‘Friday afternoon. I’ll be back about six on Sunday night.’ A little smile flicked on. ‘Poppy is fine with children, in case you’re wondering.’
‘It didn’t cross my mind. You wouldn’t have accepted if you thought there’d be a problem.’ See? They did know each other well. Too well, if the memories his body had dredged up during the night were anything to go by. ‘If anyone’s in danger of being over-petted, it’s Poppy. She’ll be begging you to come home early. Dylan adores dogs.’
‘Good.’ She turned to open her car door.
‘Brenna,’ Hunter called. ‘I hope the weekend goes okay for you. I know how much you must miss Chris.’ Her father had been her rock after her mother had deserted them when Brenna had been a child, apparently not once letting her down. He still remembered her grief the day Chris had been diagnosed with dementia. Even though she’d been expecting it, hearing it for real had hit her hard.
‘It doesn’t get any easier, but somehow going to the cabin where we all had so much fun as a family helps. I don’t go very often any more.’
That was sad. ‘I guess I understand, but it seems a waste.’
‘Shane and I used to go a couple of times a year, but not any more.’
‘Shane?’
Her face closed down. ‘Another story.’ Flapping a hand at him, she slipped into her car and gunned the motor.
In a hurry to get away from him? His gut squeezed tight when it shouldn’t. There was no reason for Brenna to stay around talking about things he knew nothing about, like this Shane. Who the hell was he anyway? What was he to Brenna? He didn’t live with her. Wasn’t housesitting this weekend.
‘See you tomorrow when I collect the key to your house,’ he called to the taillights as she roared around the corner.
Hunter slammed his door shut and snapped on the ignition. Whoever Shane was, Hunter was sure he wouldn’t like him.
CHAPTER FOUR
HUNTER DRANK COFFEE and stared at the photos covering the wall before him. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted and he glanced around the room, but Brenna wasn’t there. She was still over on Vancouver Island.
But, hell. The images in front of him were her. Sure, the skiers were younger, taller, shorter, male, female, blond, dark—but all he felt, saw was Brenna. Like a painter, when she created a photo it came from within her, using her talent to bring the excitement, fear, joy out in the participant’s face, body, angles.
He could see them breathing, moving, and hear the skis on the snow. Draining his mug, he placed it on the mantel, and spoke aloud in an attempt to remove this sense of Brenna being here. ‘As for that parachutist, I’m up there with him, floating to the ground, absorbing the shrinking vista.’
No wonder she’d won an award. Her work was exceptional. Typical Bren, she mostly shared it with a team of teenagers who obviously played up the moment she focused her camera on them. Even the funny, cute photos of kids racing down the slope spoke to him of Brenna and how she enjoyed being a part of other people’s fun.
But it was the shots taken when someone was focused on winning and doing all in their power to make it happen that made his skin tighten. It was like she got into other people’s heads and knew what they were thinking, feeling.
‘Something to remember,’ Hunter muttered as he flicked off the lights and headed for the bedroom he was sharing with Dylan. No photos in there, thank goodness. He might get some sleep, unlike last night when he’d lain awake for hours, going through the good times they’d had, memories brought on by being in her space—a space he’d once shared.
So much for believing he was over her. He might’ve been, but now he doubted that. Lingering love in his heart? Or buried love now making itself known again? He could no longer deny how much a part of him Bren had been, and still was. Apparently, it wasn’t possible to cut her out of him.
Now what? That was the question. A hard one, at that. Did he really want to get back with Brenna? Six years in between when they’d both dealt with crises and moved on in different directions told him to be cautious. They weren’t the same people as the two who’d had everything ahead of them and had believed their love could survive anything. It hadn’t. If he did still feel something for Brenna it would be tainted by the past. His neglect of her when his parents had demanded his presence, her acceptance without a fight for him. His child was another biggie.
Bending over the bed, he gently kissed his boy’s forehead. ‘Love you, Dylan.’ He was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It might’ve been a disaster with Evie, but they’d made the most amazing kid between them. A child who’d forced him to look outside the circle that was his screwed-up family and go for what was important. Did that include starting over with Brenna? He had no idea. Did he think he might want to? The answer to that would have to wait until they’d spent more time together.
Shedding his clothes and slipping into the other bed, Hunter lay on his back, his hands behind his head, and stared upwards in the darkened room. A part of him felt as though he’d finally come home, but the other side of him was filled with wariness. Had he been working towards this? No, he could honestly say he hadn’t.
Yet the memories of the good times were rampant now he was in this house. He and Brenna had been so good together, like nothing else he’d ever experienced. She’d brought him alive in ways no one and nothing else had. The years back in Kamloops had toughened him, taught him that if anyone was to help him face up to what his parents were doing to him that had to be him, but he hoped the accident that had taken Evie’s life had made him more compassionate towards others. Dylan had certainly brought out a fierce protective streak in him, including keeping him safe from his grandparents. Yeah, there had been some good to come from the decision he’d made six years ago.
His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed. ‘Hey, Bren, I’ve missed you.’ His short marriage to Evie had brought home what a stupid move it had been to leave Brenna. They could’ve made it work if they’d sat down and talked it through. But he’d been so determined to do right by everyone that he’d screwed up big time. He should’ve focused on the big picture, not only sorting his parents out.
Now what? He could hardly make it up to her—it was too late for that. Wasn’t it? Had she missed him? After she’d got over the initial shock of being dumped? But he was only just beginning to understand how much he’d missed her—all the time. It had taken seeing her again to start the truth unfolding, and now he had to decide if he liked that.
* * *
‘Dad, look, Poppy’s doing wees again.’
What was with this fascination with pee? Hunter shook his head at his son. ‘That’s what happens when you drink water.’
‘I don’t want any more, ever.’ Dylan loped along behind the dog to her kennel, where she lay down with the bone from last night’s dinner.
‘Yes, you do. It’s good for you. Give Poppy a break and come help me find the lawnmower.’
The whole street had gone crazy that morning, the strident sound of small engines blaring from yard to yard. The sun was out in full strength, hinting that spring was finally waking up. The less obvious signs were the green buds beginning to appear on the trees lining the street and the grass getting long.
‘Can I push the mower, Daddy?’
‘We’ll push it together.’ It would be a quick job since Brenna kept the grounds in top-notch shape. The key he’d found on the hook inside the boot room fitted the shed lock.
Dylan pushed past him. ‘It’s dark in here. There might be ghosts.’
‘If there are, they’ll be friendly.’
Hunter flicked on a light and stared at the array of gear in front of him. Bloody hell. She really had become an adrenalin junkie. A windsurfing board and its sail leaned against the wall nearest to him. There was a paddle board and pole with an assortment of life jackets. Nothing too dangerous there. The two mountain bikes
next to the board were as clean as the day she’d bought them, their wide tyres in perfect condition, but the scratches in the paintwork indicated a collision with the ground at some time. His heart squeezed tight. Brenna really did like living in the fast lane.
‘Nothing to lose, Brenna? Just your ability to move around as you like if you make a bad landing.’
Dylan was tugging the lawnmower towards the door. ‘Come on, Daddy.’
‘Let me do that, chum.’ He took the handle from Dylan’s small hand, looking back at that stack of gear.
Who are you, Brenna? Where’s the woman I loved?
Was this what their break-up had done to her? Or had she always had a hankering for adventure? There hadn’t been any indicators when he’d known her. A few hours riding a windsurfer on a calm sea down the road had been her idea of sporting fun. Now look at her collection of gear.