Never Tell. Karen Young
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hardly get her work done if she kept chatting with him. “I don’t want to be rude, Mr. McCabe, but I really have a lot to do.”
He smiled. “Hunter. Mr. McCabe is what my accountant calls me.”
“I’ll just check to see if Jason’s finished.” She moved from behind her desk even though she had to brush past Hunter to leave. Jason must be done but was probably dawdling over wrapping the gift in a very unsubtle attempt to prolong conversation between her and a man. He never tired of trying to stimulate her social life even though he knew she had no interest in developing a relationship. That part of her life was over.
“Okay, he was a hottie and don’t you try to tell me you didn’t notice.” Jason stood with one foot in the door of the office and an eye on the floor of the shop where a couple of customers were browsing. “Also, he did not wear a wedding ring.”
“Which means nothing. Nowadays, not wearing a ring is almost de rigueur for some men,” Erica said, tearing the wrapping from a bolt of electric-blue fabric.
“Yummy, I love it when you talk sexy.”
“Oh, would you look at this color! I love this blue. I think a lining in just the right shade of green, clear bottle-green…” Her eyes went unfocused as she visualized the effect in her mind.
“He’s just the kind of guy you should be dating,” Jason persisted, ignoring the possibility that McCabe was married. “He was driving a sixty-thousand-dollar SUV and his boots cost at least half that. If your libido didn’t perk up at just being in the room with Hunter McCabe, I’m gonna give up. It means you’re dead.”
“The best part of that sales pitch is you’re thinking of giving up.” She tossed the blue bolt aside and ripped open another one. “I think those customers are ready to check out.”
He glanced at the two women who were trying to make a decision about a quilt. “They’re not even close. I’m serious, Erica. I saw the way McCabe was looking at you, as if you were crème brûlée and he’d just been told he could have dessert.”
She placed a bolt on the growing stack behind her, then fixed him with a direct look. “Jason, how many times do I have to tell you that I am not interested in dating? And don’t start with that your-life-is-incomplete-without-sex line. I’m very satisfied designing clothes and quilts. You know yourself I don’t have enough time left over to grocery shop, so when would I have the time to have a relationship with a man?”
“If you gave yourself a chance to fall in love again, you’d make the time. It’s normal. It’s natural. All human beings need the physical and spiritual connections that come from a sexual relationship.”
“Speaking of that,” she said, tearing into another package, “what happened when you went to see your dad?”
“Same as always. Two minutes after I got there, he started. If we hadn’t been at a restaurant, it would have been a huge scene. As it was, Susan stopped him, midtirade. She handles him better than my mother ever did, which makes me wonder how it came about that he married someone who doesn’t ask how high when he says jump. My mother always rolled right over under his overbearing ways. Anyway, Susan threatened to dump her coffee in his lap if he didn’t calm down. You can imagine how lovely the rest of the meal was. If it hadn’t been for her playing mediator, I would have left in the middle of the meal. The man can be a real jerk.”
“Maybe you should cut him some slack until he comes to terms with your lifestyle, Jace.”
Leaning against the door frame, Jason got a stubborn look on his face. “That is such bullshit, Erica. He’s known forever that I’m gay. Just because I never said it, he’s trying to pretend it’s not a fact. The only reason this came up is he happened to run into Stephen and me at that restaurant and he was with a couple of VIPs he does business with, like he was so afraid they’d guess my little secret. Like it has anything to do with him, damn it. Next time, maybe I’ll bring Derek Kingsley,” he threatened darkly. “See how he reacts to that.”
“Speaking of jerks,” Erica put in dryly. “It’s Derek Kingsley, not your father, who comes instantly to mind.”
“Which is exactly the point. And until Dad accepts me for who I am, I’m going to devote myself to pissing him off.”
“Very mature of you,” she told him. “And that should make the next family gathering just lovely. Here, make yourself useful.” She shoved two of the fabric bolts into his arms. “Help me haul this stuff upstairs. I’ve got several ideas for using it and you’ve got merchandise to sell.”
Hunter hoped to avoid seeing Morton when he took his mother’s gift to her on the evening of her birthday. He planned to stay long enough to have a drink and watch her open the gift, then cut out before Morton showed up. The older he got, the less Hunter was able to handle Morton with his gigantic ego and his callous attitude toward Lillian. Tonight, for example, she would be wined and dined royally, which was Morton’s style, after which she would be relegated to the background of his life until some other event required him to turn his attention to her again. At which time he’d do something else lavish and over the top, all in keeping with his public image, of course, then go back to ignoring her. Hunter had long since stopped trying to figure out why she hadn’t walked out years ago. There was apparently something that kept their relationship together, but what it could be was a mystery to him.
Could be his disgust with Morton was plain, old-fashioned jealousy, he admitted, not of the man’s success in his career, but of the place he occupied in Lillian’s life. There had been a time when Hunter and his mother had been as close as any parent and child could be. In spite of the fact that Lillian had remarried after the death of his dad, Hunter had known he was first in her life. Even after Jocelyn’s birth, he and his mom still had a special bond. When exactly that had all changed he wasn’t quite certain, he thought now, frowning. He simply knew that he’d realized one day that their special bond was gone. She’d somehow turned into a ghost of herself and he had yet to figure out why. What wasn’t hard to see was that Morton was suddenly front and center, placing Hunter—and Jocelyn, too—as distant also-rans.
But today was his mother’s birthday and he should have outgrown old resentments. Besides, giving her the jacket as a birthday gift offered him a chance at maybe finding out a little more about Erica. If his mother had any passion besides fulfilling her role as the perfect wife to Morton, it was her participation in the arts community in Houston. If, as Hank said, she was familiar with Erica’s work, she would probably know something about the artist herself.
He couldn’t remember when he’d been as intrigued by a woman as he was with Erica Stewart, a woman he’d barely met and about whom he knew nothing. When he’d left the shop after buying the jacket, all he knew was that he wanted to see her again. In fact, for a couple of days he’d tried to think of an excuse to go back to the shop, but she’d been anything but encouraging in the few minutes he’d spent with her, and he found himself oddly unwilling to chance an outright rejection. He wasn’t sure why he was so intrigued. She was beautiful, of course, but there was something else. Those big gray eyes looked as if they held deep secrets, and her jumble of dark curly hair invited a man’s hand. But it was her mouth that he liked best—wide and bow-shaped—entirely at odds with the seriousness of her eyes and attitude. Downright sexy, it was. Hell, thinking about how she’d taste, he’d been on the point of asking her out before he remembered Kelly.
Probably a good thing the feeling wasn’t mutual.
His mother’s face lit with pleasure when she opened the door. “Hunter, darling, it’s so good to see you.”
“Happy birthday, Mom.”
She made a face. “Don’t remind me.” Lifting her cheek for his kiss, she caught his arm and pulled him over the threshold. “I’ve got your favorite, Maker’s Mark. And I wish you’d join Morton and me for dinner. He’s taking me to Annie’s. You know you’d enjoy it.”
“Too much to do after I leave here,” he told her. “I’ve got a couple of hairy jobs