about things he knew nothing about, like this Shane. Who the hell was he anyway? What was he to Brenna? He didn’t live with her. Wasn’t housesitting this weekend.
‘See you tomorrow when I collect the key to your house,’ he called to the taillights as she roared around the corner.
Hunter slammed his door shut and snapped on the ignition. Whoever Shane was, Hunter was sure he wouldn’t like him.
CHAPTER FOUR
HUNTER DRANK COFFEE and stared at the photos covering the wall before him. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted and he glanced around the room, but Brenna wasn’t there. She was still over on Vancouver Island.
But, hell. The images in front of him were her. Sure, the skiers were younger, taller, shorter, male, female, blond, dark—but all he felt, saw was Brenna. Like a painter, when she created a photo it came from within her, using her talent to bring the excitement, fear, joy out in the participant’s face, body, angles.
He could see them breathing, moving, and hear the skis on the snow. Draining his mug, he placed it on the mantel, and spoke aloud in an attempt to remove this sense of Brenna being here. ‘As for that parachutist, I’m up there with him, floating to the ground, absorbing the shrinking vista.’
No wonder she’d won an award. Her work was exceptional. Typical Bren, she mostly shared it with a team of teenagers who obviously played up the moment she focused her camera on them. Even the funny, cute photos of kids racing down the slope spoke to him of Brenna and how she enjoyed being a part of other people’s fun.
But it was the shots taken when someone was focused on winning and doing all in their power to make it happen that made his skin tighten. It was like she got into other people’s heads and knew what they were thinking, feeling.
‘Something to remember,’ Hunter muttered as he flicked off the lights and headed for the bedroom he was sharing with Dylan. No photos in there, thank goodness. He might get some sleep, unlike last night when he’d lain awake for hours, going through the good times they’d had, memories brought on by being in her space—a space he’d once shared.
So much for believing he was over her. He might’ve been, but now he doubted that. Lingering love in his heart? Or buried love now making itself known again? He could no longer deny how much a part of him Bren had been, and still was. Apparently, it wasn’t possible to cut her out of him.
Now what? That was the question. A hard one, at that. Did he really want to get back with Brenna? Six years in between when they’d both dealt with crises and moved on in different directions told him to be cautious. They weren’t the same people as the two who’d had everything ahead of them and had believed their love could survive anything. It hadn’t. If he did still feel something for Brenna it would be tainted by the past. His neglect of her when his parents had demanded his presence, her acceptance without a fight for him. His child was another biggie.
Bending over the bed, he gently kissed his boy’s forehead. ‘Love you, Dylan.’ He was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It might’ve been a disaster with Evie, but they’d made the most amazing kid between them. A child who’d forced him to look outside the circle that was his screwed-up family and go for what was important. Did that include starting over with Brenna? He had no idea. Did he think he might want to? The answer to that would have to wait until they’d spent more time together.
Shedding his clothes and slipping into the other bed, Hunter lay on his back, his hands behind his head, and stared upwards in the darkened room. A part of him felt as though he’d finally come home, but the other side of him was filled with wariness. Had he been working towards this? No, he could honestly say he hadn’t.
Yet the memories of the good times were rampant now he was in this house. He and Brenna had been so good together, like nothing else he’d ever experienced. She’d brought him alive in ways no one and nothing else had. The years back in Kamloops had toughened him, taught him that if anyone was to help him face up to what his parents were doing to him that had to be him, but he hoped the accident that had taken Evie’s life had made him more compassionate towards others. Dylan had certainly brought out a fierce protective streak in him, including keeping him safe from his grandparents. Yeah, there had been some good to come from the decision he’d made six years ago.
His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. ‘Hey, Bren, I’ve missed you.’ His short marriage to Evie had brought home what a stupid move it had been to leave Brenna. They could’ve made it work if they’d sat down and talked it through. But he’d been so determined to do right by everyone that he’d screwed up big time. He should’ve focused on the big picture, not only sorting his parents out.
Now what? He could hardly make it up to her—it was too late for that. Wasn’t it? Had she missed him? After she’d got over the initial shock of being dumped? But he was only just beginning to understand how much he’d missed her—all the time. It had taken seeing her again to start the truth unfolding, and now he had to decide if he liked that.
* * *
‘Dad, look, Poppy’s doing wees again.’
What was with this fascination with pee? Hunter shook his head at his son. ‘That’s what happens when you drink water.’
‘I don’t want any more, ever.’ Dylan loped along behind the dog to her kennel, where she lay down with the bone from last night’s dinner.
‘Yes, you do. It’s good for you. Give Poppy a break and come help me find the lawnmower.’
The whole street had gone crazy that morning, the strident sound of small engines blaring from yard to yard. The sun was out in full strength, hinting that spring was finally waking up. The less obvious signs were the green buds beginning to appear on the trees lining the street and the grass getting long.
‘Can I push the mower, Daddy?’
‘We’ll push it together.’ It would be a quick job since Brenna kept the grounds in top-notch shape. The key he’d found on the hook inside the boot room fitted the shed lock.
Dylan pushed past him. ‘It’s dark in here. There might be ghosts.’
‘If there are, they’ll be friendly.’
Hunter flicked on a light and stared at the array of gear in front of him. Bloody hell. She really had become an adrenalin junkie. A windsurfing board and its sail leaned against the wall nearest to him. There was a paddle board and pole with an assortment of life jackets. Nothing too dangerous there. The two mountain bikes
next to the board were as clean as the day she’d bought them, their wide tyres in perfect condition, but the scratches in the paintwork indicated a collision with the ground at some time. His heart squeezed tight. Brenna really did like living in the fast lane.
‘Nothing to lose, Brenna? Just your ability to move around as you like if you make a bad landing.’
Dylan was tugging the lawnmower towards the door. ‘Come on, Daddy.’
‘Let me do that, chum.’ He took the handle from Dylan’s small hand, looking back at that stack of gear.
Who are you, Brenna? Where’s the woman I loved?
Was this what their break-up had done to her? Or had she always had a hankering for adventure? There hadn’t been any indicators when he’d known her. A few hours riding a windsurfer on a calm sea down the road had been her idea of sporting fun. Now look at her collection of gear.
Hell, he’d gone back to Kamloops to run the orchard in an attempt to save it while also working in the local hospital’s surgical ward. All safe and serious. Necessary if he was going to help his parents, but he should’ve had more fun along the way. More than an odd beer with his friends, but he hadn’t had the energy left at the end of the day for more than looking after Dylan.
But I did have fun; with my boy.
Lots of great times squeezed in between all the hard work and stress that had gone on at the orchard. He’d organised Dylan’s third birthday party in the packing shed with robots and clowns for entertainment. Yep, there’d been good times in the last few years, most of them centred around his boy. If that made him boring, then he’d put his hand up. He was a father, first and foremost, and not too proud to tell anyone asking.
But he needed to start doing things for himself, like getting back into softball this summer, maybe coaching a junior team. He could try dating Brenna.
Like that was going to happen.
Crunch. Splat. The mower’s engine raced.
‘Dad, look where you’re going. That was Poppy’s ball.’
Once again Brenna had messed with his head.
* * *
‘Sorry, the ferry was late leaving Victoria,’ Brenna called out as she barged into her house on Sunday night and headed to the kitchen, where she dumped her bags. ‘I didn’t expect you to stay until I got back. I do have another key.’ But it was lovely seeing him here. Especially when she felt restless and sad.
Hunter was standing behind the bench, looking right at home and devilishly handsome in his navy-blue jersey and blue and white checked shirt. ‘Dylan didn’t want to leave Poppy on her own.’ He grinned.
‘They got along, then?’
‘Inseparable. Though Poppy’s take might have something to do with the food titbits she received whenever I wasn’t looking.’ His grin widened. ‘I know it’s not healthy for a dog to eat toast and honey, but routine takes over again as of now.’
‘As long as chocolate wasn’t involved, I can live with that.’ Brenna opened the fridge to retrieve the bottle of wine she’d put in there on Friday for a pick-me-up when she got home, knowing how drained she’d feel after the emotional weekend.
‘I told Dylan chocolate makes dogs very sick. He wants to know when we can come and stay again.’
‘You’d have to fight Gina for it. She’s always looking for a chance to get away from her flatmates and their boyfriends.’ Damned top wouldn’t crack open. ‘Anyway, it’s unlikely I’ll be away again before you shift into your house.’
‘Here, let me.’ He took the bottle from her hand, got a glass from the cupboard and poured her drink, before picking up his beer and raising it to his lips. Lips she’d had the hardest time forgetting since Wednesday. ‘Dylan will be disappointed, but then he doesn’t know I’m going to get a dog when we’re in our own place.’
‘Where is he?’ She’d met the cute little guy, a replica of his dad without the lines on his face and worry in his eyes, on Friday when they’d arrived early with their overnight bags and groceries so that she could introduce Poppy to the boy.
‘Fell asleep in his dinner. I put him to bed until I’m ready to leave. He’s been running around outside non-stop all day. And before you ask, Poppy’s sprawled on the mat beside the bed.’
‘That explains my non-welcome home.’ Parking her butt on one of the stools at the counter, she sipped the wine, and finally allowed full rein to the exhaustion bugging her. ‘It’s good to be home.’
‘A big weekend?’ he asked gently.
His concern was like old times. ‘Very. I don’t know why this one was more intense than usual when it’s now three years since Dad went. Mum cried a lot, and Em and Lily weren’t much better.’ Nor was she.
‘There’s no finite date for moving past something as hard as losing someone you love. Some people swear you only need a year; one anniversary for all the important dates you shared. Others say it happens when you’re ready.’
‘I thought I was.’ That was before Hunter had reappeared in her life and stirred up a load of memories. Not all those memories were about them in bed together, or laughing, sharing food, dates. Some were from the times they’d spent with her family at the cabin, and during the weekend she’d been very aware of those occasions. ‘The maple tree we planted three years ago has turned up its roots. I’m going back with a new one when spring’s settled in.’
Hunter laughed. ‘Chris and his maple trees. Not to mention the syrup he poured over his breakfast every day. That man had the sweetest tooth I’ve ever known.’
It was nice hearing Hunter laugh over something she, Mum and the sisters had cried about more than once since Friday. Dad had had the sweetest tooth ever and originally planting the tree had been about acknowledging that. ‘Nothing was safe from his bottle of maple syrup.’ Brenna smiled. ‘Hard to believe how much he got through and still had normal glucose levels. Even on his worst days with dementia a dollop of syrup made him smile.’ She brushed her eyes before lifting her glass to her mouth.
‘You’re the same about chocolate. I had to put a lock on the pantry to keep Dylan out.’ Another laugh filled the air between them. ‘You need another pantry for normal food. There’s no room in that one.’
‘I try not to eat too much, but it is my go-to treat.’
‘No wonder you’re into aqua jogging. It’s got nothing to do with those teenagers at all. You’re your father’s daughter.’
‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘I am.’ Nothing like her birth mother, except for the over-the-top curly hair and mud-coloured eyes. ‘I found my other mother two years ago.’ Sort of.
Hunter leaned his elbows on the counter, his legs splayed behind him, and locked his eyes on her as he sipped from his bottle of beer. ‘How did that go?’
He knew how much she’d wanted to meet up with the woman who’d given her life, even if only to tell her how cruel she’d been to desert her and her dad. ‘Dad left me an envelope not to be opened while he was alive.’ The wine sweetened her mouth when it might’ve turned sour. Because she was with Hunter? Breathing deep, she smelt something hot and savoury and tasty. ‘What’s cooking?’
‘My pine nut and chicken casserole. I figured you might not have had dinner and thought we could share a meal. If you want to be left alone I won’t take it with me. Not all of it.’ His smile was devastating because it was kind and gentle and all about doing something for her. It undid some of the knots that had formed the first day he’d walked into the rescue base.
‘Dinner sounds delicious, and I’m more than happy to share. After I’ve finished this glass and poured another.’ This was her private time—Hunter notwithstanding—to have a drink and think of her father in the context of the anniversary without looking out for Mum, Emily and Lily. It had been a difficult weekend, everyone sad, but at least they had been there for each other and able to let their hair down, say anything they liked, and no one took offence. They’d all unreservedly adored Dad.
Although there was one thing she would’ve liked to have had out with him. ‘Dad didn’t want me to know about my birth mother while he was alive.’ It wasn’t as if she’d missed out on getting to know the woman because of his reticence, but he still should’ve told her. ‘Unbeknown to anyone except Mum, he’d been trying to find her for years. All he’d had to go on was that she came from Australia.’ Apparently, her birth mother hadn’t been big on sharing facts about herself.
‘Big country, that.’
‘Which makes it all the more remarkable that he eventually found her family. Two sisters living in Perth. My aunts. They didn’t have much to say except that my mother had returned to Australia after leaving us, and she’d died from cancer not long after.’ She’d never mentioned Brenna or her father to the sisters. ‘They got a shock when Dad got in touch, and I gather it took photos to prove he wasn’t lying. Once they accepted the truth, they got all concerned he was after the family fortune.’
‘That’s not like Chris at all.’ Hunter locked eyes with her. ‘Or you.’
‘I don’t think the aunts believe me when I say I don’t want a cent of it, but they’ll get used to the idea eventually, I guess.’ Hunter knew her well. Right now, feeling decimated from the emotional two days, it was hard not to fall into the depth of his steady, reassuring gaze, to fall and hold on until the sadness drained away. Hard, but not impossible, if she straightened her spine one vertebra at a time. ‘I flew out to meet them, and learned I have cousins as well.’ Four, all determined not to make her a part of the family. No doubt because of that fortune.
Hunter took her glass from her clenched fingers and topped it up. ‘They hurt you.’ He understood without being told.
Another notch of emotion dropped away. ‘They want nothing to do with me.’ All she’d wanted had been familial recognition, to be able to phone them occasionally for a yarn about what she’d been up to and in return hear what they’d been doing. Instead, she’d received the same lack of interest and concern as her birth mother had given her. None, except for the determination to keep her from the family coffers.
