SUSAN MEIER - Hunter's Vow

The tenderness of his expression hit her right in the heart, but despite her fantasies she recognized she couldn’t take that personally. Any kindness Hunter extended to her was merely courtesy necessary for good communications and a good relationship for Tyler’s sake.

“Tyler’s at school right now, but he’ll be home at about three….”

Hunter’s brow furrowed. He stared at her. “Excuse me?”

She cleared her throat. “Tyler, our son, is at school right now. But he’ll be home at about three.”

Hunter grabbed her wrist to interrupt her. “Tyler? Our son?” he repeated, his face white with shock. “We have a son?”

She gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be denying it! “You knew very well I was pregnant when you left.”

“Abby, your parents told me our baby had died.”

The blood drained from her face. “What?”

Hunter dropped her arm and ran his hand across his eyes. “Your parents told me you’d miscarried, Abby. That you didn’t want to see me…that you blamed me for losing the baby because I’d upset you…That’s why I left town…” He rubbed his fingers over his eyes again. “Oh, dear God.”

Oh, dear God was right, Abby thought, falling to one of the chairs around her kitchen table. As if the impact of seeing Hunter after so many years wasn’t enough, the realization that her parents could have been so cruel finished the job of buckling her knees. Her parents hadn’t liked Hunter, but Abby never thought they’d hated him enough to ruin her life—or to deprive Tyler of a father.

She wet her dry lips. “Hunter…”

“Abby, do you really believe I would have left you?” He turned, caught her gaze. “That I would have left a child…my son?”

At eighteen, alone, scared, pregnant, listening to the explanations of two parents she believed loved her, Abby had thought it all made sense. At twenty-five, looking into Hunter’s candid eyes, his compelling face, she knew the truth. It hurt so much that her hands began to tremble. “Oh, God.”

Hunter drew a long breath. “Okay, let’s not panic,” he said. “I came here to apologize to you for leaving without saying goodbye and to get your forgiveness so we could both let go of the past. The plan has changed a little bit, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out.”

The first half of his words reassured her, the second half didn’t sound like Hunter at all. Confused, she surreptitiously peeked at his sedate trench coat, his expensive black suit, the shoes that probably cost more than she’d paid for Tyler’s entire school wardrobe, and it suddenly hit her that seven years had passed. Seven winters, springs, summers and falls. Seven Christmases. Seven Thanksgivings.

Though the daydream that got her through many a difficult day had been having Hunter Wyman ride up on a white stallion to take her and Tyler away from all their troubles, the truth of the matter was she didn’t really know this man at all.

Worse, he said he had come to get her forgiveness so he could let go of the past—which meant he wanted to let go of her.

He wanted to forget her.

He had as much as come right out and said it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Tyler?” Hunter demanded of his best friend and partner, Grant Brewster, as he paced the floor of Grant’s den.

Tall, muscular, black-haired Grant leaned back on the burgundy leather chair behind the huge mahogany desk. Though Norm Brewster had died the year before, the familiar study was still the headquarters for the Brewster fortune and the old chair still the seat of power.

Grant crossed his arms on his massive chest. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t know?”

“How could I have known?”

“You left town in the middle of the rumors that Abby was pregnant. The whole town knew she was having your baby. I figured you had your reasons for leaving and if you wanted me to know them, you would tell me.”

Hunter sighed. “Her parents told me she had miscarried.”

Grant conceded that point with a nod.

Hunter sighed wearily. “I should have realized they lied.”

“But you didn’t,” Grant said, sounding old and wise and enough like Norm Brewster that Hunter’s head came up sharply. “You might have been twenty-four, but you were fairly immature. Forgive yourself and move on.”

“That’s approximately what I told Abby we needed to do.” Hunter paused, then began to pace again. “I meet Tyler this afternoon. We’re not putting it off or hedging the truth.”

“Good for you.”

When several seconds passed without Hunter making any further comment, Grant prodded, “But…”

“But I’m scared to death.”

“Don’t be. Tyler’s a great kid. Abby’s been a fabulous mother. In spite of some very difficult years.” Grant shifted on his chair. “If you want the truth, I’d say your return is perfect timing. She needs help.”

Hunter turned. “What kind of help?”

“Every kind of help. She’s working as a waitress at the diner to supplement her income because the bed-and-breakfast doesn’t make that much money, and her parents’ illnesses exhausted every cent her family had. She’s overworked and underappreciated.”

Hunter took his seat in front of Grant’s desk. “So, she needs money? I can pay child support….Hell, I can pay back child support….I want to pay back child support.”

Grant caught Hunter’s gaze and held it. “You owe more here than child support. If you’re going to survive your return to this community, people need to see your integrity. You can’t just talk about it. You can’t just toss money around.”

“Are you saying that in order for our construction company to make the transition from Savannah to Brewster County I have to make amends for my past?”

Grant shrugged. “Only if you want people to respect and trust you.”

Knowing Grant had deliberately hit a nerve, Hunter laughed. “You’re a dog.”

“I’m an honest, forthright dog because that’s what my father taught me.” Glancing down at the paperwork on his desk, Grant dismissed his partner. “Now, go do the right thing.”

“Come in, Hunter,” Abby said with a smile, as she held the screen door for him that afternoon. “Tyler’s not home from school yet, but that’s normal when it rains. Unless I missed my guess, he and his friends are probably jumping in puddles.”

Laughing nervously, Hunter stepped inside and shrugged out of his coat. Though it had insulted him that Abby’s family had never let him beyond the kitchen, right now being in the kitchen gave him a homey, welcome feeling. A sense of rightness, a sense of comfort.

A sense that he belonged here.

Memories of the love and laughter they had shared all those years ago lured him but Hunter fought them. Thinking this through after his talk with Grant, he had actually considered that to the residents of rural Brewster County, Pennsylvania, “doing the right thing” by Abby meant that he should marry her. He had even considered that if he and Abby could pretend the past seven years hadn’t happened, pick up where they left off, and get married, they would be the happiest two people in the world. The picture was so appealing that the temptation to believe nearly dragged him under.

But he also knew the truth about life, people and relationships. There was no such thing as a sure thing. Though he believed Abby had loved him, and he also believed she understood he left because her parents had lied to him, she was only eighteen when they were dating. Not only could her feelings about him have changed as she matured, but she had seven years of hating him under her belt. God only knew what that might have done to her. God only knew how that might have colored the way she had raised their son.

So what he planned to do in his meeting with Tyler, his relationship with Abby, was expect nothing from either of them. He would let them give what they wanted at their own paces, and accept whatever he got as enough.

No expectation, no disappointment. It was a good rule to live by.

However, when Abby turned and smiled at him, Hunter’s heart lurched and he once again got the sudden urge to just ask her to marry him and force them into a position where they would have to rekindle their old love. He could still feel the heat and the fire, the passion, of making love to her. It suffused him, seared him with memories he thought long forgotten. Memories that made him ache for the commitment he thought they could have made seven years ago.

However, if circumstances precluded them from attempting marriage then, plain, old-fashioned intelligence precluded it today. Hunter knew so much more about love and matrimony now than he had at twenty-four. And he refused—absolutely refused—to jeopardize his relationship with Tyler because he still had a few flights of fancy about Tyler’s mother.

But he had to admit she was beautiful. He had forgotten that. Somehow over the years he convinced himself that she was the red-haired, freckle-faced rich kid who had money but no looks, who had more or less befriended the shy farmer’s son because they were both outcasts. Seeing her stunning hair, shot with fire by the afternoon sun, her shimmering green eyes, her smooth alabaster complexion, he remembered things the way they really were. She might not have been popular in high school, but it wasn’t because she wasn’t attractive. The more he thought about it, the more Hunter realized she had been an outcast by choice. She wanted more, and to Abby he had been more.

Her faith in him had puffed him up and boosted him at a critical point in his life. Her confidence literally made him who he was today. And though he couldn’t risk a try at the fairy-tale world they dreamed of, he could give her honesty, justice and money. Genuine, hands-on, spendable reality. Not fantasy. If they were going to resolve the problems that faced them, they had to stay away from fantasy and stick with reality.

Glancing around the comfortable kitchen, Hunter recognized that was probably the reason she was keeping them in her kitchen, the room he was accustomed to being in, rather than the living room. This was reality for them. He had to remember that and stay the hell away from daydreaming. He was much too smart for daydreaming anyway. He had gotten over that years ago, and couldn’t believe he was slipping back into that bad habit now. He had to be as practical as Abby was.

Right at that moment, Abby wasn’t thinking about anything practical, reasonable or even sensible. Not only was she too nervous to be analytical about the finer points of introducing her son to his father, but it hit her full force that she didn’t know the silent stranger standing in her kitchen.

She had loved Hunter Wyman all of her adult life, but seeing him again after seven long years, she had to wonder what happened to him. He was as handsome as when he left—maybe more so—but his sedate, businesslike demeanor didn’t fit. She couldn’t reconcile her Hunter to this composed and quiet man. He had been much too passionate about life to be so…well, stuffy.

“You’ve certainly changed,” she said, wanting him to look at her so she could see his eyes. When her efforts were rewarded by his glance in her direction, Abby’s heart sank. He even lost the friendly warmth he had that morning when he first showed up at her door.

“I had to change. I wanted a better life.”

She knew that. Part of what drew her to him had been his desire for a better life and the courage and drive she knew would get it for him. “It appears you got everything you wanted.”

“And then some,” he agreed, taking a seat at the table when she offered it with a wave of her hand.