For Love and Family (3 page)

Stretching along the porch were brick-bordered flower beds. Although it was too late in the year for blooms, the flower beds were festively adorned with teepees of dried corn stalks and artfully displayed pumpkins, brightly colored gourds and squashes.
There was also a life-sized stuffed scarecrow dressed in a red bandana shirt and denim overalls lounging on the chair swing that hung from chains at one end of the porch.

All in all, even though the place was nothing fancy, Terese liked it.

A porch light to the right of the screened front door was lit for her, providing a warm golden glow even after she'd turned off her engine and her car lights. She got out from behind the wheel and just stood there for a moment, looking at the house and letting it sink in that her nephew really was just inside.

In those first few days of his life, she'd fallen in love with the baby Eve had given birth to. She'd held him and rocked him and cooed to him. She'd felt him curl up against her; she'd spent hours with him sleeping in her arms.

In the process she'd begun to hope that her sister would change her mind about giving up the baby. That she could convince her sister to keep him and that then she would get to be a part of his life.

But nothing she'd said or done had changed Eve's mind. Eve had wanted nothing to do with that baby. She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to hold him. She didn't even want to know he was alive. And she certainly wasn't going to keep him.

When Terese had finally had to accept that, her thoughts had turned to an alternate course. She'd decided to adopt the baby herself.

Eve had hit the ceiling when Terese had told her. It was the biggest argument they'd ever had, culminating in Eve's flat refusal to relinquish the infant to Terese. Then, to make it even harder on Terese, Eve had arranged for the baby to be immediately turned over to the parents Eve had chosen. Terese hadn't had so much as the opportunity to say goodbye to the baby she'd come to love.

It had wrenched Terese's heart. In fact, she'd gone through a long period of grieving before she'd given up the hope of ever seeing him again.

And then she'd come home to find Hunter Coltrane in her entryway.

Of course the circumstances had been less than ideal. Certainly she didn't want a health problem to be the cause of bringing her nephew back into her life. But now that it had happened and she was only moments away from getting to see him again, it seemed too good to be true.

Terese opened the rear door and pulled out her leather suitcase, not wanting to waste any more precious time when she could be meeting her nephew.

And seeing his dad again.

But Terese pushed the thought of Hunter out of her mind as soon as it popped into it. Exactly as she'd been doing since she'd seen him at the hospital. Hunter might be drop-dead gorgeous and honest enough to have kept his word, but meeting and getting to know his son was the only thing this visit was about. And she couldn't let herself forget that.

Terese was determined not to lose sight of just how touchy the whole situation was. She knew she had to keep in mind that she was an outsider in the lives of both father and son. She had to keep in mind that even though she might be a blood relative of Johnny's, she still had no rights to him, that she was nothing more than a stranger here, allowed to get to know him only out of the kindness and generosity of his father, a father who could very well have dug in his heels and refused to have the line between birth family and adopted family crossed.

No, she had no doubt whatsoever that this was a touchy situation. Touchy and complicated. And it didn't need to be complicated even more by her drifting into thoughts of Hunter Coltrane as a man.

Terese closed the rear car door with a resounding slam, as if that would help put an end to any thoughts of her nephew's father.

Then she climbed the four steps to the front porch with her suitcase in hand.

But before she had a chance to knock on the screen, the carved oak door opened and there stood Hunter Coltrane.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Strappingly good-looking.

Taller, broader of shoulder, and even more strappingly good-looking than her memory had made him in all the images that had haunted her since she'd come in on his confrontation with her sister this past week.

It didn't help matters.

But Terese tamped down the instant, involuntary
appreciation that flooded her at that first sight of him and reminded herself that she was out of his league when it came to looks, and that she'd better remember it.

Johnny. This was only about Johnny….

“I'm sorry I'm late,” she said in lieu of a greeting as he pushed open the screen. “I'm the chairwoman for the committee that gave this dinner tonight and I just couldn't seem to get away.”

“It's okay. The man of the hour is still awake and champing at the bit to meet you,” the rancher said in that lush, masculine voice she'd been hearing call her name in her dreams.

As if on cue, a little boy bounded down the stairs behind Hunter just then, shouting as he did, “Is she here? Is she here?”

“What'd I tell you about comin' down those steps more slowly and holdin' on to the railing so you don't fall, little man?” Hunter asked sternly.

“I know,” the small boy grumbled half under his breath. “But is she here?”

Hunter still didn't answer that. He turned back to Terese, propped the screen open with his backside and reached for her suitcase.

“I hope you're ready for this,” he said. “Come on in.”

“Thanks,” Terese muttered as she crossed the threshold in front of him, catching a whiff of a light, heady aftershave that smelled like a pine forest.

The big man had been blocking a clear view of the little boy but once she'd stepped into the entryway
Johnny was right there, in full sight, fidgeting with excitement.

“I'm Johnny!” the pajama and necktie-clad child proclaimed proudly.

Terese had no idea how his father had explained her so, as she drank in that first opportunity to set eyes on him in four years, she simply said, “Hi, Johnny. I'm Terese.” But there was a catch in her throat as a combination of emotions put moisture in her eyes and made her smile too big at the same time.

There he is, she just kept thinking as he held out a tiny hand for her to shake as if she were a visiting dignitary.

He couldn't have been more adorable with that chubby-cheeked, freckled face, that turned-up nose and that fiery red hair that he'd done something with to make it stand at attention in front. And in that instant, Terese fell in love with him all over again.

She wanted badly to scoop him up and hug him, but of course she didn't do that for fear of frightening him. She did probably hold on to his hand a shade longer than she should have.

“Nice to meet you, Johnny,” she said, finally letting go of him.

“What's our deal?” Hunter asked then.

Terese glanced over her shoulder at him to see whom he was talking to and found him leaning a shoulder against the door he'd just closed, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his slacks, observing this meeting.

His question had been aimed at his son, though, and Johnny knew it because the little boy said, “I can show her 'round the house and have one short story and then I have to go to sleep.” It had been a recitation peppered with reluctance and it made Terese smile all over again. Especially when Johnny added, “Can our company read me the story?”

“Our
company's
name is Miss Warwick.”

“Oh, no, please, I'm Terese,” she implored.

“Okay. It's up to Terese whether or not she wants to read you a story. Maybe she'd rather get settled in,” Hunter told his son.

“I'd love to read the story,” Terese interjected.

“She'd love to read the story,” Johnny repeated for his father, making Hunter chuckle.

He raised his sculpted chin in the general direction of the house then. “Okay. Well, get to it, Mr. Tour Guide.”

A tour guide was exactly the persona the small child put on for her as he led Terese from the entryway to the living room that opened to the right.

“This is where we play games and watch TV,” Johnny said as if Terese wouldn't know what the room was used for otherwise. “There's not s'posed to be food in here since I spilled the orange juice on the couch and we had to turn over the pillow so nobody'd know.”

“Johnny…” Hunter groaned from behind them.

But Terese merely laughed again—both at the son giving away secrets and the father's embarrassment.
“You would never know by looking,” she assured, glancing at the gray tweed sofa that matched an over-stuffed easy chair.

They were positioned with an oak coffee table and a full wall of shelves and cabinets that, from what she could see, acted as an entertainment center, library and knickknack holder in front of them. Solid wood doors blocked the view of the contents of the lower cabinets.

“The kitchen's this way,” Johnny said, heading through an open arch to the right of the living room.

It was a big country kitchen with an abundance of plain white cupboards and appliances and a large pedestal table with four barrel-backed chairs around it.

“This is where we eat—even at Christmas and stuff. My friend Mikey's got another room where they eat on Christmas but we don't.”

“That means there's no formal dining room,” Hunter translated from where he'd stopped in the kitchen's entrance.

“Ah,” Terese said.

“This is the mudroom,” Johnny informed her, pointing into the much smaller space that was off the kitchen. It contained a washer and dryer as well as a shelf with coat hooks and a bench beneath it. “My dad says it was named for me because I'm always comin' in muddy and I need to take off my shoes in there before I track it everywhere else.”

“Good idea,” Terese confirmed.

“So if you get muddy feet, you can do that, too.”

“I'll remember that.”

“Now we can go upstairs,” Johnny announced.

Terese followed him back into the living room, casting Hunter a faint smile when she glanced back to see if he was coming, too.

But he didn't catch the smile because his eyes were too low. In fact, she thought they might have been on her rear end.

Had Hunter Coltrane been checking out her derriere?

She must have been mistaken, she told herself. But even so, she couldn't help the little rush that went through her.

A little rush she tried to ignore.

They returned to the stairs Johnny had run down earlier and went up to the second floor.

“That's the bathroom over there. Always knock first,” Johnny said, adding his advice by rote. Next he held one arm straight out and pointed a miniature index finger at another door. “That's the guest bedroom for when somebody has a sleepover but doesn't stay in the cabin.” The index finger moved slightly. “That's my dad's room.” Another move of the index finger. “And this one is mine!”

Terese couldn't see into the guest bedroom because the door was closed, but she did catch a glimpse of a tall antique bureau and a king-size bed with a fluffy brown comforter in the room Johnny had said belonged to his father.

There was no time for more than that glimpse,
though, as her nephew charged into his own room, clearly intending her to go with him.

“Come on, I'll get the book for you to read.”

Terese went into the toy-cluttered room, but as she did, she once more cast a glance to Hunter. “You're sure you don't mind my doing the honors?” she asked, wanting to make sure she wasn't stepping on any toes.

“It's okay,” Hunter assured, leaning a single shoulder against the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't say any more to Terese but aimed his attention at his son once again. “The necktie has to come off for bed.”

The little boy obeyed without an argument, brought the tie to his father and then situated himself to one side of the bed so Terese could sit on the mattress beside him.

“Green Eggs and Ham,”
Johnny said when he handed the chosen book to her. “My dad is tired of it but maybe you're not.”

“I don't think I've ever read
Green Eggs and Ham,
so it will be a treat for me.”

Reading to him
was
a treat for her, but the book itself had little to do with it. Just the fact that Terese was sitting there with her nephew, participating in his bedtime routine, was something more special to her than either Johnny or his father could know.

She was sorry when she reached the last page.

As she closed the book, the little boy slid under the covers and said, “You'll be here tomorrow, right?”

“I will be,” Terese confirmed.

“We gots ranch work to do but I'm gonna show you our barn and our barn cat and all the stuff outside that I couldn't show you in the dark.”

“I'd like that.”

She also would have liked to bend over and give him a good-night kiss on the cheek or the forehead, but, as with the urge to hug him earlier, she resisted. Instead she said, “I'll see you in the morning, then,” and traded places with Hunter to stand at the doorway while he tucked Johnny in, roughed up his hair and gave him the good-night kiss she hadn't been able to.

“Sleep tight, big guy,” Hunter said once the ritual was accomplished.

“Sleep tight,” Johnny answered, already sounding groggy.

Hunter switched on a small bedside lamp and then joined Terese at the door, turning off the overhead light.

She stepped aside to allow him to go out into the hall but once he had she couldn't keep herself from craning around the doorjamb for one more look at her nephew.

A wealth of emotions swelled in her and she had an odd feeling that he might once again disappear from her life if she left him behind.

But of course that was silly. She knew she was going to see the little boy again the next day. Reminding herself of that finally made her able to tear herself away from the door.