Page 51 of Hunter

She wanted to say he was wrong. Then with a start, she realized he was looking toward the recorder.

Oh God, how bad did his homecoming sound?

All she could do was shake her head in despair. What she had told him about the two of them was wrong. What she felt for him was a lot more powerful than friendship. She had tried to deny her feelings. Denial had become impossible when she’d seen him lying on the stretcher and then during the long anguished hours while she’d waited for him to come home.

When she felt a little more in control, she turned away and rehooked her bra.

She waited for the heat to fade a little from her cheeks before reaching for his hand and leading him into the dining room where the light was better.

The stark look on his face made it difficult not to clasp him to her again. That would only make things worse. After several shaky breaths, she touched her finger to her mouth. His eyes followed.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?” she asked, moving her lips slowly.

He nodded.

“You and I are more than friends,” she said silently, knowing that she wasn’t exactly helping the situation. But she’d vowed not to lie to him. And what had just happened between them had certainly passed beyond the bounds of friendship.

“What are we?” he spoke, but in a barely audible whisper.

“A man and woman who . . . care deeply about each other,” she told him silently.

When his face contorted, she realized she could only speak for herself. “At least I do,” she said, forgetting not to vocalize the words.

“I—” He reached for her hand, drew her closer so that he could fold her fingers around his and bring her knuckles to his lips. Eyes closed, he kissed her hand tenderly, then carried it to his heart. Her vision clouded with moisture. She had never been so affected by a gesture, so affected by another human being. Silently, taking small steps, she moved closer so that she was standing with her cheek against his shoulder

One of his large hands came up to stroke her hair, the other clasped her shoulder, and she stood with him, fighting tears. God, what a mess. They could hardly talk, and there was so much she wanted to say, so much she needed to tell him, she realized suddenly. Personal things. But the personal part would have to wait, she realized.

Opening her eyes, she raised her head, brushed her lips against his cheek.

“I have to tell you things that happened,” she mouthed.

He nodded.

After giving him a flicker of a smile, she cleared her throat.

“Did you have dinner?” she asked in an almost normal voice.

“They gave me a turkey sandwich. It was dry and—” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, you can have dessert. Cherry pie with vanilla ice cream.”

His eyes lit up.

“Come into the kitchen and give me a hand.”

He followed her toward the cabinets. Turning, she glanced at him, then opened the door where the gun had been and showed him the empty place behind the bag of flour.

His face took on a questioning look.

She turned her palms up and shrugged. “McCourt was here—officially,” she mouthed slowly. “Looking for a gun from the armory. He didn’t find it.”

Hunter nodded his understanding.

“When I got back after the fire, the house had been searched again.”

His eyes narrowed but he said nothing.

Turning, she opened the box of pie she’d bought and warmed a slice in the microwave before topping it with vanilla ice cream.

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