hands shook so badly that she had trouble pulling out dollar bills. It took a beat before she realized her budget had been fifteen dollars. She searched through her change, but didn’t have it. Heat flooded her face. “Uh, can you take off the box of crackers?”
“Sure thing.” Enid kindly took back the box and beeped it over the scanner.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Hunter flipped two dollars onto the conveyer belt. “Enid, take it. I’m done with waiting—”
She felt his gaze rake over her like a cold hard punch. He froze, finally really looking at her. Recognition snapped through him as his entire body went rigid. His jaw dropped, leaving the rest of his thoughts unspoken.
“Hi, Millie,” someone called out from behind his big hulking presence. Hunter’s brother, Luke, peered over to smile at her. “Good to see you in town again. How’s your dad?”
Hunter kept staring at her blankly, stiff with shock. She couldn’t help maneuvering a little, trying to hide Simon from him. It was easy to lift her chin, holding on to her dignity for all she was worth and push away Hunter’s two dollars. They lay awkwardly on the conveyer belt, their crumpled ends ruffling in the breeze from the air conditioner.
“Dad’s holding his own, but it’s bad, I guess.” She bowed her head to count out her money. “They caught it way too late to do anything.”
“Word has gotten around. The whole congregation is praying for him.”
“Thanks, Luke.” She handed exact change to Enid. “If anyone needs prayers, it’s my dad. It was nice seeing you.”
She seized her receipt, turned her back on Hunter and grabbed her single bag of groceries from the end of the check stand. Back straight, she followed her son to the rows of carts near the door.
Don’t look back, she told herself firmly. She didn’t need one last look at the man. She’d learned all she needed to in his shocked and silent stare. He’d been traumatized seeing her—they shared that in common. Not that she’d held even the faintest hope of a friendly reunion. No, not after the way they’d left things. But she hadn’t expected him to look at her with horror either.
“Mom, I’ll carry that.” Simon left the cart neatly with the others and tromped over to take the groceries from her. “Is there any chance Grandpa has neighbor kids my age?”
“I have no idea. I’ll give Myra a call when we get home. She knows everyone around here.” Her feet may be carrying her forward, but her mind remained with the man dressed in black. She could feel Hunter’s gaze as she trailed her son into the ovenlike heat of summer.
Suddenly aware of her wash-worn clothes and the hair she hadn’t fussed with before leaving the house, she headed toward the truck. She could still feel Hunter’s gaze as she crossed the lot—a cold gaze, when it had once been so loving. Why did that still hurt so much?
Their first meeting could have gone worse. She dug the keys out of her purse. Thank You, Father, for that.
* * *
Millie? Hunter couldn’t get over the shock watching her walk away. Millie was back?
“Hunter, move along, we’re waiting.” Luke nudged his brother, his tone teasing.
Fine, he deserved that. He hadn’t meant to be impatient; shopping always put him in a mood. The automatic doors opened and closed. Millie and the child were out of the building but not out of sight of the long front windows where a rusty, thirty-year-old Ford waited for them. It had taken a while to recognize her because she’d changed so much.
“Are you all right?” Luke asked, kindly, always a good brother.
Hunter cleared his throat and gave his cart a shove forward. He wanted to look unaffected, as if seeing Millie didn’t bother him one bit. He was tough. No woman was going to bring him to his knees. He’d learned a long time ago the best way to protect yourself from a broken heart was not to have one.
Not that that was the truth, but he didn’t have to admit it, did he?
Because he didn’t trust his voice, he said nothing and faced Enid with a nod. Maybe Luke would get the hint and go back to talking with his girlfriend. Over the beep-beep of the scanner he watched Millie disappear behind the far side of the pickup—probably getting the door for her kid.
That kid. Agony tore through him at the thought of Millie’s child. No, he couldn’t think about her married to another man. Too painful. As he swiped his card and punched in his PIN, his gaze stayed stuck to the window.
Millie. She stepped into view, far from the bright, sunny girl he’d loved so deeply that she outshone everything in his life—every other thing. There had been only her, beautiful and precious, and his great overwhelming love for her.
“That’ll be eighty-seven dollars and forty-six cents.” Enid punched a button and her cash register spat out his receipt. “Would you like paper or plastic?”
“Whatever.” He didn’t care—he’d forgotten the reusable bags again. He hardly noticed the box boy moving in to bag his purchases. All he could see was Millie climbing into her dad’s rusty old pickup. What had happened to the bounce in her step? To her wide, beaming smile that made everyone around her smile, too, unable to help themselves?
“Out of the way, you’re holding up the line.” Judging by the laughter in Luke’s voice, he was enjoying this.
“I don’t want to get back with her if that’s what you think.” He rolled his eyes, glad Luke couldn’t read his thoughts. Millie, on her own, with a child? Nothing angered him more than a mother on her own struggling to pay for groceries. Where were the fathers? Why weren’t they better men? A man takes care of his family, that’s the way it was supposed to be.
Sure, it was an old issue with him. It brought back memories of how hard their dad had been on Mom. Never reliable, always out gambling or drinking, always shirking his responsibilities. Hunter’s guts twisted up thinking Millie’s life obviously hadn’t turned out much different. There hadn’t been a wedding ring on her left hand.
He’d checked.
“I’ll see you back at the ranch.” It wasn’t easy to unclamp his jaw. He took charge of his cart and steered it toward the automatic doors. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Millie—still slim and graceful—hop onto the seat. When she closed the door, he lost sight of her. Too much glare on the side window.
She wasn’t going anywhere in that truck, or didn’t she know it? He frowned, arrowing his cart at his vehicle, parked two spaces away from the rusted heap Whip Wilson should have junked long ago. While Hunter was sorry the man was dying, he should have at least told his daughter about the barely working transmission. Whip had never been a good dad either.
Not your business, Hunter, he told himself passing by at top speed. The cart rattled and bucked in protest, but minding his own business turned out to be impossible. Behind him, the rusted pickup’s engine coughed to life, pistons misfiring. He yanked the cart to a stop, wedging it against the side of his truck so it wouldn’t roll away. Disappointed in himself—a truly tough man, one who was completely over a breakup—would put his groceries in the truck and drive away.
But did he?
No, you are
