“Hell, yes.” He stood as he spoke, his hands resting on her shoulders.
She shook her head, but she was staring at his mouth. “No. Hunter.” He saw her indecision, her frustration. “What we want has nothing to do with what’s right.”
He heard “what we want” and pulled her against him. His hands cupped her face, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. He felt her shudder, saw her lips part, before she stiffened. Why was she fighting? He’d missed this, the feel of her in his arms, the wholeness he felt deep in his bones. How could he tell her, make her understand? His throat tightened as he stared at her, willing her to know what was in his heart.
Her chin quivered. “Hunter,” she whispered, her voice hitching. “I can’t do this to Eli. To Amy.”
Hunter’s chest grew cold. “Amy?”
She winced when he said the name. “Yes, A-Amy.” She pushed away from him, wrapping her arms around her waist.
He didn’t know what to say to that. He’d hoped that there might be some way for them to come to terms with what had happened, what he’d done. He’d never expected her to take him back, but he’d hoped she’d forgive him. She was here, but somehow Amy was still between them.
His phone rang, but neither of them moved. It could wait. “Jo—”
It rang again.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” she murmured, her eyes cold.
“I’d rather talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She shook her head, her anger building. “Nothing. I shouldn’t be here. This—” she pointed frantically back and forth between the two of them “—is wrong.”
Her words hurt. “Wrong?” He swallowed. “How can you—”
“How can I? You promised me, remember? I’m not going to let you break my heart again, Hunter. Do us both a favor and leave me the hell alone.” She grabbed the phone. “Hold on,” she said into the phone before tossing it to him.
He caught it, Fisher’s voice reaching him. “Hunter? Hunter?”
“Yes?” he spoke into the phone, keeping his gaze locked with Jo.
“Fence is down in the far pens.” Fisher laughed. “You’re going to have to get Jo back into bed later on.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at him. She looked so damn vulnerable, wounded somehow. But then she picked up her purse and headed to the door.
He stepped forward, blocking her path, fear rising. “Jo, hold on—”
Jo shook her head, pushing around him. “I don’t want to hold on, Hunter. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Not anymore.” She ran out into the rain and climbed into her car.
“Hunter?” Fisher sounded stunned. “You there? You okay? Shit, I’m sorry—”
He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump to say, “On my way.” He watched her car back up, then turn around, disappearing into the driving rain and darkness.
Chapter Three
Josie straightened the remaining pastries and sat in the little chair in the doorway between the kitchen and the bakery. Sprinkles lay on her back, her fuzzy white stomach bared as she slept soundly. Josie envied the dog—she could use a nap. She glanced at the clock. It was almost two, closing time.
But today she had to help with the gingerbread, mountains and mountains of it. Her dad’s fall had put the gingerbread dough-making behind. Somehow, she had to make eighty gallon tubs of cookie dough in the next forty-eight hours. The Gingerbread Village was a huge part of the Stonewall Crossing’s Christmas on the Square celebration. Most families made a gingerbread house to display. Some made them look like their own home, others followed the theme for the year. This year’s theme, which Josie thought left a lot of room for interpretation, was Images of Christmas.
The phone rang and she answered it, pen and notepad at the ready.
“Pop’s Bakery. This is Josie. How can I help you?”
“Hey, Miss... Jo... Josie. It’s Eli Boone.” He paused. “I have the plans for the float. Can I come by and show it to you?”
She smiled. “Sure, Eli. But I’ll warn you. You might just end up elbow deep in gingerbread dough when you get here.”
“O-okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Can I bring someone with me?”