The week after Hunter had taken us on our early morning trip to Wade Lake went by in a frantic, frazzled, freaking mess.
I’d gotten an influx of spur-of-the-moment reservations on top of my previously scheduled bookings. On top of that, my part-time housekeeper had come down with the flu. So instead of ticking off items from my renovation list, I’d spent my days cleaning and doing laundry to turn over guest rooms.
By Sunday, my bookkeeping was overdue, my loft was a disaster, and Hunter’s housekeeping room looked exactly the same as it had the night I’d clobbered him with the tile. I had given up on anything I’d deemed noncritical including doing my makeup, eating lunch, and, unfortunately, spying on Hunter from my loft window.
Since Hunter had gone back to his normal early morning, late-evening routine, I hadn’t seen him all week. Our only communication had been through sticky notes. I’d leave him a smiley face or a Hi! on the Tupperware meals I delivered to his refrigerator each day. He’d respond with emptied containers and a scribbled Thank you.
Except on Friday. Friday, he’d left me a note with his phone number, asking me to text.
My fingers had never typed a text so fast.
For the last day and a half, any time my phone dinged, I would stop whatever I was doing and race to my phone, smiling whenever I saw Hunter’s name on the screen.
“Mommy!” Coby called from his room. “Is he here yet?”
“Not yet, buddy. Pretty soon,” I yelled back from the kitchen.
Hunter wouldn’t be here for another twenty minutes. He was coming over to spend another Sunday afternoon with us and we’d planned on getting lunch at the café and then going to the pond to take some photos of Coby fishing.
My son was bouncing-off-the-walls excited.
So was I.
It had only been a week but I missed Hunter. Last Sunday, he had made a lasting impression. I missed his smile. I missed hearing his voice. I missed the smell of his cologne, which had faded from my car.
Twenty minutes. I only had to wait twenty minutes and I’d have it all back.
I went back to my massive pile of dishes in the sink, hoping I’d have them done before Hunter got here, when my phone rang on the counter. I rushed over, wet hands and all, hoping it was him wanting to come over early.
“Darn,” I muttered seeing the unknown number. It wasn’t uncommon to get calls from blocked numbers for the inn, and since I’d forwarded the lobby phone to my cell, I cleared my throat to answer. “Thank you for calling The Bitterroot Inn. How can I help you today?”
The line was silent so I waited a few seconds. “Hello?”
Still no sound. I lifted the phone away from my ear just as a woman’s voice finally came over the line. “Hello. Is this The Bitterroot Inn located in Prescott, Montana?”
Double darn. Not a potential guest, a telemarketer. As much as I wanted to just hang up, I couldn’t do it. So I’d listen, multitasking as I waited for the sales pitch I’d politely decline.
“Yes, this is The Bitterroot Inn.” I sandwiched the phone between my shoulder and cheek and went back to my dishes.
“May I speak with Maisy Holt, please?”
“This is Maisy.”
“The same Maisy Holt who murdered Everett Carlson four years ago?”
The plate in my wet grip slipped right out, crashing into the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “Who is this?”
The woman didn’t answer.
“Who is this?” I demanded through gritted teeth.
When she didn’t answer, I hung up. Tossing my phone aside, I braced my arms on the counter and closed my eyes, taking a few long breaths to calm down. This wasn’t the first time I’d received a phone call like that and they always made me angry.
The first year after Everett’s kidnapping, I’d been hounded relentlessly by the press. Everyone wanted to sell my story—or their version of my story—hoping it would make them a few dollars. The fact that I’d declined comment without exception just made me that much more interesting. That much more of a challenge.
Some reporters had been ruthless in their attempts to get me to comment, saying anything and everything to make me mad so I’d slip. Some reporters were nicer, offering me money or a TV exclusive, but I’d always declined those too.
My story was my business and didn’t belong in the headlines. The only person who would get an explanation was Coby, when the time was right.
Why was I even considered news after all this time? Weren’t there other topics far more interesting than my simple little life? With phone calls like that to bring it back up, how was I ever going to move past that horrific night with Everett?
Work. I’d get back to work and busy myself until my anger was buried deep.
Doing just that, I finished the dishes and cleaned my kitchen. Then I dusted the living room until a knock sounded at the door.
Coby flew out of his room, sprinting past me with Pickle trying to keep up.
“Wait up, bud.” I jogged over to the door as he was attempting to yank it open. “It’s locked.”
I checked the peephole first, making sure it was Hunter, and smiled when I saw his man bun. Flipping the deadbolt, I swung open the door to see his handsome face. He grinned and my world was better. Gone was the stress from the past week and the annoyance from that reporter’s phone call.
“Hunter!” Coby yelled as Pickle yapped.
“Hey, Coby! What’s happening?” Hunter asked, ruffling my son’s hair as he came inside.
“We’re all going fishing!”
“I’m pretty excited,” Hunter told him. “Do you think I’ll catch the biggest fish?”
Coby shook his head. “No way.”
“Maybe I will.” My statement earned me two misbelieving looks.
Hunter leaned in to kiss my cheek. “Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, back.”
“Are you guys ready to go?”
I nodded. “Yes. I just need to grab our stuff.” I was about to order Coby to get his shoes and hat but he had already plopped down on the floor to pull on his Crocs.
I hustled to the refrigerator to get the white Styrofoam cup of worms I’d dug up from my flower bed yesterday, and with it in hand, I grabbed Coby’s fishing pole from the corner. I slid on my shades and locked the loft’s door, following Hunter to the 4Runner, where he was already buckling in Coby to his seat.
My stomach was full of jitters, but the good kind. The kind that only came with a crush.
“Do you still want to grab lunch?” Hunter asked as he drove.
“Yes, please. I’m starving.”
He took us straight to the café where the Sunday after-church crowd was starting to thin so we were lucky enough to get a booth by the window.
“Want to play tic-tac-toe?” Coby asked Hunter, flipping his paper place mat over and digging for a pen in my purse.
Hunter’s shocked face came to mine. “He can play tic-tac-toe?”
My mouth spread in a proud-mom grin. “I taught him a couple of months ago. He’s getting the hang of it.” I leaned in closer to whisper. “But he always needs the middle square.”
“Middle square. Got it.”
Hunter and Coby played a few games, Coby always the victor, until our waitress brought over a kids’ menu and crayons. With our orders placed and Coby contentedly coloring a dinosaur picture, Hunter and I caught up on the crazy that had been my last seven days.
“I thought you said tourist season normally didn’t start until the middle of May.”
I sighed. “So did I. But I’ll get caught up. I always do.” I might not sleep much this week, but I’d get through my list. “How about you? How was your week?”
“Good.”
I smiled on the outside though his one-word answer made me cringe on the inside. If our friendship developed into an actual relationship, I’d have to tell Hunter how much I hated one-word answers. But as it was, my mouth was staying shut. If he wanted to say “good” and leave it at that, I’d suck it up.
The decision I’d made last week at Wade Lake was still holding strong. I would not be nosy. I didn’t know what Hunter did for a living. I didn’t know if he’d gone to college. I didn’t know if he preferred grape jelly over strawberry. The questions were right on the tip of my tongue but I swallowed them down. When Hunter wanted to share, I’d be all ears.
For now, I’d let conversation about my life monopolize our time.
“Is your housekeeper feeling better?” he asked.
I nodded. “She is, thank god. She’ll be back tomorrow and is going to pick up some extra hours this week. I need it too. I’m still one room short because I’m trying to get the remodel finished.”
“Which room?”
“Seven. Right next door to you. I’m painting it tonight after Coby goes to bed.” Michael had already volunteered to come over and sleep on the couch so I didn’t have to worry about Coby.
“You’re painting it tonight?” Hunter asked. “Why not wait for tomorrow?”
“My fault. I put it off for too long. I have to paint it tonight because the carpet gets installed tomorrow with the trim. Then once that’s all done, I still need to get it furnished, decorated and cleaned.” It would be hectic but if I could punch out that room, it would take a huge weight off my shoulders.
“Can I help with anything? I’ve got good furniture-moving muscles.”
That was no joke. I could see the contours between his biceps and triceps underneath the fitted quarter-zip he was wearing.
I smiled to myself, noticing that we nearly matched today. Jeans. Gray quarter-zip. Tennis shoes. At least my shirt was light while his was nearly black and his shoes weren’t lime green like mine.
“Maisy?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry.” I blushed and smiled at my water glass. “I was just noticing that our clothes kind of match today. Anyway, I’ve already recruited my brothers to help with the furniture. Thank you, though.”
Hunter was still a paying guest, and although he was doing my photos, I couldn’t bring myself to ask for more help and risk taking advantage.
“How did your meeting with your contractor go yesterday?” I asked.
He’d texted and said they were doing a walk-through of the remaining construction items. I was secretly hoping it would take longer than he’d guessed just so he would be at the motel a little longer. Even if I didn’t get to see him much, it was comforting just to know he was there, sleeping right underneath my loft.
“The meeting was okay. Just like I’d guessed, it’s going to be another month at least.”
“Bummer.” I sipped my water to hide my grin.
“It’ll be worth the wait. Did I tell you my property is right in the foothills going up the road to Fan Mountain?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’d kind of guessed. There isn’t a lot of new construction in Prescott. There are some pretty big houses up that way.” I had narrowed his house down to one of two that were currently being built in that area. One was massive and the other was big but tasteful. I really hoped his was the latter.
He nodded. “Yeah, some are huge. I think mine will be the smallest for miles.”
Yes! I fist pumped under the table, glad that Hunter wasn’t the type to go for gaudy extravagance just because he had money.
The waitress arrived with our food, ending our adult conversation. Instead of grown-up talk, we spent the rest of the meal fielding kid questions from Coby. Thanks to my son’s interrogation, I learned that Hunter was not afraid of sharks, he had never been to the moon, and his favorite color was blue.
After Hunter paid the lunch bill, we took the short drive down Main Street to the community pond.
“Stay back from the water!” I called to Coby as he ran across the grass toward his favorite fishing rock.
“Okay, Mommy!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Cool spot,” Hunter said as we walked. “Does all of this water come from the river?”
“Yeah. It was built back in the fifties. The town dug the pond and then a channel to feed the water from the Jamison. They stock it with fish—”
“Come on, you guys!” Coby yelled.
Hunter and I both laughed and picked up our pace. I hurried to get Coby set up with his fishing pole while Hunter got out his camera. Casting out the line for Coby, I stepped back so Hunter could capture a few pictures without me in the shot.
Once he was done with the photos, Hunter took over casting for Coby. Cast after cast, we didn’t say much until Coby caught a fish and our trio broke out into cheers. I used my phone to take a video of Coby reeling it in with Hunter standing proudly at his side.
“Smile for a picture.” I did a photo burst of Coby and Hunter before they unhooked the fish and set it free.
“That was fun!” Coby cheered.
“It sure was. Do you want to stay longer or are you all done?”
“Um.” His eyebrows came together as he considered his answer. “All done fishing. When we get home, can Hunter watch Cars wif me?”
Hunter smiled. “I don’t have any other plans.”
I smiled back. “Then let’s go watch Cars.”
Coby squealed and raced back to the car.
“I can hang with him if you want to get ahead on your painting,” Hunter offered as we walked to catch up.
“Thank you, but that’s okay. I’ll just do it tonight when he’s asleep. I haven’t gotten to spend much quality time with him this week and a movie with some popcorn is more important.”
Hunter’s steps slowed, a strange look on his face. It was the same look he’d given Coby the first time he’d seen my son by the vending machines. Puzzled wasn’t the right word to describe it, though his eyebrows were knitted in the middle. Awestruck, maybe?
“What?”
“Nothing.” His face relaxed into a grin. “It’s just, he’s a lucky kid. You’re a good mom.”
I’d been keeping track of Hunter’s compliments.
That one just hit the top of the chart.
“Thank you.”
Hunter jogged ahead to load Coby in the car, and with his back to me, I hop-skipped my next three steps. I worried daily that I was being a good mom to Coby—I probably always would—but Hunter’s compliment was enough to banish those insecurities for today.
Reaching the car just as Hunter was closing Coby’s door, I tossed the fishing pole in the back. By the time I closed the hatch, Hunter was just getting into the driver’s seat. “You know, I can drive. This is my car.”
“Blondie, don’t pretend to protest when we both know you like to ride shotgun with me at the wheel. I saw that smile when you handed over your keys for me to drive up to the lake last week.”
He had me there.
So I just smiled and got in the passenger seat. I was buckling my seat belt when my phone rang in my lap.
My face scrunched up at another unknown number. Chances were this was probably a legitimate call for the inn, but since I was still on edge from the reporter’s call earlier, I ignored it and let it go to voicemail.
The missed-call banner popped up on the screen at the same time Hunter’s phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his jeans pocket and frowned.
“Do you need to get that?” I asked. “We can wait in the car while you take it outside.”
“It’s no one important.” He declined the call and dropped his phone in his lap. With a quick smile to Coby in the back, he turned the key in the ignition.
We were almost back at the motel when my phone rang again. Another unknown number. If this was the reporter, I’d give her kudos for her persistence. With a grunt, I declined this call too.
“Everything okay?” Hunter asked.
“Probably just a telemarketer.”
I hated lying but today wasn’t the day to get into the reason why I was being hounded by a reporter. That story would come some other time. Hunter hadn’t asked about Coby’s father yet and I was glad for it, because when he did ask, I wanted to give him the full story. I wanted him to know what he was getting into with us.
I just hoped that once he learned about my past, he wouldn’t run away to his house in the foothills and stay away for good.
Hunter
I was about one phone call away from blocking Nell’s number.
She’d called eleven times during Cars. Eleven. If I hadn’t been on call, I would have shut off the damn phone, but as it was, I had to decline it every time and tell Maisy it was no big deal when she’d repeatedly offered to pause the movie.
But finally, the calls stopped as we sat down for the homemade cheeseburger pizza Maisy had made for dinner.
Three pieces demolished, I went back for a fourth. “This is the best pizza I’ve ever had.” Considering how much pizza I’d consumed during undergrad and med school, that was saying something.
“I’m glad you like it.” Maisy smiled proudly and dug into her own slice. “Eat as much as you like.”
I patted my stomach. “I will, but I’ll be running an extra mile tomorrow. Pizza has always been one of my weaknesses.”
“Mine too. That and cookies.”
I smiled. I loved that Maisy wasn’t afraid to eat. She had an awesome body, probably from working her ass off every day, but she didn’t stress about calories. Every meal we’d shared, she had never ordered a salad or picked at her plate.
“Cookies rank up there on my list, but probably not as much as other temptations.”
“What’s a tem-pation?” Coby asked.
“A temp-ta-tion. It’s something you have a hard time resisting. An indulgence.” He was still confused so I kept going. “Something you go crazy over. Like pizza or cookies.”
He bounced in his seat. “I know. Like cheeseburgers!”
I laughed. Damn this kid was smart. “Like cheeseburgers. Or gummy worms.”
“Gummy worms?” Maisy and Coby asked at the same time.
I nodded. “I can’t resist. I’m a sucker for gummy worms. Especially sour ones. And Lay’s potato chips. I used to survive on those alone in college.”
“Any other temptations I should know about?” Maisy asked.
I locked my gaze with hers. “You.”
She smiled but didn’t look away, even as her cheeks flushed.
“Do you like brownies?” Coby asked, forcing me to break away from Maisy.
“Yeah, bud. I like brownies. Especially ones with chocolate chips.”
“Me too.”
Damn, this was nice. It was all I could think about as we finished our meal. Coby, Maisy and I were so comfortable around each other. Everything was easy here. If only I could ignore the world outside her door and stay in this loft for the rest of my life.
Maisy stood and started clearing plates to the kitchen before I could offer to clean up. “I’ve got dishes tonight.”
“Coby, bud, why don’t you go get Pickle’s leash and we’ll take him for his walk?”
“Okay!” He scrambled off the seat.
I grabbed his yellow plate and took it into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. “Thanks for dinner tonight and all of the other nights this week.”
“It was my pleasure.”
I leaned a hip against the counter, studying her perfect profile as she faced the sink. “You don’t have to cook for me, you know? You’ve got a lot going on and making me food isn’t necessary. I can just eat downtown.”
“I want to,” she said as she rinsed a fork. “I cook plenty for me and Coby, so setting aside some for you is no big deal. Besides, I hate the idea of you always eating out or only eating junk. I’ve got too much of my mom in me to let you survive on processed foods alone.”
I opened my mouth to thank her again but nothing came out.
She’d rendered me speechless.
Other than my mother, no one had ever really cared about what I had to eat. I’d never gone hungry, our house chef had made sure to always have something prepared, but he’d done it out of obligation, not love. Maisy was feeding me simply because she cared.
All those years ago, when I’d first seen Maisy in the maternity ward of the hospital, I had made an assumption about her. Spending time with her these last two weeks, I now knew I’d been right.
Maisy Holt was pure joy. She was goodness personified. She was a beam of sunshine breaking through the clouds in my life.
I’d walked away from her back then.
I’d avoided her the last time I’d lived in Prescott.
I wouldn’t do either ever again. I wasn’t giving her up without a fight.
I’d come to Prescott with a plan: to look out for this beautiful soul. My plan had just changed. Now I was here to win her heart.
Maybe—if she could fall in love with me—she wouldn’t push me away when she learned the truth. Maybe she’d love me enough to forgive all the omissions and the half-truths.
Maisy deserved the full story. The entire truth.
Just not yet.
Until the time was right, my secrets were my burdens to bear. Then, when the time was right, she’d get it all. Every miserable detail. She could ask me any question her heart desired and I’d give all the answers.
But not yet.
Not until I won her over completely and stood a chance at keeping her—forever.
As I stared at her profile, determination coursed through my veins. I had never faced a bigger challenge but I’d never had this much to gain. Three hearts were on the line here: Maisy’s, Coby’s and mine, and I’d do whatever it took not to break them all.
“Ready!” Coby bounced into the kitchen with Pickle’s leash.
I tore my eyes away from Maisy and stood tall, smiling down at the overexcited puppy and his boy. “I’ll take these two out for a walk.”
Maisy stopped washing and worried her bottom lip. “Oh, um . . . that’s okay. We can all go when I’m done with this.”
Shit. Did she not trust me alone with Coby? She’d declined my offer to watch him earlier so she could paint, and now this. Winning her over was going to be fucking hard if she didn’t trust me with her son.
But, not wanting her to be uncomfortable, I backpedaled. “I get it. It’s too soon for a strange man to be alone with your son. No pressure at all, I just wanted to help.”
“Oh, no. It’s not that.” She giggled. “I trust you with Coby.”
One sentence and my shoulders sagged. I trust you with Coby. “Then what?”
She scrunched up her nose. “Pickle has had, um . . . diarrhea. Coby gave him too much people food last night and I didn’t want you to have to deal with that mess.”
“I’ve got the dog.” I snagged the leash from Coby and picked up Pickle. “You do the dishes and take a five-minute break.” I winked at her, loving how it always made her smile, then walked outside with my own wide grin.
“You know what’s special, Coby?”
“What?” he asked, hopping down the steps.
“Your mom’s smile.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Why?”
“Because it never stops.”
“Huh?”
I shook my head and chuckled. “Never mind, bud. Here.” I set down the puppy at the base of the stairs and hooked on his leash. “You can lead Pickle but I’ll take care of his poop. Okay?”
“Okay.” And off they went into the grass.
One day when he was a little older, I’d explain why Maisy’s smile was special. And then when he was a lot older, I’d explain how lucky he was to have inherited his smile from her and not his father.
Coby was the spitting image of Everett. His hair. His eyes. The shape of his face. Everything except for that smile. Everett’s smile had always been too cold. Too calculating. A genuine smile on his mirror image’s face suited it much better.
Physical traits aside, Coby was otherwise one-hundred-percent Maisy. He had her curious nature. He had her energy and spirit. And his presence brought peace to my heart, just like his mother’s.
Maisy and Coby Holt were remarkable people, proving something I’d always known.
Everett Carlson had been one stupid motherfucker.
Four hours later, I was lying on the bed in my room, listening for sounds next door. The second I heard a faint rustling through the wall, I flew off the bed and walked outside in my old jeans and white T-shirt.
“Maisy, it’s me, Hunter.” I smiled as I called out from the walkway outside the room. “I’m coming over there.” I took a few steps. “Here I come.” One more step. “I’m not going to attack you so please don’t throw a paintbrush at my head.”
I stepped into the doorway and held up my hands to ward off a potential attack.
“Ha ha,” she muttered. I dropped my hands to catch her rolling her eyes but smiling. “You’re freaking hilarious, Faraday.”
Entering the empty room, my eyes immediately feasted on Maisy’s bare, toned legs. She was wearing cutoff denim shorts and a white tank top, exposing her smooth and lightly tanned skin. Her electric-blue sports bra was peeking out underneath her tank top and she was barefoot, her toes painted the same blue as the bra.
When she bent to set down the paint tray she’d been holding, I quickly adjusted my dick so she wouldn’t see the tent in my jeans.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I crossed the room and took a paintbrush from the box in the middle of the floor. “I’m helping you paint.”
“Have you ever painted before?”
“Walls? No. The last time I remember painting was with Crayola watercolors in middle-school art. But I’m kind of a smart guy so you can teach me.”
She sighed. “Hunter, you don’t have to do this. I really appreciate the offer but you’re already doing so much with the photographs and—”
“Hey.” I stopped her and stepped into her space. “Let me help. Please.”
Her breath hitched as I leaned just a bit closer. She smelled so good. So sweet. Fuck, I want to kiss her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and take her mouth. To hold her all night long after I’d exhausted her completely.
But tonight, she needed to get this room painted, and if I kissed her, it was going to take a while.
Our first kiss was going to be the lasting kind. The kind she’d never forget. The kiss that erased all others from her past.
Tonight, we didn’t have that kind of time, so instead, I leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Are you going to teach me to paint?”
She shivered as she whispered back, “Yes.”
I grinned and forced my feet to take a backward step. Then we got to work.
Three hours later, the ceiling was white, the walls were “dove gray,” and I had paint specks all over my clothes, hair and skin.
“Thank you,” Maisy said as she surveyed our work. “This would have taken me a lot longer by myself. Now Michael might actually be able to go home and not sleep on my couch.”
“Anytime.”
I meant that too. I’d help her anytime. The smile on my face would last all week just because I got to spend my Sunday night working side by side with Maisy.