by Jillian Hart
“I’m afraid so.” They were used to a large chain store in Portland bursting with selection. This little place had ten aisles—short aisles—and hadn’t been remodeled since she’d left town. The fifties decorating scheme added charm, but it didn’t come close to impressing her son. She smiled and rubbed his shoulder encouragingly. “Maybe their pizza selection isn’t too bad. See the refrigerated cases along the back wall? Why don’t we go check ’em out?”
“Okay.” Leading the way like an intrepid explorer who just discovered the terrain was much more perilous than expected, Simon shoved the cart ahead of him.
“Millie? Millie Wilson? Is that you, dear?” An elderly voice quivered with excitement.
Millie skidded to a stop. Up ahead of her, Simon did, too. He turned around with curiosity bright in his dark blue eyes. So much for getting in and out of here without running into someone she knew. “Mrs. Hoffsteader, how are you?”
“Fine, just fine. I can’t believe my eyes. Little Millie, all grown up. I almost didn’t recognize you.” The white-haired lady tapped up with her loaded cart, her cane hanging on the handlebar. Her smile turned serious. “I suppose you’re back in town to help with your father.”
“Yes.” She nodded at Simon, letting him know to go ahead without her. Not only was the pizza case in plain view, but she was a little afraid of Myra Hoffsteader’s sharp gaze. What if someone recognized Simon’s dimples and dark blue eyes a shade lighter than his father’s?
“Whip has his faults and he’s the hardest man I’ve ever met, but I hate to think of anyone ill.” Compassion wreathed the woman’s lovely face. “It has to be hard for you, too.”
“I’ll be fine. Wherever I am, I’m not alone.”
“No, God is watching over us all, and that’s the truth.” Myra’s gaze narrowed, perhaps eager to bring up a certain subject. “He’s still in town, you know.”
“H-Hunter?” She gulped for air, nearly choking over the name she hadn’t spoken aloud in so long that it felt foreign on her tongue. The one name she’d once loved most of all.
“In fact, there he is, walking this way.” She nodded her silver head in the direction of the front windows where a tall, wide-shouldered man stalked across the parking lot, his Stetson brim tipped to hide the sun. All she could see of his face was the firm, unyielding line of his mouth and the square manly cut of his jaw.
Hunter. Her heart rolled slowly in her chest, flipping upside down. Hunter, here, after all this time. And so close. She stumbled a few steps back. Her first instinct was to run. She cast her gaze down the aisle where Simon stood in front of the glass doors, fist to his chin in thought.
There was no reason why Hunter would suspect, she told herself. But those words didn’t comfort her. “Mrs. Hoffsteader, it’s been good seeing you, but honestly, I don’t want to be standing here when Hunter walks through that door.”
“I understand, dear. He broke your heart.” Sympathy softened her voice. “I suppose you’ve got a lot on your plate tending your father. That’s enough adversity for a girl to deal with. You go on now.”
“It was good running into you.” Millie backed down the aisle, taking refuge between the tall shelves of cooking oils on one side and spices on the other. “I’ll see you Sunday?”
“Absolutely. I’ll keep an eye out. We’re having a church picnic. Rumor has it that you are a Christian now. Be sure to come.”
“I’ll try.” She glanced toward the door—it whooshed open, meaning Hunter was almost in sight, so she took off. No way would he recognize the back of her as she skedaddled down the aisle.
“They had pepperoni.” Simon smiled, dimples flashing, holding up the box. “It’s the large size, but that’s okay. The coupon covers it.”
“Good boy.” She glanced at the price tacked inside the case, but it was hard to concentrate with her heart drumming a thousand beats a second.
“I found a coupon in there for cookie dough.” Simon’s gaze slid sideways to the rolls of premade tubes sitting in bright yellow packages. “It’s okay if we can’t afford it, but they just look good.”
“Yes, they do.” Impulsively she yanked open the door and snagged a roll of chocolate chip, Simon’s favorite. She heard a man’s boots thud nearby, a gait she’d know anytime and anywhere, it was sewn into the fabric of her being.
Hunter. His step hesitated directly behind her. Her blood pressure rocketed into the red zone. He tugged at her like a black hole’s gravitational field—a force she had to resist. Her palms went slick. She slowly set the dough tube in the cart. Maybe if she didn’t make any sudden movements, he wouldn’t look her way. Let him go on with his shopping without noticing her. That way she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye and feel her heart break all over again.
“Mom?” Simon grasped the bar and gave the cart a shove. “What’s next?”
“Uh—” She stared at Hunter’s reflection in the glass refrigerator case. He was tall enough to steal a woman’s breath, well-built in a country sort of way—those were solid muscles beneath his T-shirt. His dark hair, still thick, tumbled over his forehead. Her fingers remembered the silken feel of those locks. If he wasn’t wearing that Stetson, his hair would stick up just a hint at the crown, where a cowlick whirled.
She swallowed hard, feeling a bump against her elbow. Simon. She saw her reflection, too. Not the youthful girl she’d been when Hunter had loved her, when the most handsome man in the county had chosen her as his girlfriend. Time and hardship had worn their way onto her face. Faint creases marked the corners of her eyes, the plane of her forehead and bracketed her mouth. No, she was so not the girl she’d been.
That wasn’t the reason she didn’t answer her son right away. What if the sound of her voice drew Hunter’s attention? She pointed to the dairy case. Simon turned the cart with a rattle and headed toward the egg cartons lined up in the next case over.
There was a thump behind her as something landed in Hunter’s cart. Wheels squeaked and boots knelled on the tile. Thank the heavens above, he walked away in the opposite direction. Thank You, Lord.
Relief blasted through her. She risked a glance over her shoulder just as he turned down the next aisle, his attention on his shopping. Iron jaw, granite features, he’d become a man who looked harder than she’d remembered—the father of her son.
Chapter Two
Guilt wrapped around her as she faced the little boy checking the prices on the various egg cartons.
“This is the best price.” Simon slipped it into the basket. “I got a carton of milk, too. The generic stuff. We don’t have coupons for either of ’em.”
“That’s okay. We need bread and peanut butter next.” And ice cream, she remembered through the rattled terrain her brain had become.
Hunter. She wanted to get a better look at him and see how deep that rock-hardness went. He’d been tough but tender in their teen years, but it looked as though time had hardened him more.
Maybe he was too harsh for anyone to reach. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d married—he’d been very clear on his opinion of matrimony. Nothing but a ball and chain for a man and misery for a woman, he’d told her. There’s not one thing on earth that would ever make me do something that stupid.
Sure, he’d been twenty-two at the time and embittered by his father’s betrayals. She hadn’t seen, until too late, how she’d been attracted to a man similar to her father—too remote and unfeeling to ever soften, a man who became more unreachable as the years went by.
Her heart broke a little walking away.
“Mom.” Simon held up a loaf of bread. “Score.”
“Good job.” She grabbed a pint of ice cream, not bothering to check her coupons.
“Mom?” Simon clunked a jar of peanut butter into the cart. “What else?”
“Crackers.” She plucked several cans of he
r dad’s favorite soup off the display.
“Roger, captain!” Simon made a jet-engine sound as he spun the cart around and headed off for the saltines at the end of the aisle.
Her mission had changed—to get everything they needed and get out of the store before Hunter recognized her.
“Okay, we’ve got everything, right?” Simon dumped a box in the cart. There wasn’t much there, just enough food to get them by for a couple of days. It would have to do.
“That’s it for this run. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed the cart by the basket to get Simon moving faster.
“Howdy there,” a friendly older lady Millie didn’t know tossed them a genuine smile from behind her register. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” She unloaded her cart as fast as she could, breathing a sigh of relief when she dropped the last item—the cracker box—onto the conveyer belt. Simon shoved the cart through while she unzipped her purse.
“Did you find everything all right?” The checker scanned in each item with a beep. Her name tag read “Enid.”
“We did.” The familiar beat of cowboy boots on the tile distracted her. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as Hunter’s quick, no-nonsense cadence knelled louder.
He was coming this way. Panic licked through her. A wheel squeaked as his cart pulled in behind her. Her skin prickled like a storm the instant before lightning struck as Hunter began unloading his cart.
At least he hasn’t recognized me yet. She sorted through her coupon envelope, doing her best not to look. He still smelled the same—like pine, hay and summer sun. Her uncooperative gaze slid sideways to sneak a peek. A black T-shirt hugged his powerful physique that had matured impressively. Muscles rippled as he dumped paper plates, paper towels and hamburger buns onto the conveyer, working fast, concentrating solely on his task. Not a man to look around—the Hunter she’d always known.
“Oh, I have coupons,” she told Enid and handed over the cluster.
“Okay, deary.” The older lady sorted through them before she scanned them in, one by one.
Hunter’s foot tapped impatiently. He’d finished unloading his cart. She could feel him standing behind her, radiating heat and pent-up male energy.
Every breath she took was torture. Knowing Hunter, his mind was probably somewhere else. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her, or—did she dare hope?—recognize her. Was that too much to ask?
“Sorry, deary. This one’s past date.” Enid handed over one of the coupons.
She feared the attention would draw Hunter’s scrutiny. Her hand shook as she took back the coupon. Please, don’t recognize me, she prayed.
“That’ll be seventeen oh three.”
Her hands shook so badly that she had trouble pulling out dollar bills. It took a beat before she realized her budget had been fifteen dollars. She searched through her change, but didn’t have it. Heat flooded her face. “Uh, can you take off the box of crackers?”
“Sure thing.” Enid kindly took back the box and beeped it over the scanner.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Hunter flipped two dollars onto the conveyer belt. “Enid, take it. I’m done with waiting—”
She felt his gaze rake over her like a cold hard punch. He froze, finally really looking at her. Recognition snapped through him as his entire body went rigid. His jaw dropped, leaving the rest of his thoughts unspoken.
“Hi, Millie,” someone called out from behind his big hulking presence. Hunter’s brother, Luke, peered over to smile at her. “Good to see you in town again. How’s your dad?”
Hunter kept staring at her blankly, stiff with shock. She couldn’t help maneuvering a little, trying to hide Simon from him. It was easy to lift her chin, holding on to her dignity for all she was worth and push away Hunter’s two dollars. They lay awkwardly on the conveyer belt, their crumpled ends ruffling in the breeze from the air conditioner.
“Dad’s holding his own, but it’s bad, I guess.” She bowed her head to count out her money. “They caught it way too late to do anything.”
“Word has gotten around. The whole congregation is praying for him.”
“Thanks, Luke.” She handed exact change to Enid. “If anyone needs prayers, it’s my dad. It was nice seeing you.”
She seized her receipt, turned her back on Hunter and grabbed her single bag of groceries from the end of the check stand. Back straight, she followed her son to the rows of carts near the door.
Don’t look back, she told herself firmly. She didn’t need one last look at the man. She’d learned all she needed to in his shocked and silent stare. He’d been traumatized seeing her—they shared that in common. Not that she’d held even the faintest hope of a friendly reunion. No, not after the way they’d left things. But she hadn’t expected him to look at her with horror either.
“Mom, I’ll carry that.” Simon left the cart neatly with the others and tromped over to take the groceries from her. “Is there any chance Grandpa has neighbor kids my age?”
“I have no idea. I’ll give Myra a call when we get home. She knows everyone around here.” Her feet may be carrying her forward, but her mind remained with the man dressed in black. She could feel Hunter’s gaze as she trailed her son into the ovenlike heat of summer.
Suddenly aware of her wash-worn clothes and the hair she hadn’t fussed with before leaving the house, she headed toward the truck. She could still feel Hunter’s gaze as she crossed the lot—a cold gaze, when it had once been so loving. Why did that still hurt so much?
Their first meeting could have gone worse. She dug the keys out of her purse. Thank You, Father, for that.
* * *
Millie? Hunter couldn’t get over the shock watching her walk away. Millie was back?
“Hunter, move along, we’re waiting.” Luke nudged his brother, his tone teasing.
Fine, he deserved that. He hadn’t meant to be impatient; shopping always put him in a mood. The automatic doors opened and closed. Millie and the child were out of the building but not out of sight of the long front windows where a rusty, thirty-year-old Ford waited for them. It had taken a while to recognize her because she’d changed so much.
“Are you all right?” Luke asked, kindly, always a good brother.
Hunter cleared his throat and gave his cart a shove forward. He wanted to look unaffected, as if seeing Millie didn’t bother him one bit. He was tough. No woman was going to bring him to his knees. He’d learned a long time ago the best way to protect yourself from a broken heart was not to have one.
Not that that was the truth, but he didn’t have to admit it, did he?
Because he didn’t trust his voice, he said nothing and faced Enid with a nod. Maybe Luke would get the hint and go back to talking with his girlfriend. Over the beep-beep of the scanner he watched Millie disappear behind the far side of the pickup—probably getting the door for her kid.
That kid. Agony tore through him at the thought of Millie’s child. No, he couldn’t think about her married to another man. Too painful. As he swiped his card and punched in his PIN, his gaze stayed stuck to the window.
Millie. She stepped into view, far from the bright, sunny girl he’d loved so deeply that she outshone everything in his life—every other thing. There had been only her, beautiful and precious, and his great overwhelming love for her.
“That’ll be eighty-seven dollars and forty-six cents.” Enid punched a button and her cash register spat out his receipt. “Would you like paper or plastic?”
“Whatever.” He didn’t care—he’d forgotten the reusable bags again. He hardly noticed the box boy moving in to bag his purchases. All he could see was Millie climbing into her dad’s rusty old pickup. What had happened to the bounce in her step? To her wide, beaming smile that made everyone around her smile, too, unable to help themselves?
“Out of the way, you’re holding up the line.” Judging by the laughter in Luke’s voice, he was enjoying this.
“I don’t want to get back with her if that’s what you think.” He rolled his eyes, glad Luke couldn’t read his thoughts. Millie, on her own, with a child? Nothing angered him more than a mother on her own struggling to pay for groceries. Where were the fathers? Why weren’t they better men? A man takes care of his family, that’s the way it was supposed to be.
Sure, it was an old issue with him. It brought back memories of how hard their dad had been on Mom. Never reliable, always out gambling or drinking, always shirking his responsibilities. Hunter’s guts twisted up thinking Millie’s life obviously hadn’t turned out much different. There hadn’t been a wedding ring on her left hand.
He’d checked.
“I’ll see you back at the ranch.” It wasn’t easy to unclamp his jaw. He took charge of his cart and steered it toward the automatic doors. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Millie—still slim and graceful—hop onto the seat. When she closed the door, he lost sight of her. Too much glare on the side window.
She wasn’t going anywhere in that truck, or didn’t she know it? He frowned, arrowing his cart at his vehicle, parked two spaces away from the rusted heap Whip Wilson should have junked long ago. While Hunter was sorry the man was dying, he should have at least told his daughter about the barely working transmission. Whip had never been a good dad either.
Not your business, Hunter, he told himself passing by at top speed. The cart rattled and bucked in protest, but minding his own business turned out to be impossible. Behind him, the rusted pickup’s engine coughed to life, pistons misfiring. He yanked the cart to a stop, wedging it against the side of his truck so it wouldn’t roll away. Disappointed in himself—a truly tough man, one who was completely over a breakup—would put his groceries in the truck and drive away.
But did he?
No, you are a fool, Hunter McKaslin. His feet took him around to the driver’s side of Millie’s truck. She’d rolled down the window, concentrating so hard on trying to figure out what was wrong, frowned brow, pursed lips, and he made himself like steel. Not going to notice how pretty she was.