Warrior at Willow Lake (4 page)

“You’re right.” Hunter shouted over the music, his gaze dark as a thunderstorm and his jaw a rigid line. “And I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was a mistake, and I’d take it back if I could.”

“So would I.” Maci managed as she crossed her arms tight over her chest and turned toward the window. The breeze dried tears that leapt to her eyes before they had the chance to spill down her cheeks. She sniffled softly as his earlier words coursed through her mind.

Maci, it’s not you.

But it obviously
was
her. The words had set her off, and she wasn’t even sure why. She was tired—exhausted—and coming down from an adrenaline rush. Seeing the blush of love on Ali’s face as she held precious Rory and witnessing the adoration in Ryder’s eyes—the pure and real love for his wife and newborn son—had ignited a desire in her. And Hunter’s words brought her crashing back to the reality that she’d never experience such love herself.

Face it…me with a man—any man—is like gasoline to flames. I can’t even manage the short ride home without inciting an argument. What’s wrong with me?

“Turn the music down. We’ll both go deaf.” Hunter adjusted the volume and glanced her way. “What—now you’re not going to talk to me?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Are you crying?” His gaze softened, and the sharp line of his jaw went slack.

“What do you care?” She swiped at her eyes, mortified that he’d noticed her tears.

“Maci—” Hunter reached for her hand and she pulled back as if scalded.

“Please, don’t touch me.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I just want to go home.”

“Not like this.” Hunter slowed the car to a crawl as they crested a hill and turned a corner. The park and the band shell beyond rose along the sleepy horizon. “We should talk.”

“We should both go home and get some sleep. It’s been a long day—night—whatever…I don’t even know anymore.”

“Maci, please—”

“There’s the landing—and my car.” It was the only one left in the lot. “You can let me out here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

“Be reasonable, Maci.” Hunter’s voice coaxed. “You’re right, we’re both exhausted. I did—said—some things I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” She shook her head, her cheeks damp and her stuffy nose mottling her voice. “You meant it, or you wouldn’t have said it. You have an aversion to
shrinks
like me. And that’s what I am, Hunter—a counselor. I like to help people. It’s my passion. I’m sorry that doesn’t meet with your approval. Thanks for the ride, anyway.”

The truck was still coasting when she opened the passenger door and slipped from the seat. She kicked off her sandals and sprinted across the vacant lot. When she got to her car, she jammed her key into the lock and yanked open the door to crawl into the driver’s seat.

“Maci, wait.” Hunter skidded into the space beside her and leapt from his pickup. “This is crazy. Just listen to me for a minute.”

“Crazy?” Maci started the engine, drowning out his voice. “So I’m a shrink
and
crazy. Wow.”

Her gaze, blurred by tears, trained on the road. She’d been a fool to trust him so easily. She chalked it up to the adrenaline of seeing Ali in pain and the sheer excitement of Rory’s birth. It wasn’t any more than that—it couldn’t be.

“Maci, talk to me.”

“I think I’ll pass on that, Hunter. Good night.” She stomped the gas pedal and sped from the lot, leaving him standing beneath a street light.

She was a mile down Magnolia before she realized she’d left her violin behind the passenger seat of his pickup.

3

Maci dropped a teabag into her mug and filled it with boiling water. As the peppermint tea steeped, she eased to the bay window overlooking the back patio. A waterfall of wave petunias spilled from rectangular terra cotta planters that lined the concrete, and daisies sang from a cornflower blue ceramic pot in the center of the glass-topped table set off to one side. A smile tickled her lips. Maybe, if she finished sorting through her case files after church, she could spare a few minutes to laze on one of the ample chair cushions beneath the sunshine and dive into the novel she’d promised, weeks ago, to treat herself to.

Anything to forget Hunter and his kiss.

Maci turned back to the stove and reached for her tea. As she sipped, she wondered how Ali was feeling and how sweet little Rory was fairing. The nurses had said he’d spend at least a week in the NICU, gaining strength while his lungs matured. Then he’d come home to Ali and Ryder…his family.

The thought tugged at Maci’s heart and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. What did she know about family? She had none—hadn’t for the greater part of a decade. Her father had abandoned her and her mother when she was an infant. Most likely because her mother, who’d passed away just before Maci turned twenty, had been a perfectionist college professor who drowned herself in her work. She’d pushed Maci to be perfect, too, and had never seemed to be satisfied, no matter how hard Maci tried to please. Maci figured she was just unlovable. Her mother had never come right out and said it, but she sure gave that impression, always pushing for more—demanding more. Maci wished for the hundredth time that her mother was still alive so she could try just once more to be the daughter that was expected. Yet, Maci was thankful for the violin lessons her mother had provided. Getting lost in the music—the endless hours of practice—helped to fill what was missing in her soul.

Maci drew another sip of tea and leaned against the counter as the liquid warmed her belly. Sunlight spilled over spotless ceramic tile that lined the floor in a muted splash of cream and beige. A quick glance around the kitchen told her everything was in order. She liked it that way, both at home and in the little office down on Magnolia, where she spent her days counseling teens through music. It wasn’t just a job to her—it was a passion. So, like her mother, she’d fill her days as full as possible. With one exception—unlike her mother, she wouldn’t bring a child into the world that would only be made to feel unworthy and neglected. If that time ever came—a time when she wanted a husband and a family—she’d put all her energy, every ounce, into loving them the way she longed to be loved…with her whole heart, never holding back.

She sipped, sighed, and thought of Hunter. Why had he gotten so off-kilter? Everything was going so well, and then—somehow, someway—she’d set him off without even trying.

Go figure.

She should be able to determine the point of origin—the exact moment when things turned from warm and fuzzy to crash and burn. He was right about one thing—she
was
a counselor. But, where he was concerned, she remained clueless. She laughed derisively, wondering why everyone thought counselors had all their ducks in a row when most of them were just as insecure as the next person—sometimes more. Giving advice and taking that same advice were two completely different animals.

Maci tapped her manicured nails on the polished table and remembered she had a bigger problem to tackle. She felt as if she was missing a limb. How was she ever going to get her violin back? She hoped it wasn’t still sitting behind the passenger seat of Hunter’s truck, in the heat of the morning, warping. The thought caused a knot to twist in the pit of her belly.

Maci frowned. A behemoth like Hunter—a man who still, in the twenty-first century—resorted to using the word
shrink
—was sure to lack appreciation and concern for the worth of the handmade, Strad-style instrument nestled behind the passenger seat of his pickup. Maybe he at least had parked in a garage. She could only hope.

The doorbell rang, startling Maci so tea sloshed over the rim of the cup, scalding her fingers. She set the mug on the kitchen table, blew the sting from her fingers before drying her hands on a dish towel, and then hurried to the door as the bell sounded once more.

“Hang on a sec. I’m coming.” She leaped over a stack of patient files and dodged Vivaldi, her calico cat, before reaching the door.

“Good morning, Mace.” Hunter leaned lazily against the door jamb, her violin case in one hand. The site of him, dressed in khakis and a navy polo, did battle with her pleasure that the violin was returned. She pressed a hand to her flushed cheek as she waited for the world to right itself.

“Good morning, yourself.” She managed the words though her belly flopped as if she’d just exited a coaster at the county fair. “I didn’t expect to see you anytime soon.”

“Glad to see you’re speaking to me again.” He grinned, flashing a mouthful of white teeth and a generous dimple along his chin. “That’s a nice surprise.”

“You brought my violin.”

“Yeah.” He handed her the case. “I was worried you might need it.”

Worried
…that single word softened Maci’s defenses just a bit.

“I figured it was melting in the back of your truck.”

“Such little faith.” The smile turned to a slight grimace. “You really think I’d forget an instrument this valuable and important to you?”

The fact that he understood the instrument’s value caused a jolt of electricity to course up Maci’s spine. “You thought about me…the shrink.
And
you’re familiar with violins?”

“I’m just chock full of surprises, aren’t I?” He pressed a hip into the door jamb, grinning lazily. “You’re the most amazing counselor I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing…”

“You make a habit of that?”

“No. You’re the first.” He winked. “And my sister used to play—not like you, granted. But she was into the music scene for a while. I went to concerts with her.”

“You did?”

“Wow, your shock wounds me.” His hand splayed over his heart. “I enjoy good music as much as the next guy. I would have come by last night, as soon as I realized it was still in the truck, but I figured we were both on edge from lack of sleep. And…Maci, I’m sorry. The truth is I wouldn’t take back the kiss. The truth is…I want to kiss you again.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” But the words scorched Maci’s tongue, because deep inside that was exactly what she wanted—to have him kiss her again. “We hardly know each other. It’s just not right, Hunter.”

“We can fix that. I have a plan.”

She lifted one eyebrow, narrowing her gaze. “And that’s reassuring to me, because your plan for last night went so well.”

“Point taken. I’m a quick study, though. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Maybe so. But, how did you know where I live?” Maci took the case from him and set it carefully on the coffee table. “We didn’t even exchange phone numbers.”

“A little clue.” Hunter flipped the ID tag on the violin case. It carried ‘return to’ information. “It didn’t take a genius.”

“Oh, right.” Maci slipped a strand of hair behind one ear and wished she’d thought to dab on a bit of lip gloss. She glanced at her watch. “I was just getting ready for church, but would you like to come in? I have a little time before I have to leave.”

“That depends.” Hunter raised both hands in a gesture of truce. “Are you going to bite me?”

“Hmm…” Maci grinned. “Only if you deserve it.”

****

“In that case…” Hunter took a tentative step over the threshold. “I’ll enter at my own risk.”

“Good.”

Piano music drifted from the stereo tucked into a bookcase lined with hardbacks. The living room was small but homey and neat with a splash of framed watercolors hanging along the walls. Overstuffed throw pillows plumped along the couch arms and the gas fireplace hearth, dormant for the season, was filled with a display of ceramic planters sporting trailing ivy and pink tulips. A cat darted from beneath the coffee table and lunged over a stack of brown file folders to twine a figure eight around Hunter’s ankles.

“Who’s this?” Hunter stooped to give the cat a reassuring pat along his multi-colored fur. “He looks like a handful.”

“He is.” Maci laughed. “That’s Vivaldi.”

“Vivaldi…as in the violinist?”

“Right again.”

“Wow.” Hunter glanced up and laughed softly as he shook his head. “Should have known.”

“Would you like some breakfast? I have a taste for scrambled eggs and thought I’d whip up a batch.”

“Eggs sound great.” He splayed a hand across his rumbling belly. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.”

“Me, too.” Maci mirrored his gesture and he imagined her hunger gnawed, as well. “I was somewhat…distracted.”

“As for the tea…have you got anything stronger—and preferably black?”

“That’s right, you’re the coffee king.” Maci’s denim-blue eyes danced. “I think your stomach must be cast iron. But I can scare up a cup, if you don’t mind instant.”

“After the hospital’s vending machine, anything will taste like gourmet.” He followed her into the kitchen. A mixing bowl sat on the counter along with a whisk and a mug filled with tea. On the stove, a skillet was smothered in a slab of butter. The aroma of sausage links brought Hunter’s stomach to full alert. “Have you talked to Ali this morning?”

“I called her just a bit ago.”

“And…?” He snatched a sliced mushroom from the cutting board.

“Everyone is doing fine. Rory’s eating and squalling…doing all the things babies are supposed to do.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Yes, it is.”

Maci filled a teapot with water and set it to boil as Hunter leaned against the kitchen counter. When she reached across him to draw a mug from the cabinet, sunlight spilled over the hair that cascaded down her back, turning it to coppery flames.

“So, are you going to share?” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, her gaze full of questions.

“Share?”

“The kiss…
our
kiss—are you going to share why it set you off or just keep me guessing until I manage to figure things out on my own?”

“Oh…that.” He pushed away from the counter, eased over to her. “I’m sorry about that. I just got a little rattled from everything with Ali and the baby, which is unusual, because I never—”

“Everyone gets rattled sometimes.”

“And then hearing that you’re a shr—I mean counselor…”