Hunter's Vow. SUSAN MEIER
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and her heart thumped. “It’s so damned good to see you, too,” she said, and swallowed the lump of emotion that tightened her throat.
“May I come in?”
She knew there was no reason to keep him out, yet she glanced around uneasily. Old habit, she supposed.
“Sure.”
She pushed on the ancient wooden screen door and granted him entry. Careful, polite, he stepped into her green-and-yellow kitchen. Holding the door open, he turned to lean his umbrella against the wall of her porch, then faced her with another broad smile.
“I can’t believe I’m really here.”
“I can’t believe you’re really here, either,” she said, meaning it. Her mind was working a thousand miles a second, pulling her out of her fantasy and grounding her in truth and reality. If he wanted her, he could have come back years ago. Given that he hadn’t, she had to force herself to see and understand that he was here only for his son.
Honesty compelled her to admit that if Hunter had come to claim Tyler after leaving her to have their baby by herself, there was a part of her that wanted to rail against him for the suffering of seven long, difficult years. However, there was another part of her that was too cold and tired to fight. In the last four years, the family fortune had been eaten up by medical bills and both of her parents had died. She was alone and broke and needed help, but more than that she was beginning to see that Tyler missed the influence of a man. She could raise him by herself, but Tyler would know life only as a one-dimensional struggle.
So, if Hunter Wyman wanted to be in his son’s life, Abby was willing to admit he needed to be there. Pragmatic and poor, she was also willing to concede his return was better late than never.
“I think I know why you’re here,” she said quietly.
Hunter sighed heavily. “Oh, God, what a relief. I wasn’t quite sure where to start…what to say.” He gave her another genuine, heartfelt smile. “I should have known better.”
The tenderness of his expression hit her right in the heart, but despite her fantasies she recognized she couldn’t take that personally. Any kindness Hunter extended to her was merely courtesy necessary for good communications and a good relationship for Tyler’s sake.
“Tyler’s at school right now, but he’ll be home at about three….”
Hunter’s brow furrowed. He stared at her. “Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat. “Tyler, our son, is at school right now. But he’ll be home at about three.”
Hunter grabbed her wrist to interrupt her. “Tyler? Our son?” he repeated, his face white with shock. “We have a son?”
She gaped at him. He couldn’t possibly be denying it! “You knew very well I was pregnant when you left.”
“Abby, your parents told me our baby had died.”
The blood drained from her face. “What?”
Hunter dropped her arm and ran his hand across his eyes. “Your parents told me you’d miscarried, Abby. That you didn’t want to see me…that you blamed me for losing the baby because I’d upset you…That’s why I left town…” He rubbed his fingers over his eyes again. “Oh, dear God.”
Oh, dear God was right, Abby thought, falling to one of the chairs around her kitchen table. As if the impact of seeing Hunter after so many years wasn’t enough, the realization that her parents could have been so cruel finished the job of buckling her knees. Her parents hadn’t liked Hunter, but Abby never thought they’d hated him enough to ruin her life—or to deprive Tyler of a father.
She wet her dry lips. “Hunter…”
“Abby, do you really believe I would have left you?” He turned, caught her gaze. “That I would have left a child…my son?”
At eighteen, alone, scared, pregnant, listening to the explanations of two parents she believed loved her, Abby had thought it all made sense. At twenty-five, looking into Hunter’s candid eyes, his compelling face, she knew the truth. It hurt so much that her hands began to tremble. “Oh, God.”
Hunter drew a long breath. “Okay, let’s not panic,” he said. “I came here to apologize to you for leaving without saying goodbye and to get your forgiveness so we could both let go of the past. The plan has changed a little bit, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work this out.”
The first half of his words reassured her, the second half didn’t sound like Hunter at all. Confused, she surreptitiously peeked at his sedate trench coat, his expensive black suit, the shoes that probably cost more than she’d paid for Tyler’s entire school wardrobe, and it suddenly hit her that seven years had passed. Seven winters, springs, summers and falls. Seven Christmases. Seven Thanksgivings.
Though the daydream that got her through many a difficult day had been having Hunter Wyman ride up on a white stallion to take her and Tyler away from all their troubles, the truth of the matter was she didn’t really know this man at all.
Worse, he said he had come to get her forgiveness so he could let go of the past—which meant he wanted to let go of her.
He wanted to forget her.
He had as much as come right out and said it.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Tyler?” Hunter demanded of his best friend and partner, Grant Brewster, as he paced the floor of Grant’s den.
Tall, muscular, black-haired Grant leaned back on the burgundy leather chair behind the huge mahogany desk. Though Norm Brewster had died the year before, the familiar study was still the headquarters for the Brewster fortune and the old chair still the seat of power.
Grant crossed his arms on his massive chest. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t know?”
“How could I have known?”
“You left town in the middle of the rumors that Abby was pregnant. The whole town knew she was having your baby. I figured you had your reasons for leaving and if you wanted me to know them, you would tell me.”
Hunter sighed. “Her parents told me she had miscarried.”
Grant conceded that point with a nod.
Hunter sighed wearily. “I should have realized they lied.”
“But you didn’t,” Grant said, sounding old and wise and enough like Norm Brewster that Hunter’s head came up sharply. “You might have been twenty-four, but you were fairly immature. Forgive yourself and move on.”
“That’s approximately what I told Abby we needed to do.” Hunter paused, then began to pace again. “I meet Tyler this afternoon. We’re not putting it off or hedging the truth.”
“Good for you.”
When several seconds passed without Hunter making any further comment, Grant prodded, “But…”
“But I’m scared to death.”
“Don’t be. Tyler’s a great kid. Abby’s been a fabulous mother. In spite of some very difficult years.” Grant shifted on his chair. “If you want the truth, I’d say your return is perfect timing. She needs help.”
Hunter turned. “What kind of help?”
“Every kind of help. She’s working as a waitress at the diner to supplement her income because the bed-and-breakfast doesn’t make that much money, and her parents’ illnesses exhausted every cent her family had. She’s overworked and underappreciated.”
Hunter took his seat in front of Grant’s desk. “So, she needs money? I can pay child support….Hell, I can pay back child support….I want to pay back child support.”
Grant caught Hunter’s gaze and held it. “You owe more here than child support. If you’re going to survive your return to