Montana Dreams. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

      Guilt wrapped around her as she faced the little boy checking the prices on the various egg cartons.

      “This is the best price.” Simon slipped it into the basket. “I got a carton of milk, too. The generic stuff. We don’t have coupons for either of ’em.”

      “That’s okay. We need bread and peanut butter next.” And ice cream, she remembered through the rattled terrain her brain had become.

      Hunter. She wanted to get a better look at him and see how deep that rock-hardness went. He’d been tough but tender in their teen years, but it looked as though time had hardened him more.

      Maybe he was too harsh for anyone to reach. She didn’t have to wonder if he’d married—he’d been very clear on his opinion of matrimony. Nothing but a ball and chain for a man and misery for a woman, he’d told her. There’s not one thing on earth that would ever make me do something that stupid.

      Sure, he’d been twenty-two at the time and embittered by his father’s betrayals. She hadn’t seen, until too late, how she’d been attracted to a man similar to her father—too remote and unfeeling to ever soften, a man who became more unreachable as the years went by.

      Her heart broke a little walking away.

      “Mom.” Simon held up a loaf of bread. “Score.”

      “Good job.” She grabbed a pint of ice cream, not bothering to check her coupons.

      “Mom?” Simon clunked a jar of peanut butter into the cart. “What else?”

      “Crackers.” She plucked several cans of her dad’s favorite soup off the display.

      “Roger, captain!” Simon made a jet-engine sound as he spun the cart around and headed off for the saltines at the end of the aisle.

      Her mission had changed—to get everything they needed and get out of the store before Hunter recognized her.

      “Okay, we’ve got everything, right?” Simon dumped a box in the cart. There wasn’t much there, just enough food to get them by for a couple of days. It would have to do.

      “That’s it for this run. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed the cart by the basket to get Simon moving faster.

      “Howdy there,” a friendly older lady Millie didn’t know tossed them a genuine smile from behind her register. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, it is.” She unloaded her cart as fast as she could, breathing a sigh of relief when she dropped the last item—the cracker box—onto the conveyer belt. Simon shoved the cart through while she unzipped her purse.

      “Did you find everything all right?” The checker scanned in each item with a beep. Her name tag read “Enid.”

      “We did.” The familiar beat of cowboy boots on the tile distracted her. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as Hunter’s quick, no-nonsense cadence knelled louder.

      He was coming this way. Panic licked through her. A wheel squeaked as his cart pulled in behind her. Her skin prickled like a storm the instant before lightning struck as Hunter began unloading his cart.

      At least he hasn’t recognized me yet. She sorted through her coupon envelope, doing her best not to look. He still smelled the same—like pine, hay and summer sun. Her uncooperative gaze slid sideways to sneak a peek. A black T-shirt hugged his powerful physique that had matured impressively. Muscles rippled as he dumped paper plates, paper towels and hamburger buns onto the conveyer, working fast, concentrating solely on his task. Not a man to look around—the Hunter she’d always known.

      “Oh, I have coupons,” she told Enid and handed over the cluster.

      “Okay, deary.” The older lady sorted through them before she scanned them in, one by one.

      Hunter’s foot tapped impatiently. He’d finished unloading his cart. She could feel him standing behind her, radiating heat and pent-up male energy.

      Every breath she took was torture. Knowing Hunter, his mind was probably somewhere else. Maybe he wouldn’t notice her, or—did she dare hope?—recognize her. Was that too much to ask?

      “Sorry, deary. This one’s past date.” Enid handed over one of the coupons.

      She feared the attention would draw Hunter’s scrutiny. Her hand shook as she took back the coupon. Please, don’t recognize me, she prayed.

      “That’ll be seventeen oh three.”

      Her 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.

      *