A young couple, James and Annie Drake, holding hands as they hurried up the sidewalk, grinned at Hunter and Margie as they approached. The man had brown hair and thick glasses, and his grin was reflected in his eyes. “Hi Margie. Hunter, it’s good to see you back.”
“Good to be back, James,” he said, and the tone of his voice was almost convincing.
Except that Margie knew he didn’t really want to be here. So who, she wondered, was acting now?
“Annie, good to see you, too. How’re the kids?”
“Oh, they’re fine,” the tall blond woman said, smiling at Margie. “Just ask your wife. She helped me ride herd on them during the last council meeting.”
“It was no trouble,” Margie put in, remembering the three-year-old twins, who were like tiny tornadoes.
“Is that right?” Hunter asked.
“Don’t know what this town did without her,” Annie said. “She’s helped everyone so much. And she has so many amazing ideas!”
Margie gave her friend a wan smile and wished Annie would be quiet. She could feel the tension in Hunter’s arm, and it was getting tighter.
“Oh, now that I believe,” Hunter said with a squeeze of her shoulders. “She’s just full of surprises.”
“Oh, yeah,” James added, “Margie’s a wonder.”
“So I keep hearing.”
Hunter’s arm around her shoulders tightened further, and Margie deliberately leaned into him, making his gesture seem more romantic than he meant it to be. The fact that the moment she was pressed to his side, heat spiraled through her system like an outof-control wildfire was just something she’d have to keep to herself.
“Well, we know you’re busy,” James was saying. “We just spotted you and wanted to thank you personally for everything you’re doing for the town. Folks really appreciate it.”
“Yeah,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “About that…”
Was he going to admit to these nice people that he hadn’t had a thing to do with making their lives better? Would he tell them that Margie had been making up his involvement?
Annie interrupted him. “Just having the new day care center at Cabot headquarters has been a godsend,” she said, slapping one hand to the center of her chest as if taking an oath. “Margie told all of us how important you felt it was that the mothers who worked for you be able to leave their kids in a safe place. Somewhere close where the moms could work and still be close to their children.”
“Did she?”
Margie felt Hunter’s gaze on her but didn’t turn her head up to look at him, afraid she’d see anger or disgust or impatience in those cool blue eyes of his.
Tears swamped Annie’s eyes, but she blinked them away with a laugh. “God, look at me. Getting all teary over this! It just means a lot to all of us, Hunter. I mean, I need the job, but having the kids nearby makes working so much easier on me.”
“Good,” he murmured. “That’s real good, Annie, but the thing is…”
“See, honey,” Margie said quickly, determined to stop Hunter before he could disavow himself of everything these people were feeling. “I told you, everyone in town is so pleased that you’re taking an active interest in Springville.”
“She’s right about that,” James said. “Why, the newly redone Little League field and all of the flowers planted along Main Street…” He stopped and shook his head. “Well, it just means something to know that the Cabots are still attached to the town they built, that’s all.”
“Hunter’s happy to do it,” Margie told them, smiling and leaning even harder into her husband’s side.
“We just wanted to thank you in person,” James said, tugging his wife’s hand. “Now, we’ve got to run. Annie’s mom is watching our two little monsters, and she’s probably ready to tear her hair out by now.” Nodding, he said, “It really is good to see you, Hunter.”
“Right. Thanks.” Hunter stood stock-still on the sidewalk as the happy couple hurried off, and Margie felt the tension in him through the heavy arm he kept firmly around her shoulders.
“Well,” Margie said softly, trying-and failing-to peel herself off Hunter, “I suppose we’d better go on to Carla’s Dress Shop now.”
“In a minute,” Hunter said, tightening his arm around her until she could have sworn she could feel every one of his ribs, every ounce of muscle, every drop of heat pouring from his body into hers. “First, I want you to answer something for me.”
She swallowed hard, tipped her face up to his and found herself caught in his gaze. “What?”
“Why’d you do it?” he asked, features stony, eyes giving away nothing of what he was feeling. “Why’d you let everyone think that it was my idea to do all these things around town? Why didn’t you just do whatever it was you do without dragging me into it?”
“Because I’m your wife, Hunter,” she said. “It only made sense that you be a part of all of the decision making.”
“But I never asked for this,” he argued, his eyes going icy as he looked at her. “I didn’t-don’t-want to be responsible for this town.”
Margie shook her head and saw more than she guessed he would want her to. Whether he would admit it or not, he loved this place, too. She’d seen it in his face as they walked along the familiar street. She’d heard it in his voice when he greeted old friends. And she’d felt it from him as the Drakes offered their thanks for everything he’d done for them and everyone else.
“Don’t you see, Hunter,” she said softly and reached up to cup his cheek, voluntarily touching him for the first time. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what they need. The people in Springville need to feel that they’re important to the Cabots. And like it or not, you are the Cabots.”
Five
“Nonsense,” Simon said. “There’s no reason for you to leave, and I won’t accept your resignation.”
Margie sighed. She’d known that telling Simon she’d be leaving at the end of the month wouldn’t be easy. But after spending several hours in Springville with Hunter, she’d realized that she’d never be able to stay once her “marriage” was over. How could she?
Once Hunter left, every time she went into town, she’d have to see pity on the faces of her friends. They’d talk about her and speculate about what had gone wrong in her “wonderful” marriage.
She just couldn’t stand the thought of it. This place had been a refuge for her. A place where she’d found friends and a sense of belonging she’d never known before. She didn’t want any of that to change. So to protect herself and her memories of this place, she had no choice but to leave.
“You have to accept it, Simon.” Margie shook her head sadly. “I’ll be leaving at the end of the month. I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” the old man said, lips pinched as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “Hunter’s not an idiot, you know. He’ll open his eyes. See you for who you are. Everything’s going to work out fine. You’ll see.”
If a part of her wished he were right, she wouldn’t admit to it. Because her rational mind just couldn’t believe it. She and Hunter hadn’t exactly gotten off to a smooth start. “Simon, he thinks I’m a gold digger.”
The old man barked out one short laugh. “He’ll get past that fast enough. I told him I had to force the money on you.”
“About that,” she said, wincing inwardly. Margie had never wanted the five million dollars, but Simon had been adamant about her accepting it. All she’d ever wanted was an honest job and to be able to support herself.
She hadn’t married Hunter for the money. She’d done it for Simon. And, she admitted silently, because she’d liked the idea of being married. Of being wanted.
Stupid, Margie, really stupid.
She should have known that she had been walking into a huge mistake.
“Don’t you worry about my grandson, you hear me?” Simon said, pushing up from the chair behind his desk. He walked slowly toward her, linked his arm through hers and headed toward the door. “I’ve kn
own Hunter all his life, and I’m sure he’s going to do the right thing.”
“According to him, the right thing is to have me arrested.”
He laughed again and patted her arm. “Just trust me, Margie,” he told her, ushering her into the hallway. “Everything’s going to work out.”
“Simon-”
“Not another word, now,” he admonished, holding up one hand to still anything else she might have to say. “You just be yourself and let me worry about Hunter.”
Then he closed the study door, shutting Margie out and leaving her to wonder if he’d even heard a word she’d said. Probably not. She’d learned in the two years she’d worked for Simon that his head could be every bit as thick and stubborn as his grandson’s seemed to be.
For the next few days, Hunter suffered through oceans of gratitude. Stoically, silently, he accepted the thanks from people he’d known his whole life for things he hadn’t done.
Margie had been right, he knew. The people in Springville did need to know that their jobs, their lives, were safe. And around here, that meant having the Cabot family take an interest. Be involved.
And his “wife” was the Queen of Involved. She was on a half dozen committees, spent some of her day with Simon, taking care of business matters, and then what time she had left, she devoted to being the Lady of the Manor.
Hell. Hunter rubbed one hand across his face and told himself to knock it off. Yes, he resented all of the time and effort she was putting into Springville, but this was mainly because he still hadn’t figured out why she was doing it. And why was she giving him so much credit for everything she’d done? What the hell did she care if people in town hated or loved him? What did it matter to her if the Little League field had been replanted and new dugouts constructed for the kids who would play there this summer?
Why was she so damn determined to carve a place for herself in this little town? And why was she dragging him along with her?
It’s not about what you want, Hunter. It’s about what they need.
Those words of Margie’s kept repeating in his mind, and he didn’t much care for it. He’d never thought about the town and his attachment to it in those terms, and a part of him was ashamed to admit it, even to himself.
“But damn it, I don’t need a teacher. Don’t need this woman who’s not even my wife making me look good to a town I don’t even live in anymore.” He shook his head, glared out at the wide sweep of flowers spread out in front of him and muttered, “I didn’t ask her to do it, did I? I didn’t ask to be the damn town hero.”
“You talking to yourself again, Hunter?”
His head snapped up, and his gaze locked on the estate gardener watching Hunter from behind a low bank of hydrangeas. How much had the man heard? How much did he know? This pretending to be something he wasn’t was driving him nuts. Just as being married to a curvy, luscious redhead he couldn’t touch was beginning to push him to the edge of his control.
Sleeping beside her every night, waking up every morning to find himself holding her close only to jump out of bed and rebuild her damn wall before she could wake up and discover his weakness.
Weakness.
Since when did he have a damn weakness?
Taking a breath, he told himself to play the game he’d agreed to play. To get through the rest of the month and reclaim his life. When the month was over, he’d find a woman. Any woman, and bury his memories of Margie in some anonymous sex. Then he could get back to the base and do what he knew best.
“Just what planet are you on, Hunter?”
The gardener’s voice came again and Hunter muttered a curse he hoped the older man couldn’t hear. “Didn’t see you there, Calvin.”
Not surprising, since the man was practically hidden behind the massive pink and blue blooms dotting the rich, dark green leaves of the bushes.
“Don’t see much of anything since you’ve been home, if you ask me,” Calvin said, dipping his head to wield his pruning shears. The delicate snip of the twin blades beat a counterpoint to the lazy drone of bees dancing through the garden.
Hunter shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans and walked toward the old man who’d been in charge of the Cabot gardens for nearly forty years. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hmm?” Calvin lifted his head briefly, shot him a glance and shrugged. “Just seems to me a man who’s been apart from his wife for months on end would spend more time with her and less wandering around the estate talking to himself, that’s all.”
Hunter sighed. “That’s all?”
Calvin’s bristling gray hair wafted in the cool breeze, and his pale blue eyes narrowed on Hunter. “Well no, now that I think on it, maybe that’s not all.”
Hunter reached out, ran one finger along the pale pink petals of the closest blossom and slid a glance to the old man watching him. “Let’s have it, then.”
“You think I don’t notice things? I’m old, boy, not blind.”
“Notice what, Calvin?”
“How you watch that little girl of yours when she’s not looking. How when she is looking, your eyes go cold and you look away.”
Hunter scowled. Since when had Calvin become so damn perceptive? “You’re imagining things.”
“Now I’m senile, then? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“No,” Hunter said quickly, then shoved his hand back into his pocket. Tough to be a hard ass with a man who’d known you since you were a kid. “It’s just…complicated.”
Calvin snorted a laugh. “You always did make bigger mountains out of mountains, boy.”
“What?” Hunter laughed shortly as he tried to figure out what Calvin was talking about.
“No molehills for you. Nope. You look at something hard and make it impossible. Never could see what was right in front of you for staring out at the horizon. Always looking for something even though you wouldn’t know it if you stumbled on it.”
Hunter would have argued, but how could he? The old man was too damn insightful. Hunter had spent most of his life looking past the boundaries of this estate to the world beyond Springville. He’d wanted…more. He’d wanted to see other places, be someone else. Someone besides the latest member of the Cabot family dynasty.
And he’d done everything he’d wanted to, hadn’t he? He’d done important things with his life. He’d made a difference. Shifting his gaze across the garden and the wide stretch of neatly trimmed grass that ran down to the cliff’s edge and the sea beyond, he thought how small this place had once seemed to him. How confining. Strange that at the moment, it looked more welcoming than anything else. As if this place had simply lain here, waiting for him to come home.
Hunter frowned thoughtfully and wondered just why that notion all of a sudden felt comforting.
“Calvin?”
The sound of Margie’s voice shattered Hunter’s thoughts completely. He turned toward her and felt something inside him shift, like a bolt pushing free of a lock.
She stood in a slice of sunlight on the stone patio and Hunter’s breath caught in his throat. She wore a green silk shirt with an open collar and short sleeves, tucked into a pair of form-fitting linen slacks. Her incredible hair was lifting in the wind caressing her, and it danced around her head like a curly, auburn halo. Her grass-green eyes were fixed on him as he stared at her and Hunter couldn’t stamp out the hunger she was probably reading on his face.
Why the hell had he bought her new clothes?
Margie’s heartbeat thundered in her chest, and her mouth went dry under Hunter’s steady stare. Even from a distance, she saw him clench his square jaw as if fighting an inner battle for control. And somewhere inside her, she preened a little, knowing that just looking at her was in some small way torturing him.
At first she’d been uncomfortable wearing clothes that defined her too-voluptuous-in her opinion-figure. As if she were walking around naked or something. She wasn’t used to people-men-looking at her the way Hunter was now. Always b
efore, she’d sort of blended into the crowd. She’d never stood out, never been the kind of woman to get noticed.
For the first time in her life, Margie actually felt pretty. It was a powerful sensation. And a little frightening. Especially since Hunter didn’t look too happy with whatever he was thinking.
Well, she reminded herself, it was his own fault. He was the one who’d insisted on buying out half of Carla’s Dress Shop. He was the one who’d approved or vetoed everything she’d tried on. Which had really annoyed her until she’d gotten into the spirit of the thing and had pleased herself by watching his eyes darken and flash with hunger every time she appeared in a new outfit.
The arrogant, bossy man had, it seemed, painted himself into a corner of his own design.
“Did you need something, Margie?”
“What?” The voice seemed to come from nowhere. Hunter’s gaze was still locked on her, and he hadn’t spoken-she was sure of it. Tearing her gaze from the man who was her temporary husband, she saw the estate gardener giving her a knowing smile.
“Calvin. Yes. I mean, I did want to ask you something. I was wondering if you’d mind providing a few bouquets for the dance tomorrow night. No one’s flowers are prettier.”
“Happy to,” the older man said. “Anything in particular?”
She shook her head. At the moment, she couldn’t have discerned the difference between a rose and a weed anyway. “No, I’ll leave that up to you.”
“You’re in charge of flowers, too?” Hunter grumbled.
“I’m helping.” And why did she say that as if she were apologizing? She didn’t owe him an explanation, and why did he care what she did anyway? In the few days he’d been home, he’d gone into town only that one day when they’d had their shopping expedition. The rest of the time, he remained here, at the house, as if he were…hiding?
Even as she considered that, she discounted it. Why would Hunter Cabot want to hide from the very town in which he’d grown up? He wasn’t the kind of man to avoid confrontation or uncomfortable situations.
An Officer And A Millionaire Page 6