Raising Connor

by Loree Lough

  “…that’s an Irish lullaby.”

  The affection she felt for Connor was visible even in the dim glow of the Thomas the Tank Engine night-light. The baby looked so peaceful and content, and it was clear that he trusted his aunt Brooke almost as much as if he’d been born to her. What kind of monster would even think about separating them?

  “How long have you been standing there?” she whispered, rising slowly from the rocker.

  “Uh…”

  Brooke laid Connor in his crib and tiptoed toward him. “Did I hear the front door open and close just now?”

  “Pizza delivery guy.”

  When she looked up at him with that blank brown-eyed stare, he wished he could read minds.

  “I didn’t know how you like yours, so I ordered two. One with cheese. One with pepperoni and mushrooms.”

  “Perfect. For the first time in days, I actually have an appetite.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief and followed her down the stairs.

  “Oh, wow,” she said, entering the living room. “I haven’t seen this movie in—” Brooke looked from the TV to the goblets to Hunter. “Where did the wine come from?”

  “It was a thank-you gift from one of my clients. Thought it might go well with the pizza.”

  She disappeared into the kitchen as Hunter sat on the love seat. If Brooke wanted a clear view of the television, she’d have to sit beside him…the only way he knew to guarantee she’d see him. He could hear her in there happily humming the lullaby. If Lady Luck was on his side, she’d still be in this mood after he’d said his piece.

  Brooke deposited two paper plates and napkins on the coffee table and flipped open the nearest pizza box. Somewhere between the kitchen and living room, she’d kicked off her shoes, and Hunter tried not to stare at her shiny red-painted toenails.

  “Your favorite,” she said, sliding a slice onto a paper plate and holding it out to him. And when he took it, her fingers grazed his, sending a shudder down his spine.

  “How’d you know pepperoni and mushroom is my favorite?” he asked.

  “Beth,” she said matter-of-factly. “She also told me you don’t like lima beans and that you put catsup on everything.”

  He couldn’t imagine why his food preferences had come up during the sisters’ conversations, but he wasn’t about to muddy the atmosphere by asking for an explanation.

  “Beth was wrong,” he said.

  Brooke bit off the point of her slice. “Oh?”

  “I don’t put catsup on everything. I like my steak plain,” he said. “And chocolate sauce on my ice cream.”

  “I heard that you put catsup on birthday cake.”

  “Once, and only because your sister dared me.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. “So…is it back to the old grindstone on Monday?”

  “Nope. Took off the whole week. I have a very indulgent boss. What about you? You’re due to start the new job soon, right?”

  “Lucky me. I have a very indulgent boss, too. She told me to take all the time I need. But don’t worry…I won’t hit you up for a loan. There’s enough in my savings account to tide me over for a while.”

  “Never crossed my mind.” And it hadn’t. Plenty of other things to worry about, he thought, but not that.

  “Connor did pretty well today,” she said.

  He nodded. “He did great, all things considered.”

  “You have projects to do around your house?”

  Her question caught him off guard. “No. Why?”

  She shrugged. “You’ve already taken off three days….”

  He’d put everything on hold in case she needed him. Correction: in case Connor needed him. “It’s a good test for my newest foreman,” he fibbed. “Poor guy hasn’t had a chance to prove himself since I hired him.”

  Brooke downed her wine in two big gulps, refilled her glass and held the bottle aloft.

  “Thanks,” he said, “I’m good.” If he hoped to make any headway in a few minutes, he’d need his full wits about him.

  “Is it just me, or does Jane Fonda play herself in every role?”

  Grabbing the remote, he hit the mute button and didn’t give her time to object or ask why.

  “Listen, Brooke,” he said, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time….”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE DOORBELL RANG before Hunter could tell Brooke more.

  “There’s only one person who’d drop by unannounced at ten o’clock.”

  Beth had told him all about Brooke’s ex, but for the life of him, Hunter couldn’t remember the guy’s name. “Who?”

  “Donald,” Brooke said. “The biggest mistake of my adult life.”

  Hunter started for the door. “It’s probably just the pizza guy. Maybe I shortchanged him. Or overpaid him.”

  The man on the other side of the storm door adjusted the Windsor knot of his red silk tie. “I was told I could find Brooke O’Toole at this address?”

  Hunter crossed both arms over his chest and did his best to block Donald’s view of the living room…and Brooke.

  “Who told you that?”

  Donald’s gaze traveled from Hunter’s eyes to his shoes and back again. “Not that it’s any of your business, but her grandmother sent me over here.”

  Brooke stood beside Hunter. “What were you doing at Gram’s?”

  “Looking for you, of course.”

  She stood so close that Hunter got another whiff of her flowery shampoo. Did that look on Donald’s face mean he noticed it, too?

  “You’re not going to make me stand out here in the cold, are you?”

  “I told you before I left Richmond: We. Are. Done. And I meant it.”

  Attagirl. Now slam the door.

  “Aw, babe, don’t be like that. I would have been here sooner, but I just found out about your sister.”

  Hunter could hardly believe his ears when she stepped aside and said, “You have five minutes.” Couldn’t believe his eyes, either, when Donald wrapped his arms around her…and she let him. He wanted to step in like a referee at a boxing match and pry them apart. After what seemed like ten minutes, she untangled herself from her ex-fiancé’s embrace.

  “Who’s the guy doing the Mr. Clean impersonation?” Donald said, pointing with his thumb.

  Brooke blushed. “Hunter Stone, meet—”

  “Not that Hunter Stone….”

  So. She’d told the guy about him, had she?

  Brooke’s blush deepened. “If you’re hungry,” she told Donald, “there’s pizza on the coffee table.”

  Hey, wait a minute, Hunter wanted to say. I paid for that pizza.

  Donald patted his flat stomach. “Came straight from a shindig at the downtown Marriott,” he said. “Couldn’t eat a bite.” As he walked beside her into the living room, he leaned close and whispered, “Seriously. Brooke. Have you taken leave of your senses? I mean, after what he did? I can’t believe you’d let him get within a mile of you!”

  Hunter tensed as Brooke returned to her cushion on the sofa. He quickly took the other one as she said, “A meeting in Baltimore. I should have known you didn’t come all the way from Richmond just to extend your sympathies.”

  “Well, to be fair, I haven’t exactly been your favorite person these days.” Donald aimed a phony grin Hunter’s way. “Guess we have that in common, too, eh, buddy?”

  Too? Hunter bristled. The only thing we have in common, buddy, is our gender. He took a gulp of wine.

  “So. Hunter. I wonder if you’d be a good egg and give me and Brooke a few minutes alone to, ah, catch up and, ah, talk….”

  Hunter was itching to correct Donald’s grammar. And find out why he’d put so much emphasis on the word talk. “It’s up to Brooke.”

  It seemed like an eternity before she looked at him. “It has been a long day, and I’m sure you’re tired, too.”

  Jaw clenched, Hunter pretended not to notice Donald’s self-satisfi
ed smirk. Did his best to hide his disappointment, too, as Brooke walked him to the door. Once there, she held his gaze for a moment. Would she change her mind, show Donald the door instead? A guy could hope….

  “Thanks for everything today, Hunter…the ride to the church and home, keeping Connor occupied at the cemetery, the pizza and wine….”

  The wine. His plan—to help her relax after a long heartbreaking day—could very well backfire, make her easy pickings for Donald instead. Hunter moved closer and lowered his voice. “He steps out of line, even a little bit, I’m as near as the phone.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  She’d forced a feeble smile, but he wasn’t convinced. “I could sit in the kitchen while you two, ah, talk. You won’t even know I’m out there.”

  Brooke glanced toward the living room, where Donald had just helped himself to a slice of pizza. “He’s a royal pain,” she said, opening the door, “but he’s basically harmless.”

  “Oh. Right. I forgot.” He frowned. “That’s why you left a great job, a nice condo, friends in Richmond after he—”

  “I can handle him.”

  Lucky for him, she had interrupted, because he didn’t know how she might have reacted if he’d finished with “…after he dumped you.”

  “Okay, but I’m only two doors down.”

  “I know. Thanks.” And when she nodded, a curl fell over one eye.

  “I own a contracting company, don’t forget.” And without thinking, he tucked her hair behind one ear. “Meaning…I have access to a huge collection of dangerous tools.”

  She laughed softly and, for a tick in time, nestled her cheek against his palm. Under normal circumstances, Brooke never would have done such a thing. Knowing that, Hunter slowly withdrew his hand.

  A cool blast of air whooshed through the screen, and she cupped both elbows to fend off the chill. He felt like a heel, making her stand in the cold foyer. Felt even worse about leaving her alone with the guy who had broken her heart. Who might break it again. But she hadn’t given him any other option.

  “Call you tomorrow?”

  “Okay,” she said and, giving him a tiny wave, closed the door.

  Head down and hands pocketed, Hunter walked toward his house. Halfway there he stopped, trying to think of a logical excuse to go back…

  …and there in the picture window saw Donald pull her into another hug.

  He held his breath, waiting. Any second now she’d slap him silly and send him packing. Hunter would bet his next renovations contract on it. Instead, he watched as she let the guy rock her to and fro, back and forth, as if offering comfort and support.

  He stalked the rest of the way home and unlocked his front door. Good thing he wasn’t a gambler, he thought again.

  Maybe Kent had been right, and Brooke really was scatterbrained and impulsive. And maybe her brother-in-law had been wise to ask Hunter to protect Connor from her reckless knee-jerk decisions.

  Hunter had some decisions of his own to make, starting with finding a way to spend time alone with Connor until the time came to hand over that DVD.

  He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and grabbed a soda from the fridge. The label said Decaffeinated. Not that it mattered. Between admitting how powerless he was to look out for Connor and wondering if Donald was putting the moves on Brooke, he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep anyway.

  Though for the life of him, he didn’t know why he cared what Donald did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LAST TIME HUNTER checked the time, the clock face said five forty-five. When the doorbell rang, he opened one eye. Maybe he was dreaming, because now it said ten minutes after nine. Nearly four straight hours of sleep? Yeah, he was dreaming, all right.

  The bell dinged again. He dropped the recliner’s footrest, then worked the kinks from his neck as he walked toward the door. He’d get rid of the magazine salesman, then change the battery in that clock.

  He peeked through the curtains. Brooke and Connor? Now he knew he was dreaming, because not once in all the years since he’d lived two doors down from Beth and Kent had she come to his house. Oh, what the heck, he thought, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. Might be interesting to see how this dream played itself out.

  “Morning,” he said, opening the door.

  She took one look at him and said, “Oh. My. We woke you. Sorry. I had a feeling I should call first.”

  “You did me a favor. I should have been up hours ago.”

  “But I thought you took this week off.”

  “True,” he said, stepping back. “I just hate sleeping the day away.” With a sweep of his arm, he invited her inside.

  As she passed, he took note of her snug jeans and white sweatshirt jacket and the flushed cheeks that made her look more like a high school kid than a full-grown woman. Had she deliberately chosen a similar outfit for Connor, or had it been a happy accident?

  “I need coffee,” he said, leading the way to the kitchen. “Can I interest you in a cup?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t stay,” she said, placing a bag on his counter. “I only stopped by to return your wineglasses. I rushed you out of the house so fast last night that I forgot to wash them up and give them to you.”

  “I don’t do much entertaining, so no rush.” What he really wanted to say was, Last time I checked—at quarter past one—Donald was still there. You must have had a lot to hash out….

  “Cookie?” Connor said, pointing at the cupboard above the toaster.

  Hunter grinned and grabbed a box of vanilla wafers. “He knows I keep his favorites up there.”

  Brooke raised an eyebrow. “I know Beth was a little extreme with her ‘natural foods only’ rules, but do you think maybe you’re—”

  He knew where this would lead. Straight into a lecture about how he’d gone to the other extreme.

  “You’re right,” he said, giving Connor a handful of cookies. “Beth did go overboard.” Way overboard, he thought, filling the coffee carafe. “But it isn’t like I spoon-feed him sugar or anything.”

  He didn’t have to turn around to know that Brooke was frowning.

  “I suppose there’s nothing wrong with junk food once in a while.”

  Mighty generous of you, he thought, pouring water into the reservoir. Maybe he’d nominate her for the Mother of the Year award. “I noticed the stroller on the front walk,” he said, jamming a filter into the basket. “Were you two headed for the park?”

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I thought maybe some fresh air and a change of scenery would be good for him.”

  “Nice day for it,” he said, adding the grounds.

  She sat in the chair nearest the high chair and, tapping the tray, said, “Did you buy this just for him?”

  “That and the crib in his room upstairs, the playpen in the living room, clothes, diapers and a mountain of toys.” He hit the on switch. “He’s over here a lot, and it was a pain dragging stuff back and forth.”

  “But you only live two doors down….”

  He leaned his backside against the counter and crossed one white-socked foot over the other. “Do I hear an and in that sentence?”

  “It’s just…well…Beth quit her job when Connor was born. Went on and on about not wanting to leave him with sitters. It’s a little confusing, is all.”

  “Why? Because choosing to be a stay-at-home mom meant she didn’t deserve an hour or two all to herself once in a while? Maybe dinner or a movie with her husband every now and then?”

  Brooke blushed. “That isn’t what I meant at all!”

  “Oh. Wait. I think I get it. You’re surprised that a woman who loved her kid too much to stick him in day care was okay leaving him with a guy who falls asleep on the job.”

  Well, that shut her up in a hurry. Because she was sorry for leading him to believe such a thing? Or because she agreed?

  He dropped a few more cookies onto Connor’s tray. “Seems like he’s in a good mood today. Did he sleep better last night?”
He was becoming an old hand at changing the subject.

  “I wish. He was up half the night fussing and fretting. First thing this morning, I called his pediatrician, who recommended a child psychologist. She’s usually impossible to see, especially on such short notice, but Dr. Miller talked her into squeezing us in.”

  Us as in the three of us? he wondered. Or us as in Connor and Brooke?

  “What time?”

  “Two, right after his afternoon nap.” She groaned. “If he takes a nap, that is.”

  If Brooke couldn’t muster the patience to handle Connor’s behavior a mere week after the funeral, how did she expect to cope if it continued…and she added a job to her responsibilities?

  “I’ll drive,” he said. And then he waited, knowing if she had a notion to exclude him, she’d do it now.

  “All right,” she said. And glancing around the room, Brooke added, “Who does your housekeeping?”

  “I do.” He filled a sippy cup with juice. “Leftover habits from my days in the army.”

  “And I suppose the army taught you to choose curtains that match the wallpaper.”

  Hunter chuckled. “The woman who owned the house before me is the one with good taste. Keeping it clean, that’s all I can take credit for.” He took two mugs from the cabinet above the coffeepot. “But I’m glad you approve.”

  By now he knew that the rise of her left brow meant one of two things: she was angry…or confused. He answered her unasked question with “So you’ll be comfortable leaving Connor with me. If you need to run errands or whatever.”

  “Of course.”

  He shrugged.

  “I told you that you could see him anytime you wanted to.” She met his gaze. “You didn’t believe me?”

  He resisted the urge to tell her that if things went as expected, he wouldn’t need her permission much longer. Last night—between stewing every time he saw Donald’s car still parked in front of the Sheridans’ house and walking the floor—he’d emailed instructions to his attorney. First chance he got, Harry would put the petition for adoption in motion. According to Hunter’s internet research, the court would have 180 days after the pleading was filed to grant or deny it. Providing no one contested it, that is. When faced with official documents that backed up Kent’s DVD, would Brooke fall back on her typical behavior and run away again…or stay and fight for Connor?