Night Jasmine (15 page)

He took the box back to his room, returning to the porch just as Aimee and Roubin had reached it.

“Ready to go?” Aimee asked Oliver, grinning as if she already knew the answer.

“Yippee!” Oliver jumped up. “Going to fish,” he announced proudly, looking back at Hunter. “Pépàre promised.”

Roubin chuckled. “Today, maybe you will catch a fish big enough for our dinner.”

“This big,” Oliver said, holding his arms out.

“You catch a fish that size,
petit-fils,
and the newspaper, she will come and do a story about you.”

Oliver beamed, obviously liking the idea.

Hunter sauntered forward, eyeing the basket on Roubin's lap, not too proud to try to angle an invitation to the party. “Judging by the size of that basket, you must have enough to feed an army.”

“Not an army,” Aimee said coolly. “Just us.”

Hunter slipped his hands into his pockets and cocked his head. “I don't believe I've been on a picnic…since we were together in California.”

Hunter watched as a delicious shade of rose eased over Aimee's cheeks. They'd picnicked together more than once when they'd lived together. And made love with the warm breeze against their naked backs. He could tell by her blush that she, too, remembered.

“Mmm.” He grinned.
“Nothing's better than eating cold fried chicken under a big, shady tree on a warm spring day.” They'd eaten chicken on those picnics in the past. And licked each other's fingers clean.

Her color heightened more. “Too bad. We're having sandwiches.”

“Like I said,” Hunter said smoothly, “nothing's better than eating sandwiches—”

“Come on,
chère,
” Roubin interrupted, a twinkle in his eye, “we cannot leave our guest with nothing to eat. How would it look?”

“Can he come, Maman?” Oliver begged, clapping his hands together. “Please!”

Hunter fought back a grin and gazed at her with what he hoped were irresistible, puppy dog eyes.

With a shake of her head and a quick grin, she gave in. “All right, you can come. But I warn you all…” She wagged a finger at them. “…if anybody eats more than two sandwiches, somebody will go hungry. And I promise you, it won't be me.”

The amused and teasing atmosphere prevailed, setting the tone for the entire outing. Even the weather cooperated by providing a cloudless blue sky, unusually low humidity and deliciously moderate temperature.

After consuming every sandwich—and playfully fighting over the last—Roubin took Oliver down to the bayou's edge to fish. Hunter stayed behind with Aimee, sprawled beside her on the blanket, and she didn't know whether to rejoice or wail over that fact.

She couldn't resist him when he was being so attentive and charming. But then, she wasn't sure she wanted to. She drew in a deep, easy breath. For the time being, she would let the moment—and the future—take care of itself.

Leaning back on her elbows, she smiled sleepily as she watched her father show Oliver how to cast. The change in her father over the past week was nothing short of remarkable. He was smiling and laughing. He seemed to be enjoying life again, even if only a bit.

She tipped her head, studying her father's expression. Now, his face was the picture of patience. And contentment.

Contentment, she thought, sighing and closing her eyes. The way she felt at this moment. Contented and sleepy and ready for whatever life threw her.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Aimee opened her eyes and looked at Hunter. His gaze was as blue as the spring sky above. And today, for this moment anyway, just as cloudless.

“You were right about Papa,” she said simply. “He's doing well. Better than I've seen him since his illness.”

Hunter looked at the older man, then back at her, frowning. “I was too hard on you. I didn't mean to be. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. You were right. I needed the proverbial kick in the rear.” She smiled. “Not that I didn't despise you for it at the time.”

“I despised myself for it. I couldn't seem to…” He shook his head and looked away. “Forget it.”

“No, Hunter. What?”

From beyond the edge of the blanket, Hunter plucked a long blade of grass. He twirled it in his fingers for a moment before looking her fully in the face once more. “That night, I looked at you, and all I could think about was you in my arms. In my bed. But I knew those were the last places you wanted or needed to be.”

He tossed the velvety blade of grass aside. “I was hard on you because I couldn't be soft. Couldn't be gentle. Not without taking you in my arms. Again.”

Aimee glanced uncomfortably away. What could she say to that? How could she respond? Tell him that his arms, his bed, was where she wanted to be, even though she knew it was impossible? Should she thank him for saving her when she would rather curse him for it?

She sat up and curled her legs protectively under her. “Congratulations, Doc,” she quipped. “The surgery was a success.”

For one long moment, he didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe. Then he caught her hand, forcing her to meet his eyes once more. “Helping your father wasn't about being a doctor.”

The breath lodged in her throat, and she wetted her suddenly parched lips. “No?”

“No.” He ran his fingers over hers, exploring, exciting. “It was about caring. For you. For your father. It was about wanting you to be happy.”

“Oh,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say but simultaneously cursing the inane little word.

“Damn, you're beautiful.”

Aimee lifted her gaze, surprised at the compliment, feeling color flood her cheeks. “What brought that on?”

“Looking at you.”

“Oh,” she said again, and again called herself a fool. He dragged his thumb across the translucent skin of her wrist; her pulse scrambled in response.

Could he feel the wild beat of her heart? she wondered, a catch in her chest. Could he feel her need, her confusion?

“Aimee?” he murmured, his voice thick.

“I should check on Oliver,” she said quickly, starting to rise.

Hunter tightened his fingers, tumbling her back down to the blanket beside him. “He's fine. He's having fun with his grandfather.”

In the branches above, a bird burst into song. The breeze stirred the leaves, bringing with it the sweet scent of flowers. The sun warmed; the bayou lapped gently against the bank.

Even Mother Nature was conspiring against her, Aimee thought, her muscles loosening, her pulse slowing. And how could she fight Mother Nature?

She couldn't. Simple as that. With a shake of her head, Aimee relaxed against the blanket once again, letting the beauty of the day surround her, the magic of the moment. The magic of being with Hunter.

“Have you missed…California?” he asked, after a moment.

Aimee paused, then nodded. “Yes.” She drew in a deep breath, then released it. “I miss the pace. I miss all the things there were to do there. The galleries and museums, the shows. I miss being able to talk to people who think as I do.”

But most of all, she thought, meeting his eyes, I miss loving you…miss being with you.

Hunter plucked another blade of grass from the ground beside them. Again, he toyed with it. “And your photography? Do you miss it?”

Her chest tightened. “Of course.”

“Then why did you give it up? Why did you go?”

“How can you ask?” she whispered, emotion choking the words. “I did what I had to. To survive. I had no friends, a part-time job that paid minimum wage, and I was pregnant.”

“I would have helped you.”

“I didn't want that. I still…don't.”

Hunter caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss in her palm. Then turning it over, he laid the blade of grass in her palm and curled her fingers around it. “I know.”

Aimee stared at her closed hand, then brought her gaze back up to his. She didn't know what that gesture signified, she only knew how it made her feel. Connected to him in an elemental way. Powerless yet safe. Terrified.

Clutching the blade of grass, she said, “Every one of my dreams blew up in my face at once, Hunter. My dream of you loving me, of us living happily ever after. My dream of being a famous artist. I was a fool. A silly, naive girl who thought she could make things happen just by wanting them to.”

She opened her hand and gazed at the slim sliver of green. “I needed you desperately. You weren't there for me. Just as you always told me you wouldn't be. But you see, like a willful and stubborn child, I had believed only what I wanted to. Then when everything came crashing in on me, I saw. In a sort of epiphany of pain, I finally saw the truth about us.

“I had no one. When my show bombed, my friends deserted me.” She drew in a deep, ragged breath. “So I went home. And found my father a changed man. Bitter and angry. I hadn't even known he was sick.” She met Hunter's eyes. “He almost died, but I wasn't here for him. I was off chasing rainbows.”

“He didn't contact you, Aimee. If he had, you would have gone to his side. You know you would have.”

“But don't you see? He'd told me I would be dead to him until I came home. He'd meant it.” Her eyes filled. “I hadn't believed him. Just as I hadn't believed you when you told me you would never love me. I was wrong about everything.”

Hunter touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.”

“I know you are.”

“And I wish I could…change that time.”

She leaned her head into his caress. “You can't.”

“No.”

Silence fell between them. Aimee breathed deeply, sobered by their talk but not sad. She looked up at the crystalline sky, then back at Hunter and smiled. “I'm not completely unhappy, you know. I love the bayou. Her sounds and scents. Her mysteries. I grew up here, and she feels like home. I love my family, my people. Oliver is happy. He has family here, a connection that goes beyond me to who he is and what he will always be a part of. That's important.”

As if cued, Oliver squealed and called for her. She looked up to see him holding up his fishing line, the fish on its end fighting for its life, flashing silver in the sunlight. She gave her son a thumbs-up sign and shouted her congratulations. In the next moment her father showed Oliver how to get the fish off the hook without damaging its mouth, then together they threw it back. She smiled. If her father had anything to say about it, her son would be a very good fisherman.

She turned back to Hunter to find his blue gaze intently upon her. Something in his expression had her catching her breath. “What?”

“The only warmth
I've known since Ginny and Pete died has been with you.” He caught her hand once more. “You thought you weren't important to me. That you didn't make a difference in my life. You did. I don't know if I would have made it through that time without you.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, unsure what to say, what to do. As if reading her thoughts, he shook his head and curled his fingers tightly around hers, indicating that she should just let him talk.

“I was out of town when…it happened,” he began, clutching her fingers even tighter. “At a medical convention. Pete wanted to come with me. He begged me to let him. But, I was giving a paper, an important one, and I was nervous. I didn't want the…dis-traction.”

Hunter fell silent, and Aimee saw his struggle for control. Saw how much it hurt him to verbalize this part of his past. Aching for him, she returned the pressure of his fingers.

“I told him everything would be fine,” he continued, his voice raspy. “I'd be home in four days, I'd bring him something special. I didn't get the chance. Two nights later, in the middle of…the night…”

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. Aimee knew what had happened. Their pricey Laguna Beach home had caught fire; Ginny and Pete had not escaped in time.

“I've died a million guilty deaths since then,” Hunter whispered. “If only I'd brought them with me. If only I'd listened to him. Maybe he knew, on some instinctive level, that something terrible was going to happen. You know, like people who at the last minute decide not to board a plane that crashes later. But he was a child, he couldn't control…he only had me to turn to…to take care of him. And I…let him down. I let them both down.”

“Oh Hunter…” Aimee brought his hand to her face, and laid her cheek against it. “The truth is that he loved his daddy and wanted to be with him. Don't second-guess like that. Don't speculate. It'll kill you.”

“And would that be so bad?”

Her tears brimmed and spilled over, rolling slowly down her cheeks. “I think so,” she whispered. “I think it would be terrible.”

Hunter sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “I didn't know, Aimee. Until they were gone…I just…didn't know.”

She squeezed his fingers even tighter, her own numb from the pressure. “What?” she asked softly. “What didn't you know?”

“That they were the only things that were important.”

Her breath caught. Reaching up, she cupped his face in her palms. She gazed into his eyes, glassy with emotion. One moment became two became a dozen. Slowly, she drew his head down to hers. Their lips met. She brushed her mouth against his gently and with infinite care, telling him without words everything she felt for him. Holding nothing back.

He shuddered and curved his arms around her back. For long moments, he held her tightly. Then he eased away and gazed at her, searching her expression, his own haunted. Not by the memories of their time together, their failed love affair. But by the ghosts of his wife and child.

It had always been this way between them.

Without another word, Hunter stood and walked off. He headed away from the bayou and the three of them, and as much as it hurt to let him go, Aimee knew he needed to be alone.