Night Jasmine (19 page)

He smiled tightly. “I'd be back in bed after
hours up prowling the quiet house.” He shrugged. “It's been this way for years now. Since Ginny and Pete's…since the fire.”

“I'm sorry.”

He didn't respond and Aimee had the sense that he was suddenly far away from her, from this room. He stared at the window, toward the day beyond. The dove cooed again, the sound lonely against the light.

“Always another dawn,” he said, almost to himself. “Another day without them. Having to face the light, having to admit they were gone. Having to face my failure, my guilt. My culpability in their deaths.”

“Culpability?” Aimee drew her eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

He returned his gaze to hers, his eyes dark with pain. With remembering. “It's my fault they died.”

“But…the house caught on fire. The wiring…you sued the builder. You won.” She shook her head. “Hunter—”

“The wiring was the reason the house caught fire.” He curled his hands into fists. “They died because they couldn't get out of the house. The firemen found their bodies right inside the front door. The keys were in Ginny's hand.”

“Oh, God.” Aimee brought a hand to her mouth. “Hunter, how horrible. I'm so…sorry.”

“I was an arrogant bastard. Nothing bad had ever happened to me. Growing up, my entire family was blessed. No money problems or illnesses. No deaths. Nothing. Somewhere along the line I started to believe that people caused their own tragedies. I would look at the bad things that happened to other people, other families, and think they had somehow earned their unhappiness.”

Hunter lowered his gaze. “I believed that if I did everything right, no tragedy could touch my family. I did everything right, and my family died.”

Aimee crossed to the bed and knelt down beside it. She covered his hands with her own. “Accidents happen. Bad things come our way. It's part of life.”

“Right.” He met her eyes. His were dry but filled with a private anguish. A hell he had never shared with anyone before. “I went against the advice of my architect and had double dead-bolt locks installed. I wanted the extra protection. Problem is, in an emergency it takes time to find the key, to fit it into the lock. To get the hell out. That's a lot to ask when you're confused and terrified and breathing in smoke. When your little boy is screaming and…”

Emotion choked him, and Aimee climbed onto the bed and curved her arms around him. “It wasn't your fault, Hunter. It wasn't.”

He didn't reply, and Aimee cupped his face in her palms. He looked at her, his expression tight with control. She pressed her mouth to his. “Ginny wouldn't have wanted you to spend your life second-guessing. She didn't blame you. I know she didn't. How could she? You only did what you thought best for your family.”

“Yeah, I did that all right. The best.”

Aimee buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms still wrapped around him. For long moments, she just held him. Silently. No pressure, no demands.

After a time, he drew a shuddering breath. “I wanted you to know…everything. I wanted you to know why.”

Her chest tightened. He wanted her to know why he didn't—and couldn't—love her. Why he couldn't love Oliver. Why he had shut himself off from the world of the living.

But he'd never confided in her before. Never opened up. That he had now, filled her with hope. That he had, meant something. Even if he didn't yet realize it.

She wouldn't force her feelings upon him; she wouldn't demand to know his. Not yet. She loved him. She could wait.

She tipped her head back to meet his eyes. “Nothing you said changes the way I feel about you.”

“I wish it did.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I'm no good for you, Aimee. You know that.”

She took a deep breath. “Then leave, Hunter. Last time I made the break. This time it's up to you.”

* * *

Hunter didn't leave. Although over the next week Aimee could tell he thought about it constantly. It was there in the faraway expression that would sometimes come into his eyes, in the way he looked at her or Oliver, when he thought she couldn't see—sadly, as if he'd already said good-bye.

Aimee plumped her bed pillows, then tossed them back into place. Despite that and a niggling sense of doom she chose to ignore, they'd had fun. They'd laughed and played, taking Oliver to the park and swimming and to the zoo in New Orleans.

They'd done many other things together as well, the three of them, like a family. Roubin had been more than happy to take total responsibility for the store, and Aimee knew her father thought her and Hunter's future together a given. She wished she could be so positive.

Aimee turned toward her bedroom window and the sweet morning breeze that tumbled through. The lace curtains stirred with it, and she reached out and touched one. May was drawing to a close already. It hardly seemed possible that summer was almost here.

Time marches on.

Hunter couldn't stay indefinitely.

Aimee pushed that thought from her head, thinking instead of the last week. She and Hunter had made love whenever and as often as they could slip away, and always after Oliver had gone to sleep for the night. They had reveled in each other, in rediscovering themselves and their relationship through the physical act of love.

And afterward they had talked. For hours and on subjects she hadn't discussed in years: national and international politics; art and issues, such as the environment and animal rights. She'd forgotten that part of having Hunter in her life. She'd forgotten how much they'd seen eye-to-eye and how much fun it had been arguing when they hadn't.

More than once their arguments had led to laughter, laughter to another round of lovemaking.

Aimee smiled to herself. It had been exhilarating. She felt more alive than she had since coming home.

Oliver, too, seemed to be blossoming. He had become more loquacious, more independent and courageous under Hunter's tutelage. Her baby had grown up, just a bit. She saw now that Hunter had been right. In small ways she'd been holding him back by being overprotective, too cautious.

She rubbed the antique lace between her fingers, her smile fading. It was almost frightening to realize how quickly Hunter had become a part of their lives, how quickly they had come to feel like a family.

What would it feel like when he was gone?

“Maman?”

Aimee turned and smiled at her son. He was still in his pj's, his hair still tousled with sleep. “Hi, baby. I bet you're ready for breakfast.”

He shuffled into her bedroom, dragging his baby quilt behind him. “Mr. Hunter here?”

Aimee hesitated, a catch in her chest. She could see the concern—and hope—in her son's eyes. Lately, he would almost panic when he couldn't find Hunter. As if he, too, knew their time together was limited.

She'd told herself she would have to deal with her son's feelings for Hunter soon. She was afraid
soon
had come.

She took a step toward Oliver, smiling again. “Mr. Hunter's making some calls. Remember,” she said gently, “he has a business in California. That's where he lives.”

Oliver pouted, clearly not comprehending. “But he here.”

“He's only visiting, honey.” She struggled to keep her own tone calm, reassuring. “He'll have to go home soon.”

“Oliver go, too?”

“No, baby.” She shook her head. “I don't think so.”

“Yes.” Oliver drew his mouth up into a pucker. “Want to go with.”

Aimee bent and held out her arms. “Come to Maman.”

“No.” His shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “Want for my daddy.”

Aimee pulled in a deep, steadying breath, her heart turning over. What could she say to him? It was what she wanted, too. And it hurt like hell. Because she couldn't give this to her son. And because, if she'd handled this situation differently, he wouldn't have had to go through this.

Damn Hunter anyway, she thought, suddenly angry. His inability—or unwillingness—to let go of the past was hurting them all. Oliver deserved better than that. So did she. If Hunter couldn't love them, he should just go.

As quickly as her temper had flared, it died. Aimee drew in another deep breath. But she didn't want to force him into a decision, because she couldn't bear to say goodbye. Not just yet.

“I ask him.”

Aimee dragged her attention back to her son. “Oh, Oliver…baby, I don't think that's a good idea. Mr. Hunter's home is in California. He'll be leaving soon.”

“No.” Oliver's chin wobbled. “Don't want him to go.”

Aimee crossed to her son and scooped him into her arms. He curved his own around her, his little body trembling with childish fury and disappointment.

She stroked his back and murmured comforting sounds. She had seen this coming; it had been inevitable from the moment she had looked out the screen door to see Oliver playing with Hunter. It didn't hurt any less for being so.

He whimpered, and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I know, baby. I want him to stay, too. But that might not be possible. We'll just have to wait and see.”

* * *

Hunter stood just outside the doorway and watched Aimee and Oliver, his chest heavy and aching. He felt cornered. Trapped. Not by Aimee, but by the situation. By his own indecision.

He wanted to stay. Lord, how he wanted to. But his want was selfish. He had nothing to give Aimee. Or Oliver.
The longer he stayed, the more he hurt them.

Then why couldn't he bring himself to leave?

He would be forced into a decision soon. His partners in the clinic were getting desperate, even threatening to come down and physically bring him back. He could understand their frustrations—it wasn't fair to have dumped his entire work load on them just because he had to straighten out his life.

Was that what he was doing? Hunter wondered, looking back at Aimee and Oliver, guilt sawing through him. Was he working out his own problems, or just making more problems for them?

Listening to Oliver now, the answer seemed obvious. He stepped back from the doorway, not wanting Aimee or Oliver to see him just yet. Oliver wanted him to stay. He wanted him to be his daddy.

Daddy.
Hunter flexed his fingers, the word running over him, filling his head. It made him feel strange. At once warm and jittery, pleased and terrified. Nobody but Pete had ever called him Daddy; he'd thought nobody ever would again. But here was Oliver and an opportunity he'd never expected to have again.

He drew his eyebrows together. Could he ever be the kind of father Oliver deserved? Could he ever love him? Hunter looked back at the mother and son. And what of Aimee? She deserved a man who could love her wholeheartedly and without ghosts. Could he ever be that man?

He doubted it. He doubted he had the capacity for any of it. That part of him had died with Ginny and Pete.

And yet… Hunter brought a hand to his hair and dragged it through. He'd changed since being here. He'd begun to feel again, begun to see life as more than just existing from one day to the next.

He didn't want to go, Hunter admitted. He didn't want to say goodbye. Not to Aimee. Not to Oliver. And not to the way he had begun to feel. Alive.

Aimee looked up then, and their eyes met. His chest tightened. He had to make a decision, he acknowledged. And soon. Aimee had been right—the longer he stayed, the more it would hurt Oliver when he left. The more it would hurt Aimee. And he'd already hurt Aimee enough to last a lifetime.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to say the one word he needed to—
goodbye.

Even as the word rang through his head, she smiled. The curving of her lips was soft and sweet, filling him like a song. He couldn't leave, not yet, not today. Pushing aside worries of the future, and fears of the past, Hunter moved toward her.

Chapter Ten

“L
ook, Russ,” Hunter said into the receiver, “I'm sorry. But I still have some things to take care of here. You'll have to handle it.”

Aimee stood behind the cash register, ostensibly checking out a customer, but in fact listening to Hunter. She handed the woman her change. “Thank you. Come again.”

The woman looked at her strangely, then turned and walked away. After a moment, Aimee realized why—the woman was Mrs. St. Roche, whom she'd known all her life. And Aimee had acted as though she'd never seen her before. Aimee shook her head. The news that she'd lost her marbles would be all over town by sundown.

She would have to tell her father to expect a worried call from Tante Marie or one of the other relatives. Shutting the cash drawer, Aimee turned her attention back to Hunter and his call.

“No,” Hunter continued, obviously frustrated, “I can't give you an exact date. I wish I could.” He paused a moment, obviously listening, then exploded, “No, dammit! I can't tell you that, either. It's personal.”

Aimee realized her hands were shaking and stuffed them into her pockets. She didn't know how much longer she could go on this way. Wondering if each day would be the one when Hunter decided to leave. Wondering how much time she had left with him. She felt as if she were living on a time clock, where each minute that ticked past might be her last with Hunter.

She'd established the rules of the game; she'd told him he would have to be the one to leave, he would have to make the break this time. Now her own rules were making her crazy.

She frowned. His feelings hadn't changed. He still held himself back from her emotionally. From Oliver. She felt his doubts, his reserve, as keenly as if he'd spoken them. They hurt. Almost as much as the hope clutching inside her.

“Maman?”

Aimee dragged her gaze from Hunter, and looked down at her son. She forced a smile. “Yes, baby?”

“Want to go fishing.”