by Devney Perry
“Here.” Hunter bent to pick them up.
“No! Don’t touch those!” I swatted his hands away as I scrambled to shove everything back in the blue tampon box. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I’ll get them.”
Hunter’s deep chuckle filled the room.
“No laughing,” I hissed as I stuffed the tampon box back under the sink and pulled out the first-aid kit.
He just kept on laughing. “Come on, admit it. It’s kind of funny.”
“Absolutely not! I hit you. Again! That’s twice now that you’ve scared the bejesus out of me and I attacked you. This is bad. This is so, so bad.”
“Maisy, I’m fine,” he said as his laughter drifted off. “I just need a washcloth and a Band-Aid.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. I was a nurse, remember?” I grabbed a washcloth from a drawer and held it under the warm water.
“Yeah? Well, I’m a—”
“Hold still and no talking.” I stepped into his space and pulled his hand away from his gash. “If you need stitches or have a concussion, we need to figure that out right away. This could be serious.”
“For the last time, woman, I’m f—”
“Shush!”
Hunter frowned and glared up at me but stopped talking.
“Okay. Here goes.” I pulled in a deep breath and readied the washcloth. Gently, I pressed it to his wound, cleaning the cut and giving it a good look. It wasn’t deep and wouldn’t need stitches, and since he didn’t wince or move, it must not have hurt much. All he’d need was a butterfly bandage and some antibiotic ointment.
“You’re fine,” I breathed as my shoulders fell.
“I recall telling you that once or twice.”
I ignored his sarcasm and continued with my examination. “Are you dizzy? Light-headed? Seeing white spots at all?”
“I’m. Fine.” He took the washcloth from my hand and stood, pushing past me to stand in front of the mirror over the sink. He rifled through the first-aid kit, found a bandage and closed up his cut. “See? All better.”
As my panic faded, a level of embarrassment the likes of which I’d never felt before took its place. I sank down onto the toilet seat and hung my head, burying my face in my palms. “I’m so sorry. For the cut. For going a little, um . . . crazy. God, I’m sorry.”
I waited for the sound of the opening door and his retreating footsteps as he ran far, far away from this crazy lady, but instead he crouched in front of me.
“Hey.” He pulled my hands away from my face. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“This is not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is. What are you doing up cleaning at this hour, anyway? Is everything okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to just get up and do some work. What about you?”
“Couldn’t sleep either. I was actually just leaving for Wade Lake. I thought I’d head up and see if I could catch the sunrise for your picture.”
“You were?” I whispered.
His gentle eyes answered my question.
Was this guy for real? How was he still here?
Maybe I’d paid my dues with the jerks of the world and Hunter Faraday was my reward.
“Do you want to wake up Coby and come with me?” he asked.
Rousing my three-year-old from his bed before dawn would be the absolute worst decision as a parent. Sleep for kids was so critical and a few extra hours would put me ahead on my list for the week.
But none of those facts stopped me from whispering, “Yes.”
Hunter smiled and stood, holding out a hand to help me up. I gave myself two heartbeats to savor the feel of his skin on mine, then I went into Coby’s room and scooped him up, grabbing his favorite blanket for the trip to my car. Coby didn’t wake up once, not as I walked down the stairs or as I was buckling him into his car seat and covering up his bare feet.
Meanwhile, Hunter jogged around to the parking lot and grabbed his camera from his truck, and when he came back, he took the keys to my car and drove us all to Wade Lake.
Sitting on the hood of my 4Runner with Coby asleep in the back, I watched as Hunter took his first photo for my inn. The sunrise over the lake was gorgeous, but mostly I sat and stared at Hunter.
I had forgotten how good it felt to fall for a man.
Too good.
I just hoped it wasn’t too good to be true.
The week after Hunter had taken us on our early morning trip to Wade Lake went by in a frantic, frazzled, freaking mess.
I’d gotten an influx of spur-of-the-moment reservations on top of my previously scheduled bookings. On top of that, my part-time housekeeper had come down with the flu. So instead of ticking off items from my renovation list, I’d spent my days cleaning and doing laundry to turn over guest rooms.
By Sunday, my bookkeeping was overdue, my loft was a disaster, and Hunter’s housekeeping room looked exactly the same as it had the night I’d clobbered him with the tile. I had given up on anything I’d deemed noncritical including doing my makeup, eating lunch, and, unfortunately, spying on Hunter from my loft window.
Since Hunter had gone back to his normal early morning, late-evening routine, I hadn’t seen him all week. Our only communication had been through sticky notes. I’d leave him a smiley face or a Hi! on the Tupperware meals I delivered to his refrigerator each day. He’d respond with emptied containers and a scribbled Thank you.
Except on Friday. Friday, he’d left me a note with his phone number, asking me to text.
My fingers had never typed a text so fast.
For the last day and a half, any time my phone dinged, I would stop whatever I was doing and race to my phone, smiling whenever I saw Hunter’s name on the screen.
“Mommy!” Coby called from his room. “Is he here yet?”
“Not yet, buddy. Pretty soon,” I yelled back from the kitchen.
Hunter wouldn’t be here for another twenty minutes. He was coming over to spend another Sunday afternoon with us and we’d planned on getting lunch at the café and then going to the pond to take some photos of Coby fishing.
My son was bouncing-off-the-walls excited.
So was I.
It had only been a week but I missed Hunter. Last Sunday, he had made a lasting impression. I missed his smile. I missed hearing his voice. I missed the smell of his cologne, which had faded from my car.
Twenty minutes. I only had to wait twenty minutes and I’d have it all back.
I went back to my massive pile of dishes in the sink, hoping I’d have them done before Hunter got here, when my phone rang on the counter. I rushed over, wet hands and all, hoping it was him wanting to come over early.
“Darn,” I muttered seeing the unknown number. It wasn’t uncommon to get calls from blocked numbers for the inn, and since I’d forwarded the lobby phone to my cell, I cleared my throat to answer. “Thank you for calling The Bitterroot Inn. How can I help you today?”
The line was silent so I waited a few seconds. “Hello?”
Still no sound. I lifted the phone away from my ear just as a woman’s voice finally came over the line. “Hello. Is this The Bitterroot Inn located in Prescott, Montana?”
Double darn. Not a potential guest, a telemarketer. As much as I wanted to just hang up, I couldn’t do it. So I’d listen, multitasking as I waited for the sales pitch I’d politely decline.
“Yes, this is The Bitterroot Inn.” I sandwiched the phone between my shoulder and cheek and went back to my dishes.
“May I speak with Maisy Holt, please?”
“This is Maisy.”
“The same Maisy Holt who murdered Everett Carlson four years ago?”
The plate in my wet grip slipped right out, crashing into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “Who is this?”
The woman didn’t answer.
“Who is this?” I demanded through gritted teeth.
When she didn’t answer, I hung up. Tossing my phone aside, I braced my arms on the counter and closed my
eyes, taking a few long breaths to calm down. This wasn’t the first time I’d received a phone call like that and they always made me angry.
The first year after Everett’s kidnapping, I’d been hounded relentlessly by the press. Everyone wanted to sell my story—or their version of my story—hoping it would make them a few dollars. The fact that I’d declined comment without exception just made me that much more interesting. That much more of a challenge.
Some reporters had been ruthless in their attempts to get me to comment, saying anything and everything to make me mad so I’d slip. Some reporters were nicer, offering me money or a TV exclusive, but I’d always declined those too.
My story was my business and didn’t belong in the headlines. The only person who would get an explanation was Coby, when the time was right.
Why was I even considered news after all this time? Weren’t there other topics far more interesting than my simple little life? With phone calls like that to bring it back up, how was I ever going to move past that horrific night with Everett?
Work. I’d get back to work and busy myself until my anger was buried deep.
Doing just that, I finished the dishes and cleaned my kitchen. Then I dusted the living room until a knock sounded at the door.
Coby flew out of his room, sprinting past me with Pickle trying to keep up.
“Wait up, bud.” I jogged over to the door as he was attempting to yank it open. “It’s locked.”
I checked the peephole first, making sure it was Hunter, and smiled when I saw his man bun. Flipping the deadbolt, I swung open the door to see his handsome face. He grinned and my world was better. Gone was the stress from the past week and the annoyance from that reporter’s phone call.
“Hunter!” Coby yelled as Pickle yapped.
“Hey, Coby! What’s happening?” Hunter asked, ruffling my son’s hair as he came inside.
“We’re all going fishing!”
“I’m pretty excited,” Hunter told him. “Do you think I’ll catch the biggest fish?”
Coby shook his head. “No way.”
“Maybe I will.” My statement earned me two misbelieving looks.
Hunter leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, back.”
“Are you guys ready to go?”
I nodded. “Yes. I just need to grab our stuff.” I was about to order Coby to get his shoes and hat but he had already plopped down on the floor to pull on his Crocs.
I hustled to the refrigerator to get the white Styrofoam cup of worms I’d dug up from my flower bed yesterday, and with it in hand, I grabbed Coby’s fishing pole from the corner. I slid on my shades and locked the loft’s door, following Hunter to the 4Runner, where he was already buckling in Coby to his seat.
My stomach was full of jitters, but the good kind. The kind that only came with a crush.
“Do you still want to grab lunch?” Hunter asked as he drove.
“Yes, please. I’m starving.”
He took us straight to the café where the Sunday after-church crowd was starting to thin so we were lucky enough to get a booth by the window.
“Want to play tic-tac-toe?” Coby asked Hunter, flipping his paper place mat over and digging for a pen in my purse.
Hunter’s shocked face came to mine. “He can play tic-tac-toe?”
My mouth spread in a proud-mom grin. “I taught him a couple of months ago. He’s getting the hang of it.” I leaned in closer to whisper. “But he always needs the middle square.”
“Middle square. Got it.”
Hunter and Coby played a few games, Coby always the victor, until our waitress brought over a kids’ menu and crayons. With our orders placed and Coby contentedly coloring a dinosaur picture, Hunter and I caught up on the crazy that had been my last seven days.
“I thought you said tourist season normally didn’t start until the middle of May.”
I sighed. “So did I. But I’ll get caught up. I always do.” I might not sleep much this week, but I’d get through my list. “How about you? How was your week?”
“Good.”
I smiled on the outside though his one-word answer made me cringe on the inside. If our friendship developed into an actual relationship, I’d have to tell Hunter how much I hated one-word answers. But as it was, my mouth was staying shut. If he wanted to say “good” and leave it at that, I’d suck it up.
The decision I’d made last week at Wade Lake was still holding strong. I would not be nosy. I didn’t know what Hunter did for a living. I didn’t know if he’d gone to college. I didn’t know if he preferred grape jelly over strawberry. The questions were right on the tip of my tongue but I swallowed them down. When Hunter wanted to share, I’d be all ears.
For now, I’d let conversation about my life monopolize our time.
“Is your housekeeper feeling better?” he asked.
I nodded. “She is, thank god. She’ll be back tomorrow and is going to pick up some extra hours this week. I need it too. I’m still one room short because I’m trying to get the remodel finished.”
“Which room?”
“Seven. Right next door to you. I’m painting it tonight after Coby goes to bed.” Michael had already volunteered to come over and sleep on the couch so I didn’t have to worry about Coby.
“You’re painting it tonight?” Hunter asked. “Why not wait for tomorrow?”
“My fault. I put it off for too long. I have to paint it tonight because the carpet gets installed tomorrow with the trim. Then once that’s all done, I still need to get it furnished, decorated and cleaned.” It would be hectic but if I could punch out that room, it would take a huge weight off my shoulders.
“Can I help with anything? I’ve got good furniture-moving muscles.”
That was no joke. I could see the contours between his biceps and triceps underneath the fitted quarter-zip he was wearing.
I smiled to myself, noticing that we nearly matched today. Jeans. Gray quarter-zip. Tennis shoes. At least my shirt was light while his was nearly black and his shoes weren’t lime green like mine.
“Maisy?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” I blushed and smiled at my water glass. “I was just noticing that our clothes kind of match today. Anyway, I’ve already recruited my brothers to help with the furniture. Thank you, though.”
Hunter was still a paying guest, and although he was doing my photos, I couldn’t bring myself to ask for more help and risk taking advantage.
“How did your meeting with your contractor go yesterday?” I asked.
He’d texted and said they were doing a walk-through of the remaining construction items. I was secretly hoping it would take longer than he’d guessed just so he would be at the motel a little longer. Even if I didn’t get to see him much, it was comforting just to know he was there, sleeping right underneath my loft.
“The meeting was okay. Just like I’d guessed, it’s going to be another month at least.”
“Bummer.” I sipped my water to hide my grin.
“It’ll be worth the wait. Did I tell you my property is right in the foothills going up the road to Fan Mountain?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’d kind of guessed. There isn’t a lot of new construction in Prescott. There are some pretty big houses up that way.” I had narrowed his house down to one of two that were currently being built in that area. One was massive and the other was big but tasteful. I really hoped his was the latter.
He nodded. “Yeah, some are huge. I think mine will be the smallest for miles.”
Yes! I fist pumped under the table, glad that Hunter wasn’t the type to go for gaudy extravagance just because he had money.
The waitress arrived with our food, ending our adult conversation. Instead of grown-up talk, we spent the rest of the meal fielding kid questions from Coby. Thanks to my son’s interrogation, I learned that Hunter was not afraid of sharks, he had never been to the moon, and his favorite color was blue.
After Hunter paid the
lunch bill, we took the short drive down Main Street to the community pond.
“Stay back from the water!” I called to Coby as he ran across the grass toward his favorite fishing rock.
“Okay, Mommy!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Cool spot,” Hunter said as we walked. “Does all of this water come from the river?”
“Yeah. It was built back in the fifties. The town dug the pond and then a channel to feed the water from the Jamison. They stock it with fish—”
“Come on, you guys!” Coby yelled.
Hunter and I both laughed and picked up our pace. I hurried to get Coby set up with his fishing pole while Hunter got out his camera. Casting out the line for Coby, I stepped back so Hunter could capture a few pictures without me in the shot.
Once he was done with the photos, Hunter took over casting for Coby. Cast after cast, we didn’t say much until Coby caught a fish and our trio broke out into cheers. I used my phone to take a video of Coby reeling it in with Hunter standing proudly at his side.
“Smile for a picture.” I did a photo burst of Coby and Hunter before they unhooked the fish and set it free.
“That was fun!” Coby cheered.
“It sure was. Do you want to stay longer or are you all done?”
“Um.” His eyebrows came together as he considered his answer. “All done fishing. When we get home, can Hunter watch Cars wif me?”
Hunter smiled. “I don’t have any other plans.”
I smiled back. “Then let’s go watch Cars.”
Coby squealed and raced back to the car.
“I can hang with him if you want to get ahead on your painting,” Hunter offered as we walked to catch up.
“Thank you, but that’s okay. I’ll just do it tonight when he’s asleep. I haven’t gotten to spend much quality time with him this week and a movie with some popcorn is more important.”
Hunter’s steps slowed, a strange look on his face. It was the same look he’d given Coby the first time he’d seen my son by the vending machines. Puzzled wasn’t the right word to describe it, though his eyebrows were knitted in the middle. Awestruck, maybe?
“What?”