For Love and Family (4 page)

Once she had, Hunter motioned toward the stairs
without saying anything and waited for Terese to precede him.

Not until they were at the foot of the steps did he say, “So that's our boy.”

Our
boy. That pleased Terese. “I wasn't sure if he knew exactly who I was,” she said then, recalling her introduction to her nephew.

“I didn't go into the details,” Hunter answered, explaining what he had told Johnny about her.

She didn't mind her nephew thinking of her as only a friend of the family so as not to confuse him and she let his father know that.

“This way,” Hunter said in conclusion, “he's just happy to have company.”

There didn't seem to be any more to say on that subject so Terese felt free to voice the other question she'd been anxious to ask. “What about the blood test? Does he have hemophilia?”

Hunter nodded. “'Fraid so. But now that we know, we can deal with it.”

“Which is why you didn't want him running down the stairs,” Terese guessed.

“Mmm. I'm probably being overly cautious right now because this episode last week kind of shook me, but yes, he needs to be more careful than most kids since it's so easy for the bleeding to get out of control if he's hurt.”

“Well, at least now you know where you can get him a refill,” Terese joked.

Hunter had been very quiet since her arrival but
that comment garnered her a smile. A warm smile that softened his features and made her stomach flutter.

Hunter seemed to realize they were still standing at the foot of the steps and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? Or shall I just show you the cabin?”

It hadn't struck Terese until then that Hunter was hanging back, making her visit only for his son and not participating any more himself than was absolutely necessary. Now that she realized it, she figured he'd prefer showing her where she'd be staying rather than having to socialize with her.

Which was probably how it should have been anyway, she told herself through the wave of disappointment she knew was totally inappropriate.

So, again thinking to give him what she assumed he wanted, she said, “I'm fine. I mean I don't need anything to eat or drink. You can just show me the cabin.”

He didn't argue. He just picked up her suitcase and led her out the back door.

Terese paused a moment to look around when she got outside. An industrial-sized light on the barn illuminated the entire area.

The grounds were divided into the plain dirt patch and fenced-in paddock that were immediately in front and to the side of the barn, and a small, grassy yard like any suburban backyard. There was a jungle gym waiting to be played on beneath a tall oak tree, a brick patio complete with a barbecue, several trucks and
toys here and there, and, about eight or nine feet off the south side of the house, there was, indeed, a log cabin.

“The cabin was the first house here,” Hunter informed her as he led her down the brick path that connected it to what was now the main house. “My great-great-great-grandfather built it when he bought the land and he and my great-great-great-grandmother and their three kids lived in it their whole lives. There've been a few amenities added over the years—you have heat and electricity and plumbing now—but most of it is original and rustic. Nothing like what you're used to, I'm afraid.”

The door was unlocked when they reached the cabin and Hunter opened it and flipped a switch that flooded the space with light. Then he waited for Terese to go in ahead of him and followed her in just enough to set her suitcase down.

He hadn't been joking about it being rustic. The walls were log and mortar and it was a single open space that, while not cramped for one person, was impossible to imagine for five.

But there was a four-poster double bed, a dresser, an easy chair and a television, a café-sized table with two chairs, and a black woodburning stove that had probably been the only source of heat for the place originally.

“It's rustic but nice,” Terese said, meaning it.

“The bathroom is through that door over there,” he said then, pointing it out. “There are some mugs and
tea bags and cocoa and instant coffee. You can heat water in that microwave over there if you want any of that. But there's no kitchen otherwise. I leave the mudroom door open, though, so you can raid the fridge even in the middle of the night if you get hungry. Otherwise, we'll be eatin' regular meals together.”

“I don't usually raid the refrigerator at night, anyway.”

“Wish I could say the same thing. Anyway, we usually have breakfast around eight but I'll be up and about doin'chores long before that, so if you hear anything, don't think there are burglars or something, and don't feel as if you can't stay in bed a while longer. I'm usually up before dawn but Johnny'll be sleepin' later than that.”

“Before dawn? Really?”

“Rancher's hours. It isn't so bad. You get used to it,” he said. “So, anything else I can do for you or get you?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

“All right, then.” Hunter took two steps to get back out the door and Terese went to the threshold behind him.

“I want you to know how grateful I am for this,” she said, not wanting him to get away without telling him that. “When I didn't hear from you until Friday, I thought you might have had second thoughts.”

“I did do some thinking before I made the call,” he admitted with a half smile that was a little guilty and only more charming because of it.

“But you let me come, anyway,” Terese said,
wondering where the almost flirtatious tone had come from when she hadn't intended it.

“I think it'll be okay.”

“I'll do my best to make it okay. I know this can't be something you've dreamed of.”

“Don't be too sure of that,” he said more to himself than to her.

Terese had no idea what that meant and didn't feel as if she could question him about it. And since he didn't offer an explanation, she continued with what she'd wanted to say. “I'll be really careful not to overstep my bounds. I don't have any illusions about being a part of your family and I know Johnny is your son.”

“I appreciate that,” Hunter said, his topaz eyes meeting hers.

“He seems like a great kid, though,” she said then.

“He is a great kid. But a pistol, in case you missed that.”

“I didn't,” Terese said with a laugh. “It's part of what I liked.”

“Me, too,” Hunter confided.

Something about that confidence gave Terese a sense that that hanging back he'd been doing was over, that they'd just shared something that broke down a wall of some kind. And she was glad.

Even though, as a result, her mind started to wander in a direction all its own and she began to compare this moment with Hunter at the door to the end of a date.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast, then,” he said after a moment.

“I expect to do my share so don't think you need to cook for me or anything,” Terese said.

“I'll be cookin' one way or another. But maybe you could take a turn of your own,” he suggested with a hint of mischief to his tone.

Terese guessed what was on his mind. “You think I can't, don't you?”

He shrugged one broad shoulder and arched a challenging eyebrow at her. “Can you?”

“Maybe you'll just have to wait and see.”

Oh, more of the flirting. What was she doing?

“Maybe I'll just have to,” he countered. And unless she was mistaken, there was a hint of flirtatiousness in his voice, too.

But then he seemed to catch himself because he drew back almost imperceptibly and took another step away from the cabin door.

“I'll let you get settled in,” he said.

Terese nodded. “Good night.”

“'Night,” he answered, turning on his heels and heading for the house.

But even though that hanging-back thing he'd been doing earlier had returned at the last minute, Terese was still fighting those images of this as the end of a date.

The end of a date when a kiss might have been possible…

A kiss from Hunter?

Even thinking about that was out of those bounds she'd just told him she would stay in.

But out of bounds or not, that was exactly what she was thinking about as she finally closed the cabin door.

T
he next morning at eight o'clock on the dot Terese left the cabin. She'd been up for more than an hour by then, showered, shampooed her hair and braided it into a thick plait down her back. She'd dressed in one of the three pairs of jeans she'd bought for this visit—not the trouser-cut jeans she ordinarily wore, but the five-pocket kind—and a red turtleneck, also purchased when she'd shopped cluelessly for what to wear on a ranch.

She'd debated about going over to the house before eight to see if she could help prepare breakfast. But since her host had said eight, she'd thought that maybe he hadn't wanted her there before that and had refrained. That didn't change the fact that
she was eager to get back to Johnny. And Hunter—although she really, really tried to keep the Hunter part of that at bay.

It was just that her mind kept replaying the end of last evening, and every time it did, eagerness to see him again slipped under her radar.

So as she walked along the brick path to the house, she once more reminded herself that this visit was about the opportunity for her to connect with Johnny. Hunter was nothing more than incidental to that goal.

Incidental or not, when Terese knocked on the mudroom door and a woman her own age opened it, a pang of something very unpleasant shot through her.

“You must be Terese,” the woman said warmly, pushing open the screen as if she were letting Terese into her own home. “I'm Carla.”

Carla.

Who was Carla?

“Hi,” Terese said, stepping inside as the wheels of her mind began to spin with questions not only about Carla's identity, but whether she had been the reason Hunter had seemed eager to end the previous evening as soon as Johnny was in bed. Had Carla been due to come over afterward and spend the night?

Terese told herself that none of that was her business. Hunter Coltrane was a grown man—an amazingly handsome, masculine, sexy and no doubt virile grown man—and there was no reason he couldn't or shouldn't have female companionship. He was, after all, single and available.

She also told herself that there was no reason for her to feel so awkward suddenly about being there herself because nothing about her visit had changed just because there was now a Carla.

But she felt terribly awkward, anyway.

“'Mornin',” Hunter called from the kitchen.

Terese would have liked to turn tail and run back to the cabin to hide until she could regain her equilibrium. Unable to do that, she forced a cheery face and followed Carla into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said, answering Hunter's greeting and wishing she could blend into the wallpaper.

“You don't ever have to knock, you know,” he informed her. “Just go ahead and let yourself in. Anytime.”

Terese nodded, looking around the big country kitchen for Johnny. But he wasn't there. It was only Hunter setting three places at the table and Carla, who had moved to the coffeepot.

“Can I get you a cup?” the other woman asked Terese, again as if she were right at home.

“Yes. Thank you,” Terese answered somewhat stiffly, taking in the sight of the pretty brunette with the dark eyes and flawless skin and a bust size Terese couldn't even come close to measuring up to.

“How'd you sleep?” Hunter asked her then, apparently feeling no inclination to explain Carla's presence.

The first thing that popped into Terese's mind was
that she'd probably gotten a whole lot more sleep than these two had. But all she said was, “Fine. That's the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hunter said.

“Where's Johnny?” she asked then, hoping she would feel less like a third wheel if her nephew would appear.

It was Carla who answered her question, though, by hollering for the boy as if it were something she did regularly. Then, handing Terese a mug of steaming coffee, she said, “He'll be right down. Sugar and cream are over there.”

This was silly, Terese lectured herself as she took her coffee cup to the kitchen table that Hunter had set and had now left to go to the stove. She hadn't come here with designs on Hunter Coltrane. She hadn't come here with any illusions that they would form any kind of relationship that didn't revolve solely around Johnny. So what if Hunter had a girlfriend or a significant other or whatever Carla was? Why should it make her feel so uncomfortable? So weird? So…

Jealous? Was she feeling jealous? That couldn't be….

The mud room door opened again just then and Terese turned in that direction, wondering why Carla had aimed for the upstairs when she'd called Johnny if the little boy was coming in from outside somewhere.

But it wasn't Johnny who joined them a moment later. It was a tall man with coal-black hair and a bushy mustache.

“Where's my coffee, woman?” he demanded playfully of Carla, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her up against his side.

“I'm pouring it right now. Behave yourself,” Carla chastised, nodding toward Terese before she said, “This is Terese. Terese, this is my Willy.”

“Willy works the ranch with me,” Hunter explained then. “Carla comes over when she has a little time on her hands and helps out with things around the house.”

Never had Terese felt the kind of relief she did at that moment.

“It's nice to meet you, Willy,” she said, her cheeriness genuine this time. And probably out of proportion to the simple introduction of the ranch hand.

“John Paul Coltrane, get yourself down here now,” Hunter called in a booming voice as he set a platter laden with scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages on the table.

“He's doing something with his hair to look nice for Terese,” Carla confided.

Hunter grimaced. “Not that slicking up the front with soap again?”

“I think so.”

“He did that last night, too.”

“Well, I'm going up to clean the bathroom and I'll send him down,” Carla said. Then, as she headed out of the kitchen, she added, “If I don't see you again before I leave, Terese, it was nice meeting you.”

“You, too,” Terese said with more enthusiasm
now that she knew the other woman wasn't Hunter's girlfriend.

“I'm headin' out again, too. I'll take this coffee to the barn with me,” Willy added, retracing his steps through the mudroom.

And suddenly the whirlwind that Terese had walked in on had passed and she was alone with Hunter.

And much happier than she'd been moments earlier.

Of course Hunter was oblivious to the turmoil she'd just induced in herself, and he merely motioned toward one of the barrel-backed chairs for her to sit down.

“We might as well get started before everything's cold,” he said, not taking the chair across from her until she was seated.

Terese had been so enmeshed in imagining a romance between Hunter and Carla that she hadn't taken much of a look at Hunter before. But now she did, surreptitiously making note that ranch-wear was pointy-toed cowboy boots, jeans that fitted him to perfection, and a chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, exposing muscular forearms and wrists that seemed sexier than mere forearms and wrists could possibly be.

“So Willy and Carla are married?” Terese heard herself say without considering—until after the fact—whether she was being nosy.

But if Hunter thought she was, he didn't seem to take offense. He just answered her question.
“They've been married for a long time now. Since we all graduated from high school.” He handed her the platter of food and then added, “I was best man at their wedding and they were best man and matron of honor at mine.”

“You must be very good friends,” Terese said as she took some of the eggs and a piece of bacon.

“Willy's more than a good friend,” Hunter amended, putting some of everything on Johnny's plate and then serving himself. “Will's closer to me than my brother. We work together every day. Spend time together when we aren't workin'. We own a boat together. We fish and hunt and watch every football game together. He's Johnny's godfather. I'd give him the shirt off my back if he needed it, and I know he'd do the same for me. And Carla… Well, Carla was my wife's best friend and she's Johnny's godmother. I don't think Johnny or I could have made it through the last two years without them both.”

Which left Terese feeling all the more ridiculous for the conclusion she'd jumped to about the woman and her relationship with Hunter.

What had gotten into her? she asked herself.

But she decided it was some kind of fluke that would never happen again and that it was best to put it behind her.

“I've never had friends like that,” she admitted then. “I couldn't even say any of that about Eve.”

“I don't think many people are lucky enough to have friends like Will and Carla.”

Johnny came running into the kitchen then, putting an end to the conversation as he climbed onto the chair between Terese and his father.

“Eggs?” he complained.

“Eggs,” Hunter confirmed.

Johnny made a face, but his father was prepared and drowned the scrambled eggs in ketchup before the little boy could say more.

Johnny's hair was, indeed, standing straight up in front the way it had been the night before, but he'd foregone the necktie today in favor of a flannel shirt, jeans and miniature suede work boots.

And as he settled in to eat his breakfast and outline once again for Terese what he had in store for her today, everything suddenly seemed right to her again.

Which, on some level, she knew was a feeling she should probably resist.

Instead she merely sat there and enjoyed it.

 

Johnny had no problem occupying Terese's day. While Hunter and Willy repaired a tractor engine, the little boy devoted himself to teaching her about the workings of the ranch and demonstrating how to do his own chores.

Terese was astonished by how much the four-year-old knew about the animals and their care, and by what chores he could actually do himself.

He was responsible for feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs, for giving oats to the horses and making sure there was water in their troughs. He
had a pony of his own, that he fed, watered, brushed and exercised with great pride. And he did a lot of fetching and carrying for his father and Willy.

Coming from a privileged upbringing in which she'd been shamelessly pampered by nannies and servants, at first she found it somewhat harsh that Johnny wasn't left to four-year-old entertainments. But as the day went on, she saw that he liked helping out, that it gave him a strong sense of himself and his own abilities, and Terese learned that there were merits to it.

Plus, it wasn't as if Johnny didn't have a lot of playtime mixed into the day. He did. There was time for him to show her sword fighting with one of the rails on the paddock fence. Time for him to set up his army men in the barn. Time for him to fashion a number of dirt hills for his toy off-road vehicles to climb and crash.

There was also time for him to introduce Terese to the barn cat and her kittens, time to play with the kittens that liked him better than Terese and crawled all over him, making him roll on the ground in giggles as they did.

There was also time for him to show her the nest of mice he'd found under a shed behind the barn, where he relished lying on his belly watching them—something Terese refused to do, recoiling at the sight when she realized what creatures he'd surprised her with.

Unfortunately there was the sight of something else that she
didn't
recoil from as the day passed. A
sight that she couldn't be distracted from even by her interest in everything Johnny did and said. A sight she was drawn to again and again against her will.

And that was the sight of Hunter at work.

Of Hunter leaning over the tractor engine with that taut derriere jutting out into view.

Of Hunter hoisting a bale of hay and making the muscles of those bare forearms bulge.

Of Hunter tossing a pair of leather straps over a broad, straight shoulder.

Of Hunter stretching his back with an arch that jabbed his chiseled chin toward the sky.

Of Hunter combing his fingers through his sun-streaked hair.

Of Hunter walking across the paddock with the long-legged, confident saunter that was almost a swagger.

Even the sight of him wiping grease off his hands engrossed her and caused her to stare almost trancelike until Johnny's voice pulled her out of it.

Okay, so the man was something to behold, she kept telling herself. That didn't mean she had to behold him.

But then, before she knew it, her gaze would snag on something about him, and she'd realize only after several minutes that she was staring again.

By the end of the day, she was very frustrated with herself and her lack of self-control. Frustrated and disgusted.

“You'd think you'd never seen a good-looking
man before,” she said angrily to her reflection in the bathroom mirror of the cabin when she made a stop there to freshen up before dinner.

But even once she'd brushed out her hair and twisted it into a roll at the back of her head that left a spray of wavy ends at her crown, and reapplied a little mascara and lipgloss, she wasn't convinced that she could practice any more self-control through the evening to come than she had all day long.

The best she could hope for as she went from the cabin to the house in the dusk was that she would eventually get her fill of this man who seemed to attract her attention like metal attracted a magnet and then this phenomena would pass.

And she did hope it would pass. Never in her life had she been so distracted by a man—by any man—and it made her uncomfortable. Not to mention that it just seemed so strange…

When she reached the house Terese did as Hunter had urged her that morning—she walked in without knocking.