But the stark, quiet reminder of Kent’s death hit hard. Leaning on the crib rail, he hung his head.
“Nothing would make me prouder than to call you son,” he said, smoothing soft bangs from Connor’s forehead. “But it won’t be easy filling your dad’s shoes.” The admission made him wonder why Kent worked so hard to give some people—Brooke in particular—the impression that he didn’t have a heart when in truth he had an immeasurable capacity for love.
“I’ll do my best to fill your daddy’s shoes, buddy.”
Satisfied that the boy was safe, Hunter covered him with a light blanked and walked across the hall. Draped in gauzy lace, Deidre’s four-poster bed was piled high with heart-shaped pastel pillows, and on the night tables, china dolls garbed in ruffly ball gowns wore lampshade hats. Ornate perfume bottles sparkled from the marble top of the mahogany makeup table, and in the closet, dresses of every fabric and hue hung in order by length. Beneath them a multi-tiered rack sagged under the weight of four, maybe five dozen pairs of shoes.
Up against the far wall, separated from the other clothes, one pair of coveralls had been draped over a padded 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...
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