by Jillian Hart
“Not funny.” She stood in the doorway, watching man and boy trail across the living room, similar gaits, similar stances their shoulders braced identically as they disappeared around the corner.
She’d made the right decision long ago, hadn’t she? She listened to the echo of Hunter’s voice in the hallway. Deep and low, rumbling with softness and warmth. What if she’d been wrong?
Chapter Ten
“There’s another one!” Simon’s excited squeal bounced around the rafters as something dark and winged dived out of the curtains and flapped around the attic. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Wouldn’t even.” Hunter swiped his fishing net through the air, caught the little creature and carried the drooping net to the open dormer window. Rain splattered the sill and hit his face as he stuck the pole out into the gale, turned the net inside out and gave it a slight shake. The bat clung with its feet to the web, holding on for a moment, getting his bearings.
“He’s real weird-looking.” Simon clamored up and leaned over the sill. “Will he be okay?”
“Sure. He’ll find somewhere to hang low until nightfall. Then he’ll have to figure out another home.”
“’Cuz he can’t sleep here, not anymore. It weirds Mom out.”
“Women don’t generally like creepy-crawly and winged things loose in their houses.”
“But bats just eat bugs, right?”
“Right. They’re good to have around in the country.” Finally, the bat let loose, spread its bony wings and sailed off on a strong gust.
“Think there are some more?”
“Why don’t you go see?” Hunter shook the rainwater off the handle of his fishing net and something flapped dangerously close to his head, soared into the gray clouds and disappeared. Guess that answered that. There were definitely more bats in the attic.
The wind changed direction, breezing lightly against his nape, sending tingles down his spine. Those charges of awareness felt sweet as a summer day, and he didn’t have to turn around to know Millie was near.
“Hey, Mom. We’ve found five bats—”
“Five?” Going pale, hand flying to her throat, she glanced around. “They’re gone, right?”
“And they’re real cool. They aren’t scary at all, but really weird-looking, and they don’t hurt people.” Simon pushed his crooked glasses up his nose, gleaming with excitement. “If we catch another one, I’ll show you.”
“Uh, sounds great, but I really don’t need a look. Honest. I ventured up here because I figured you boys might want to know the pizza is almost ready. Take a break and come wash up.”
“Good, ’cuz I’m starvin’.” Simon clomped across the floorboard, still looking for bats. “Aren’t you, Hunter?”
“I’m still debating, kid.” He winked, not sure if staying would be a wise move with Millie looking so pretty. She’d combed her hair into a sleek dark fall that tumbled over her shoulders. She’d changed out of her wet clothes and into an old high school T-shirt that said in cracked letters Prospect Wildcats. Time-faded denim shorts hugged her lean legs as she whirled away from him, lithe and breezy and confident.
“Well, make up your mind, bat hunter. I’ll just go down and take the pizza out of the oven.” She brushed against an old bureau, the attached mirror rattled and a small black shape launched from behind it, winging straight at her head. She shrieked. “Hunter!”
He was already across the attic to rescue her, net in hand. She ducked, shrieking again at the creature circling her head.
One swipe and he netted the creature. “Got him. Don’t worry, you’re safe.”
“I am?” She opened one eye.
“Would I lie?” Not on his life. “Want to take a look?”
“Not even.” Her mouth curved upward, crinkling in the corners.
He remembered what it had been like to kiss her. Sweet, sweet, sweet. Like Christmas candy and sugar plums and angel food cake all wrapped into one. His chest ached just as sweetly.
“He probably misses his family.” Simon tripped across the floorboards hands out. “Can I let him go?”
“Knock yourself out, kid.” He handed over the long metal pole, the handle awkward for the boy, but he managed. Tromping over to the open window, he leaned out and gently gave the net a shake.
“Looks like you two are having fun up here.” Her tender blue eyes gazed up at him, catching him like a lasso, reeling him in. “Not my kind of fun, but still.”
“We’re having a blast.” Did he want to be reeled in by Millie? No. He meant to take a step back, but his boots stayed stubbornly rooted to the floor. “Looks like we’re done here.”
“Then you’ll stay for supper?” A silent question in her eyes. She wanted him to stay.
Truth was, he did, too. Panic kicked through him. He was already too close to her. Staying would only complicate things. “Thanks, but I’ve got stuff to warm up at home.”
“You mean you cook?”
“I had to learn if I wanted to feed myself. Luke’s better at it, he’s usually the one fixing dinner for us, but now that he’ll probably wind up marrying that California girl, I’ll have to go back to figuring out the stove.” Humor. It was his only defense. Better to talk about mundane matters and not what was happening inside him. “Remember, if you need anything, you can ask me.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
“I know, but whether you want to lean on anyone or not, you aren’t alone. Got it?” Why his hand reached out, he didn’t know. His fingers brushed a lock of hair near her eyes, just to touch her.
Tenderness he didn’t want rushed upward like a summer breeze, impossible to stop. Tenderness. What was wrong with him? Feeling like this was what he had to avoid. He jerked away, forcing his feet to carry him back a few steps when it was the last thing he wanted...and at the same time exactly what he wanted.
“Thanks, Hunter. I know this isn’t easy for you.” Her hand landed on his, her touch an electric shock that zinged through him. His nervous system froze, his brains scrambled and his soul reeled. Look at the power she had over him. One touch and he cared.
No way could he let that happen again. “It’s not so bad.”
“Good to know.” Millie’s chin bobbed down, her hair curtained her face, as if she wanted to hide her feelings from him.
He wanted to hide his from her, too. He rescued his hat from a stack of cardboard boxes. He was no longer the head-strong, angry young man he’d been, but he was still afraid of loving anyone, especially Millie.
If he were honest with himself, then he had to admit it hurt. Big time. He hadn’t realized how much he wished he could have changed for her.
“Here’s your net.” Simon thrust the handle at him. “That was fun.”
“You were a fantastic assistant. Next time I have bat problems, I’ll give you a call, partner.”
“Deal.” Simon grinned wide, so like Millie.
“See ya around.” He headed down the steps. There was no other choice. He couldn’t stay and risk getting closer to her. His nape prickled under the weight of her gaze; he could feel her watching him, but he didn’t look back. His boots hit the carpet in the hallway and he pivoted, one eye on the door, but a familiar voice barked at him through the open doorway.
“Never thought I’d see the likes of you hanging ’round here.” Whip coughed, propped up by pillows, the remote control clutched in a skeletal hand. Meanness shone from his gaze as he gave a crooked, cruel grin.
“Howdy, Whip.” Best to keep on walking. He heard Millie’s footsteps on the stairs behind him, so he headed for the door. Rain dripped off the eaves and blew on the wind, but the storm wasn’t loud enough to drown out what was going on inside the house. Whip, calling to Millie. “Get your fat butt over here and wait on me, girl.”
“Ho
w many times, Dad? I’ve told you. Don’t speak like that in front of Simon.” Millie’s answer was patient, firm but never cruel. That wasn’t Millie.
No, the blame was on him. Every drop of it. He’d been the one to drive her away and he was doing it again. Lord, You know how sorry I am for that. He hung his head, clipped down the steps and let the rain beat him.
* * *
Finally, Dad was asleep. Millie tiptoed across the floor, the carpet fiber soft against her bare feet, and listened to the even, shallow wheeze of her father’s breathing. Propped up, head back, he hardly made a bump in the covers. The glow from the nightlight shadowed him, hid his yellowed skin and the shocking protrusion of bone.
I’m not sure there’s anything You can do for him, Lord, but please try. He was her father. Growing up in this house with his yelling and tantrums followed her like phantoms as she slipped down the hall to peer into her childhood bedroom. Simon slept soundly on the far twin bed, turned away from her, his cowlick sticking up like a reminder of the man who kept infiltrating her thoughts.
Just try not to think about him. The day had been long and her head hurt too much to really analyze why he was doing so much for her. She poured a tall glass of lemonade in the kitchen and plopped into a chair at the table, staring out at the dark night. Unpaid bills sat in neat stacks nearby, and both the dairy’s and Dad’s personal checking accounts stared up at her, both down to the last pennies. How she was going to get them through the week, she didn’t know. Her savings account was pretty much tapped out.
Things are going to turn around, right, Lord? She gazed at the inscrutable sky, midnight-black and fathomless. Flashes of distant lightning flashed the underbellies of faraway clouds. It had been a night like this when she’d fled this farm intending never to come back. The memory became vivid and she could feel the bunch of fear in her throat and the tremor of her hands. She’d just taken a pregnancy test and was afraid of the changes to come in her life and of Hunter’s reaction, but she’d gathered her courage and she sat down on the front step next to him. The far-off thunder reverberating like doom in the night.
Tell him, she’d thought, dragging in a mouthful of air. Just say the words.
But did they come? No. She hedged, already knowing the answer. How many times had Hunter hinted he was not a marrying man? Not that it had stopped her heart. “So, I was talking with Mrs. Hoffsteader’s granddaughter today. She’s engaged.”
“Huh.” Hunter gazed at the sky, watching the flash and bang of the storm. Any sign of softness in him retreated. He sat spine straight, an unyielding silhouette against the blacker night. “Engaged? That’s crazy. I feel sorry for her. What’s marriage? Nothing but a ball and chain for a man and misery for a woman. Look at my parents. Look at yours. There’s not one thing on Earth that would ever make me do something that stupid.”
“Nothing?” She hated hearing the thin, desperate hope in her voice.
“Nothing. Never.” Hard, biting words. His wall had gone up. The caring man disappeared, leaving behind bitterness. “You know how I feel about this, Millie.”
“But it doesn’t always have to be that way, right? I mean, there has to be—”
“Don’t do this.” He hung his head, elbows planted on his knees, looking like a man in pain. He gentled his words, but the iron rang in them, uncompromising. “You know I’m never going to give you an engagement ring, right?”
“But what about kids?” She picked at the frayed hem of her denim shorts, unable to look at him. Tell him about the baby. You can do it.
“I don’t want ’em. You know that. Me and kids? Isn’t going to happen.”
“You never want a child? Ever?”
“Me, want a kid? Not under any circumstances. I’d jump off a cliff first.” Bitterness dripped from his words, and she knew he had reason. His dad had been unreliable; he’d run out on the family leaving them destitute. Hunter was hurt over it. That’s what he was reacting to. “If you’ve suddenly got the itch to settle down, get married and raise a family, we’re done here. I’m gone.”
Hot-headed, just turned twenty-two, he launched to his feet and stalked through the puddles in the driveway. His truck started with an angry roar and sped off, leaving her alone in the dark. Alone with unshed tears in her eyes and a baby on the way he didn’t want. How could she tell him now?
As the memory faded, she blinked and found herself in the present, alone in her father’s kitchen. A shadowy movement on the other side of the window caught her attention. It was one of the cats crawling out to take a look around. He slunk along the back rail, eyes glinting in the night as he stared at her through the glass. Alarmed, his tail bushed, his back arched and he bolted, likely back to safety beneath the porch.
“Millie?” A faint, wet cough echoed through the house. “Millie?”
“Coming.” She pushed away from the table covered with bills and worries, left her lemonade sitting untouched and padded down the hall. The nightlight’s glow outlined her dad sitting up against his pillows, something glistening on his face and hands. Blood.
“Looks like you have a little problem.” She swiped a couple tissues from the bedside table. Alarm roared through her, but somehow she managed to keep it out of her voice. “Let’s get you cleaned up and to the emergency room.”
At least Hunter was out of her mind. If only she could keep him there.
* * *
He couldn’t get to sleep. Tossing and turning frustrated him, so Hunter kicked back his covers, shot out of bed and paced down the hall. Emptiness echoed around him, greater tonight than it had ever been before. Every rustle, every breath, every footfall reverberated in the darkness, gaining strength as if to remind him of his loneliness.
Lonely is better than misery. That had always been his motto, but tonight? It didn’t come close to comforting him, so he yanked open the door. The deck floorboard felt cool against his bare feet. He leaned on the rail, letting the night air breeze over his face and ruffle his hair. Felt good after a long, hot day. Thick clouds blocked out all light from moon and stars, so he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.
A comforting moo rose from the nearby field. No mystery who it could be. One of his favorite cows, retired from the milk herd and enjoying her golden years as a pet. “Hi, Betty. How’s it going?”
Another reassuring moo. She made a dark lump in the soft grass. Only a slight rustle told him she must have laid her head back down and closed her eyes.
He should be sleeping, too, if only he could get rid of the unsettled jumble sitting behind his rib cage. That moment in Millie’s attic stayed with him, jabbing him like a sharp blade that wouldn’t relent. He’d disappointed her. She’d wanted him to stay and eat supper with them. After everything he’d done to her, she was offering a truce. Why couldn’t he accept it?
Because he cared for her. Distance was safer. He rubbed the heel of his hand against his sternum where it hurt the most. Funny how a decade could go by and you could ignore what troubled you. You could set it aside, forget it and go on with your life. But one look from her and there it was, worse than it had ever been.
It was the same look she’d given him that night before she’d left town. Back then, he hadn’t understood why she’d brought up marriage and family. Didn’t she know him? Angry, he’d stormed away, betrayed by her sudden interest in a wedding ring when he’d been honest from the start. She’d been afraid of commitment, too, but something had changed or she wouldn’t have brought it up, and he soon found out what: another man offering her a promise of marriage, one he obviously fell through on once he got her in a family way.
The memory rolled back, vivid and real until it was all he could see. He recalled the honeysuckle blooms bright yellow against green vines climbing up one side of the porch. The cushions Millie’s mom had made with the cheerful yellow check against white siding. The flutter of Millie’s
long, dark hair on the wind as she bowed her head, shielding her face from him.
She’d always been a wee bit of a thing, lean and coltish, petite, but she looked smaller somehow in a white T-shirt and denim shorts. Her bare toes curled around the edge of the step, her shoulders slumped. Her vulnerability had touched him, made him stop, made him long to go back to her and set things right.
But an engagement? Was that what she wanted? His molars had clacked together, gritting his teeth with anger. Not really anger, but it was a good cover for the mess of feelings the thought of a marriage gave him. He heard his mom’s sobs of disappointment, the fights, Dad’s drinking. He’d been a boy, standing in the hallway at night, listening in, desperately unhappy. That’s the way families were, right? One big lie.
He’d yanked open his door and dropped behind the wheel, the hood of his pickup pearled with rainwater. The sight of Millie tugged at him, that woman had a hold on his heart, and if he went to her he’d lose the rest of it. What did he have to give her? The same misery? What if he was no better than his dad? Spending the night arguing with her and then listening to her muffled cries when the fighting ended, the distance between them greater than before.
That wasn’t what he wanted to give her. So he’d turned the key, the engine caught and he drove away. What he couldn’t tell Millie, who he trusted more than almost anyone, was that he liked the idea of a happy-ever-after with her. But he didn’t believe in dreams. Love was for fools and saps. He was neither, so it didn’t explain why driving away from her felt wrong. Instinct shouted at him to go back.
He couldn’t. Come morning when he went to talk things through with her, Whip took pleasure in telling him she was gone. Bitterness overwhelmed him, knocking the strength from his knees and the softness from his heart. He shook his head, dispersing the memory, letting the night breeze blow it away and bring him back to the present.