For Love and Family (9 page)

And that was what she was determined to do.

Although, even in the midst of trying to brace herself for the possibility that Hunter had something up his sleeve that had nothing to do with being attracted to her, she still kept remembering that kiss.

That kiss had seemed to take him almost as much by surprise as it had her.

That kiss hadn't felt contrived.

That kiss had felt genuine.

And so, so nice…

Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt, she thought. After all, Hunter hadn't given her any cause to be suspicious of him. Didn't that mean she could, at least for the time being, take things at face value?

She hoped she wasn't being naive, but she thought she could. If she just didn't go overboard. If she really
did
only think of that kiss as a simple, meaningless kiss, an answer to a momentary impulse and nothing more. If she really
did
think that this dinner was only a way to make amends for the grimy marshmallow and the bad pizza, or that Hunter was merely being polite and entertaining her as a guest who would otherwise be left to her own devices while he went to his meeting at the hospital and Johnny had his evening with Carla and Willy.

Face value. That was the key, she decided. Not making too much of anything that went on between herself and Hunter. Either in the positive or the negative. While still being cautious.

And she
could
be cautious. She could, she vowed as she dressed in the black slacks and black cashmere turtleneck sweater she'd opted to wear. She
could
be cautious and she
would
be cautious.

Except that once she'd brushed out her hair and twisted the ends into a knot that fell between her shoulder blades and judged herself ready to return to the house to begin her evening alone with Hunter,
cautious
was not how she felt.

She felt excited and eager and hopeful. Hopeful that her worst-case scenario wouldn't play out. And that the coming hours would be as good as every other hour she'd spent with Hunter so far.

And that tonight might end with just one more of those simple, meaningless kisses…

 

Terese didn't mind sitting through the meeting of the Parents Adoption Network. There was some interesting talk about recent problems involving a black-market adoption ring operating out of Russia that members of the Children's Connection were concerned could be connected to their agency and their satellite orphanage in the other country. But so far an investigation had not turned up a link and that news brought with it relief among the PAN members.

The second topic of discussion involved plans for an upcoming bachelor auction that was being held to raise funds. Terese's mind wandered during the first portion of that, but when talk turned to lighthearted attempts to convince the auction chairwoman, Jenny Hall, to bid on a date for herself with someone named Eric Logan, Terese perked up.

“Her face is red but she's smiling so big at that idea that I don't think she's completely opposed to it,” Terese leaned over to whisper to Hunter as all eyes went to the pretty chairwoman who was trying desperately to change the subject.

“I think you're right,” Hunter whispered back.

“Is Eric Logan related to the woman I met yesterday?”

“Leslie Logan. He's her son,” Hunter confirmed. “They're good people. And Jenny is a gem, too. I'd like to see them get together.”

The meeting ended soon after that and although they could have stayed for refreshments, Hunter
ushered Terese out of the conference room and they went to the restaurant.

The place was crowded. The front portion of it was jammed with people waiting for tables and Hunter left her to weave through the crowd to let the maître d' know they'd arrived for their reservation.

Terese watched him as he did, trying not to devour him with her eyes. But it wasn't an easy task. He was wearing brown tweed slacks, a beige shirt with a brown tie and a cocoa-colored sport coat, and he looked as good in them as he did in his jeans and work shirts.

But she really didn't want to stare so she averted her gaze to a man and woman who were standing at the bar only inches away from her.

The man caught her attention because he had a Portland General Hospital badge clipped to the lapel of his business suit, apparently having forgotten to remove his work identification. Terese was close enough to read his name—Everett Baker—and the word
Accounting,
Children's Connection, underneath it told her what department he was assigned to.

The woman he was with was young and pretty, and wearing a nurse's uniform, so Terese assumed they had just come from work.

She was also too close not to hear what they were talking about—even though she tried not to listen.

Hunter returned just then and caught the eye of the other couple. They exchanged only nods of recognition and vague hellos before Hunter turned
his attention to Terese to tell her their table was ready and to lead her through the jam-packed waiting area to the maître d's stand.

It wasn't until they were seated at their table that she said, “Do you know those people at the bar?”

“Not really,” Hunter responded. “The woman is a nurse. Nancy, I think her name is. She was working on Johnny's floor one afternoon when he was at the hospital last week. I was introduced to the man at a fundraiser once, just in passing. But other than that, no, I can't say that I actually know them.”

Terese nodded.

“Do you know them?” Hunter countered as if that possibility had just struck him.

“No, I just noticed his ID badge and since you seem pretty involved with the hospital I thought they might be friends or acquaintances of yours.”

“I'm only involved with PAN, not much in the hospital itself.”

Terese nodded a second time. But as they opened their menus, something else occurred to her. A way of possibly getting Hunter to show his hand if this dinner was for some purpose other than the meal. And since that worst-case scenario still niggled at her, she decided to do a little test.

So, working to sound nonchalant, she said, “They were talking about a pregnant teenager—that couple from the hospital.”

“Were they?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “The nurse was saying it
breaks her heart to see how young and alone some the new mothers are. But—it was kind of strange actually—when she said that, the man got so interested it was as if she'd just given him insider-trading tips on a good investment.”

Terese had put strong emphasis on that last word and watched Hunter from under her eyelids without raising her face from the menu to gauge his reaction.

But mention of investments didn't seem to spur anything in him because all he said was, “Maybe it was their first date and he was proving how impressed he could be by what she had to say.”

“Maybe,” Terese allowed, relaxing slightly because he hadn't taken the bait.

Then he helped her relax even more by changing the subject altogether and referring to the menu.

“The last time I ate here I was with my brother and he had the softshell crab. He said it was the best he'd ever eaten.”

“I think I'll try the redfish,” Terese countered.

Their waiter brought the wine Hunter had requested then, and after Hunter had ordered for both of them, Terese decided to use the opening he'd given her to make conversation that didn't test him.

“Is the brother you were here with the same brother who was left to help your dad with the ranch when you were in college and your grandfather died?”

Hunter had tasted his wine and he smiled at her as he set the glass down. “You really are a good listener. It must be the psychologist in you,” he said
in response to the fact that she was referring to what he'd told her the night before.

Then he answered the question she'd worried might have sounded like prying.

“I only have one sibling, so yes, the brother I was here with is also the one left to help with the ranch. Actually, dinner here was the last time I saw him.”

“Did you argue over softshell crab and redfish?” she joked as their salads arrived.

“No, we argued about the ranch. About my refusal to sell it.”

“He wanted you to sell the ranch?”

Hunter nodded. “He wanted me to sell it and give him half the money.”

“Because he owns half the ranch?”

“Not anymore. I mortgaged the place and bought him out. But originally it was left to the two of us, so when we were here for dinner he still owned half.”

“But he didn't want to work it then any more than he wanted to when you were in college?” Terese guessed.

“He's not a
hick
like the rest of us—that's what he said. After my grandfather died, he tried to convince Dad to sell. They had a huge falling out. Sean refused to stick around even though Dad needed the help. But Sean didn't just take off. He cleared out one of the ranch's business accounts first. That was the stuff I said had gone on with him.”

Terese raised her brows at that. “He stole from your family?”

Hunter took a deep breath and sighed it out. “Yeah,” he admitted, clearly not proud of that fact. “It nearly killed my dad when he realized what Sean had done. Losing the money wasn't as devastating to him as knowing one of his sons had taken it. Dad and Sean never set eyes on each other again.”

“Did you have contact with your brother?”

“Not until after Dad died—that was about ten years ago. Sean didn't come to the funeral, but he did contact the estate lawyer to find out if he had anything coming. I thought that took a lot of…guts.”

“And your dad had left him half the ranch in spite of everything?”

“Dad struggled with what Sean had done for a long time but he finally decided that if Sean had needed to get away that bad—and had asked him for the money—he would have given it to him. I guess that was his way of forgiving him. But Dad never lost the hope that Sean would change his mind about the ranch and want to come back, want to work it and keep it in the family. I think that's why he didn't take Sean out of his will.”

“But even owning half the place didn't make a difference?” Terese asked.

Hunter shrugged and shook his head. “Sean is…I don't know, sort of his own breed, I guess. He always thought he was better. Not only better than us, but better than most people. That he
deserved
better. He said that a lot. The trouble is, he doesn't seem to find anyone who thinks he's quite as good as he thinks he is.
So he's hopped from one job to the next, one get-rich-quick scheme to the next, one relationship to the next.”

“I take it he hasn't had a lot of financial success and that's why he wanted you to sell the ranch and give him his half?”

“He started trying to talk me into selling the place as soon as he found out he owned half of it—”

“He couldn't force you to?”

“That was the one thing Dad added to the will—I suppose as a safeguard in case Sean kept on being… Well, Sean. I had the right of refusal to sell. So it was up to me. There was nothing Sean could do without me agreeing.”

“That sounds like a recipe for conflict.”

“What it meant was that he would come into Portland, put some friendly pressure on me, give me a sob-story about a deal that had gone sour for him, or how much in debt he was, try to convince me of all I was missing in the world by being tied to the ranch—that's how he put it—and why I should sell for both our sakes. I'd refuse, usually give him whatever I could spare to bail him out, and he'd take off again for a year or so before he'd come back and start all over.”

Since Hunter didn't seem to mind telling her any of this, Terese prodded, “But the last time…?”

He shrugged again and the expression on his chiseled face reflected sadness. “It got ugly. He said he was sick of this game, sick of having to come
around and beg me for handouts when he had a right to half the place. He said he wanted to wash his hands of the ranch, of me, and that was all there was to it. I knew he was never going to change his mind, never going to want to come back, and I finally just gave in. I had the ranch appraised and bought Sean out.”

“And you haven't seen him since,” Terese said.

“I doubt I'll ever see or hear from him again.” The sadness was there in his handsome face again. But apparently Hunter didn't want that to be the tone he set because he tried on a small smile and added, “Unless maybe he ever needs one of my kidneys or something, then he'll probably look me up.”

“Families are complicated,” Terese confirmed as their salad plates were removed and the main course arrived.

As they settled into enjoying their meals he turned the tables on her. “What about your family and that lesser-twin business? That doesn't sound as if you and your sister are too close.”

He'd been open and honest with her and she felt she owed him the same thing, so she said, “We aren't close at all. For twins or even for regular sisters. In fact, it's not altogether unusual for us to go several months without seeing each other—and we live in the same house. Eve is rarely in town. She's usually with friends in Gstaad or London or Paris or, if she's in the country, she's in New York. Portland is home base for her but that mainly just means pit stops.”

“I thought all twins were nearly inseparable,” Hunter said.

“Well, not us. I guess, like you and your brother, Eve and I have always been very different people. We were never interested in the same things. We never liked the same things. There wasn't a lot we could share. And then my mother died when we were seven—”

“My mother died when I was seven, too,” Hunter said with surprise at the coincidence. “She was thrown from a horse.”

“My mother was killed in a car accident,” Terese offered. “But I haven't heard you mention a stepmother…”