hanger. Why had she discarded all of Percy’s other clothes and kept these? A quiet reminder, perhaps, of happier moments spent with her husband, the former stand-up comic.
Hunter tucked his soiled trousers into a plastic bag found on the floor of Deidre’s closet, then changed into the overalls and went back to check on Connor, who had turned onto his side and was cuddling a fuzzy teddy bear. Except for twin dimples—Beth’s contribution to his facial features—Connor was the spitting image of Kent. Had he inherited his dad’s “do everything by the book” nature, too, Hunter wondered as tears stung his eyes, or his mom’s easygoing personality?
What was wrong with him lately? Seemed like every time he turned round, tears threatened. Connor sighed, and Hunter knuckled his eyes. “Don’t be in too big a hurry to grow up, okay?”
“That’s what I told him,” Brooke said, stepping up beside him, “when I tucked him in on the night of the crash. I guess it’s a blessing that he’s so young, because he won’t remember how he lost his mom and dad.”
“Yeah, but we’ll make sure he knows what sort of people they were.”
For a moment, Brooke stood, content, it seemed, to watch Connor sleep.
“So how’s Deidre?” he asked.
“She’s fine. I told her if she didn’t eat that ham sandwich, I’d make her take a nap.”
He chuckled as Brooke sighed.
“It won’t be easy,” she said, “admitting to Connor that I didn’t know his dad very well.”
It seemed she was thinking out loud, but that didn’t stop him from saying, “Kent wasn’t an easy guy to get to know.”
“I’m not made of glass, Hunter. I can handle the truth.”
Before those punishing meetings at the bank and funeral parlor before the graveside service, he might have disagreed, based solely on what Kent had told him about her. But he knew better now.
“All I meant,” he defended, “is that I’ll make sure Connor gets to know his dad.”
“You’ll make sure?”
“I’ll help, I mean. If it’s okay with you.”
Brooke looked up at him through thick lashes. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Oh, I don’t know...maybe because I killed your mother?
She avoided his gaze. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m in no position to turn down any help that’s offered.”
She’d easily convinced both managers that Connor would soon become her son legally. If he hadn’t had that DVD to tell him otherwise, she might have convinced Hunter, too.
Connor had kicked off his blanket. “You did a pretty good job,” she said, pulling it up again, “diapering him.”
Hunter hooked his thumbs into the pockets of Percy’s overalls and puffed out his chest. “Yep, that’s me,” he drawled, “Old Put ’Em to Sleep Stone.”
“No need to be modest.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure Jenna lost a few night’s sleep over you, because...” She exhaled a groan of frustration. “Let’s just say Connor seems very much at ease with you and leave it at that.”
In the past, it seemed she’d worked at putting him in his place. This time, it seemed, the opposite was true. If she hadn’t looked so uncomfortable, he might have kept her on the hook a little longer.
“I’m glad, because I couldn’t love him more if he were my own.”
A strange expression—something between regret and annoyance—flitted across her face, and he didn’t know what to make of it.
“Well, in any case, I hope you’ll feel free to visit him anytime.”
Soon, I won’t need your permission.
Connor stirred slightly, and Hunter said, “Guess we’d better get out of here before we wake him. And that would be a shame—the poor kid’s plumb tuckered out.”
He followed her toward the hall, and as he pulled the door shut, his stomach growled.
“Talk about good timing,” Brooke said, jogging down the stairs. “I made extra sandwiches, so—”
His stomach rumbled again.
Brooke turned and looked up at him. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She grinned, but quickly suppressed it. “Just like I’ll pretend that your pants aren’t two inches too short.”
Hunter peered down and realized if he’d worn white socks today, his ankles could have lit up the landing. He might have shared his absurd observation if she hadn’t already disappeared around the corner. Just as well. In the weird mood he was in, he might blurt out something reckless and stupid, like, It isn’t nice to poke fun at a guy who’s starting to like you...
...maybe a little too much...
CHAPTER EIGHT
BROOKE GLANCED OVER her shoulder. “Look at him back there, fast asleep.”
Hunter nodded. “Don’t know how he does it, all cramped and confined by that contraption.”
“I hope it’s a sign he’s beginning to come to terms with...” She shook her head. “I can’t even say it. Not that it matters. Because he’ll never get a handle on what happened. None of us will.” On the heels of a ragged sigh, she added, “Wasn’t it Deepak Chopra who wrote, ‘It is the nature of babies to be in bliss’?”
He could tell that she’d almost lost it for a minute there, and he admired how fast she’d pulled herself together. Another of Kent’s myths debunked, because Brooke could handle adversity.
“She’s gorgeous and well-read,” he said. “Be still, my heart.”
The instant the words were out, Hunter regretted them, mostly because of the self-conscious flush they put on her face.
“I have to admit,” he quickly added, “I envy the kid’s ability to sleep.” Was his comment enough to blot out memory of his verbal faux pas? Not likely. But with any luck, he’d sidelined it. “And I’m with you—I hope it’s a sign that he’s getting used to not seeing his mom and dad around every corner.”
“Yeah,” she said, staring through the windshield, “me, too.”
They spent the last ten minutes of the drive between Deidre’s and the Sheridans’ in companionable silence. With any other woman, Hunter would have felt obliged to fill it with idle chitchat—commenting on landmarks and weather, complaining about some crazy driver who’d cut them off, pointing out another of the county’s speed cameras—but with Brooke, the quiet seemed...right. He wondered about that, because before the crash, he’d always felt ill at ease and out of place in her presence. The sensation reminded him of his days in Bosnia, a full-out peacekeeping mission that left troops wondering where the next strike might come from.
The
