SUSAN MEIER - Hunter's Vow

On the front porch, he turned to Tyler. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah, you made her mad. She’s probably in the kitchen trying to bake something.”

“Bake something?”

Tyler shrugged and added mournfully, “Yeah, probably coffee cake, and we’re going to have to eat it for breakfast or she’ll get mad again.”

Hunter laughed out loud at the observation until it struck him that he and his son were having a normal, honest conversation. About Abby. Their common bond. Though he might have thought his marriage proposal abrupt, and Abby might have downright hated it, Hunter truly believed he was on the right track.

And Abby would come around.

Given that Brewster hadn’t changed much in seven years, Hunter wasn’t surprised to find that the Petersons still owned the florist shop. He was even less surprised to find them resting on their back porch in the fading rays of the sun.

“Evening,” he said to the old couple who rocked back and forth on a swing that hung from hooks in their porch ceiling. “Lovely night.”

“Great night,” old man Peterson agreed. “You new around here?”

Hunter shook his head. “No, I’m Hunter Wyman. My dad and I owned the old place on Church Road. I’m Grant Brewster’s business partner now.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Matilda Peterson said, her crochet needle stopping mid-stitch. “Hunter Wyman. Will miracles never cease.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter said, though he wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that. Was it a miracle he’d done so well for himself, or a miracle he was home? “I’m sure you know my son, Tyler,” he added, first, to include the boy and, second, to head off any speculation. Brewster was a small enough town that everyone surely knew about Abby’s child. But more than that, Hunter didn’t want any question about his plans. Not only was it important that his intentions were clear to everyone, but it was more important for Tyler’s sake that the boy understood he had not been abandoned—and neither had Abby.

“I’m here because I need some flowers. You wouldn’t happen to be able to open your shop to take my order to have flowers delivered to Abby tomorrow at the diner?”

“Don’t need to open the shop,” old man Peterson said. “Still got a mind like a steel trap,” he said, pointing at his temple. “I’ll remember. What do you want to send?”

He looked down at Tyler. “Any idea what your mom likes?”

Pleased to have been consulted, Tyler grinned. “Chas bought Lily roses.”

Mrs. Peterson gasped. “Filled the room,” she said with an appreciative sigh. “Those Brewsters know how to treat a woman.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hunter agreed, realizing his friends had a penchant for the extravagant, flashy gestures that typically swept a woman off her feet. Unfortunately, since Hunter knew he had already tossed enough surprises Abby’s way by his proposal, he also knew it wouldn’t be wise to go overboard with this.

“I think I’ll just stick with a dozen.”

“Red?” Mrs. Peterson asked speculatively.

Hunter considered that. He knew that the color of a rose you sent to a woman meant something. He could also see from the look of anticipation on Mrs. Peterson’s face that red meant something really good.

“Make them red,” Hunter decided. “You can bill me or I can stop by tomorrow afternoon and pay for them, but I want to make sure she gets them first thing in the morning.”

“You got it,” Mr. Peterson said.

Hunter grabbed Tyler’s hand and turned to go, but Tyler tugged twice to stop him. “My mom’s gonna like the flowers,” he said with authority, and Hunter felt pride swell up in him like nothing he’d ever felt before. He wasn’t sure if it was the knowledge that he’d pleased his son or the knowledge that he was about to please Abby, but something filled him with warmth and rightness…maybe a combination of both.

“I think you’re right,” Hunter told Tyler, then a thought struck him and he stooped down and caught his son’s gaze. For the first time since he’d met Tyler, Hunter noticed that the little boy’s eyes were exactly the same color as his eyes. His nose was the same. His lips had the odd little upward curl at the corners that was the mark of all Wyman men.

Hunter was hit by a strong, almost uncontrollable urge to hug Tyler. To hold him. To feel the little boy that he’d created. To give him love. All kinds of love. To let him know that he was loved. So loved that Hunter could barely breathe for the strength of it.

But that wasn’t appropriate. He didn’t really know this little boy and Tyler certainly didn’t know him. He didn’t want to scare him.

Instead, he steadied his hands on Tyler’s shoulders. “One of the most important things about flowers,” he said, studying his son’s eyes, feeling things that threatened to overpower him, “is that they need to be a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yeah, women love surprises.”

Tyler’s eyes widened comically. “My mom will love a surprise!”

“Okay,” Hunter said, again overcome with love for this child who so adored his mother. “Then that makes this our secret.”

“Our secret!” Tyler agreed, obviously tickled to be in on something covert.

Quiet, studying each other, they simply stayed on the sidewalk. Hunter waited patiently while the little boy appraised him, but when Tyler blinked rapidly as if becoming uncomfortable, Hunter rose and, with his hand on Tyler’s shoulder, began leading him home.

Tyler, however, reached up and took Hunter’s hand off his shoulder. Just when Hunter expected him to drop it, he rearranged his small hand inside Hunter’s much larger one so that they were holding hands as they walked toward the bed-and-breakfast.

Emotion swamped Hunter again, but he didn’t say anything—he barely breathed. He had the sudden, intense feeling that the way to win this little boy’s heart was to win his mother’s. And though Hunter was absolutely positive he had had Abby Conway’s heart at one time, all the rules had changed. Even the playing field was different.

Before they took the first step up the stairs to the front porch of the bed-and-breakfast, Hunter stopped Tyler again. “Now remember,” he whispered, “the flowers are our little secret.”

Tyler grinned naughtily. “I remember.”

In that second, Hunter prayed, really prayed, that the flowers would work. Because he suspected that the same gesture that could win his son’s heart, could also lose it if Abby thought the flowers too personal or out of line, considering that this time tomorrow the whole town would know Hunter had returned to Brewster and had sent Abby flowers….

Red ones.

One dozen long-stemmed red—for passion, he suddenly remembered—roses.

God, she was going to kill him.

If a private marriage proposal could make her mad enough to leave the room, long-stemmed red roses seen by the entire town would probably turn her into a nuclear warhead.

He had a feeling he was going to be eating coffee cake for days.

Just as Tyler had predicted, an off-center, slightly burned coffee cake awaited them the next morning.

“I usually get breakfast pastries from the diner for paying guests,” Abby said apologetically as she served Hunter a slice. “But I thought it over last night and came to the conclusion that it would be better for Tyler if we didn’t treat you as a paying guest.” She caught his gaze. “But more like family.”

Stranded in the regret of her beautiful green eyes, Hunter didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For Tyler’s sake, he agreed with her. It was better to treat him like family rather than a guest.