“H-Hunter?” She gulped for air, nearly choking over the name she hadn't spoken aloud in so long that it felt foreign on her tongue. The one name she'd once loved most of all.
“In fact, there he is, walking this way.” She nodded her silver head in the direction of the front windows where a tall, wide-shouldered man stalked across the parking lot, his Stetson brim tipped to hide the sun. All she could see of his face was the firm, unyielding line of his mouth and the square manly cut of his jaw.
Hunter. Her heart rolled slowly in her chest, flipping upside down. Hunter, here, after all this time. And so close. She stumbled a few steps back. Her first instinct was to run. She cast her gaze down the aisle where Simon stood in front of the glass doors, fist to his chin in thought.
There was no reason why Hunter would suspect, she told herself. But those words didn't comfort her. “Mrs. Hoffsteader, it's been good seeing you, but honestly, I don't want to be standing here when Hunter walks through that door.”
“I understand, dear. He broke your heart.” Sympathy softened her voice. “I suppose you've got a lot on your plate tending your father. That's enough adversity for a girl to deal with. You go on now.”
“It was good running into you.” Millie backed down the aisle, taking refuge between the tall shelves of cooking oils on one side and spices on the other. “I'll see you Sunday?”
“Absolutely. I'll keep an eye out. We're having a church picnic. Rumor has it that you are a Christian now. Be sure to come.”
“I'll try.” She glanced toward the doorâit whooshed open, meaning Hunter was almost in sight, so she took off. No way would he recognize the back of her as she skedaddled down the aisle.
“They had pepperoni.” Simon smiled, dimples flashing, holding up the box. “It's the large size, but that's okay. The coupon covers it.”
“Good boy.” She glanced at the price tacked inside the case, but it was hard to concentrate with her heart drumming a thousand beats a second.
“I found a coupon in there for cookie dough.” Simon's gaze slid sideways to the rolls of premade tubes sitting in bright yellow packages. “It's okay if we can't afford it, but they just look good.”
“Yes, they do.” Impulsively she yanked open the door and snagged a roll of chocolate chip, Simon's favorite. She heard a man's boots thud nearby, a gait she'd know anytime and anywhere, it was sewn into the fabric of her being.
Hunter. His step hesitated directly behind her. Her blood pressure rocketed into the red zone. He tugged at her like a black hole's gravitational fieldâa force she had to resist. Her palms went slick. She slowly set the dough tube in the cart. Maybe if she didn't make any sudden movements, he wouldn't look her way. Let him go on with his shopping without noticing her. That way she wouldn't have to look him in the eye and feel her heart break all over again.
“Mom?” Simon grasped the bar and gave the cart a shove. “What's next?”
“Uhâ” She stared at Hunter's reflection in the glass refrigerator case. He was tall enough to steal a woman's breath, well-built in a country sort of wayâthose were solid muscles beneath his T-shirt. His dark hair, still thick, tumbled over his forehead. Her fingers remembered the silken feel of those locks. If he wasn't wearing that Stetson, his hair would stick up just a hint at the crown, where a cowlick whirled.
She swallowed hard, feeling a bump against her elbow. Simon. She saw her reflection, too. Not the youthful girl she'd been when Hunter had loved her, when the most handsome man in the county had chosen her as his girlfriend. Time and hardship had worn their way onto her face. Faint creases marked the corners of her eyes, the plane of her forehead and bracketed her mouth. No, she was so not the girl she'd been.
That wasn't the reason she didn't answer her son right away. What if the sound of her voice drew Hunter's attention? She pointed to the dairy case. Simon turned the cart with a rattle and headed toward the egg cartons lined up in the next case over.
There was a thump behind her as something landed in Hunter's cart. Wheels squeaked and boots knelled on the tile. Thank the heavens above, he walked away in the opposite direction.
Thank You, Lord.
Relief blasted through her. She risked a glance over her shoulder just as he turned down the next aisle, his attention on his shopping. Iron jaw, granite features, he'd become a man who looked harder than she'd rememberedâthe father of her son.
ISBN: 9781459249912
Copyright © 2012 by Patricia MacDonald
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ⢠are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.