Page 28 of Hot Holiday Fling

“I played for, and now co-own and sponsor, one of the greatest baseball teams in the country,” Hunt explained, “My face is out there.”

And it didn’t hurt that it was such a stunning face too.

“Yeah, all that ugliness is very memorable,” Adie said, her tongue firmly in her cheek.

Hunt’s hand moved up her back to squeeze the back of her neck. “Brat.”

“I am,” Adie cheerfully agreed. “And you still haven’t told me about the list and why I am walking around Manhattan with you instead of drinking coffee in my pj’s and thinking about breakfast.”

“Yeah, that.” Hunt twisted his lips. “It’s a list of the kids currently in residence at a foster home situated in Albany...”

Hunt stopped talking and Adie knew that if she pushed him, he might clam up or, worse, change his mind about this morning.

“Most of those kids will be spending Christmas there. Their foster mother is one of those amazing people who step up, every single time. The social workers know that when they are up against the wall, they can call Miss Mae, and she’ll make a plan to take in another kid.”

Adie had always admired people like Miss Mae. Not wanting to repeat what her parents put her through, and now that she was older and smarter, she couldn’t imagine having kids of her own, never mind taking in kids who’d walked through several levels of hell already.

Hunt quietly continued his explanation. “I’ve been confidentially supporting the home for years, working through a social worker who deals with Miss Mae. Normally, I channel the funds through her and at this time of year, I give her extra money to buy presents for the kids and Miss Mae gets them what they need. But Miss Mae has been ill, and the social worker broke her foot so neither can get out to buy presents and I don’t want the kids to go without.”

“Surely there are other social workers, someone on your staff who could help you? Or, here’s a novel idea, a concierge?”

Hunt pulled a face at her mild sarcasm. “I considered all those options, but it’s really important to me that I keep this particular contribution under the radar. The only person, besides you, who knows what I am doing is the social worker. Secrecy is imperative.”

Okay, Adie was now confused. “But you have a foundation, you give away money all the time. Why the need for secrecy?”

Hunt ran his hand over his face. “Ah, that. Well, because Miss Mae wouldn’t accept it.”

Adie jerked to a stop and faced him, puzzled. “I don’t understand. Running a foster home has tobeexpensive and I’m pretty sure the state doesn’t cover all the bills. Why wouldn’t she accept your help?”

Hunt rubbed the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable.

Adie wanted to tell him she didn’t need an explanation but her curiosity kept her from forming the words. She wanted to know.

“Miss Mae was my foster mother and I lived with her for two years.”

Oh, Hunter.

“Where were your parents?” Adie gently asked him, trying to keep her tone as conversational as possible. Pity, she knew, would make him retreat.

“My mom had quite severe mental health issues, she was in and out of psychiatric facilities.”

“And your dad?”

Hunt shrugged. “He’s just a name on my birth certificate.”

Adie listened intently, knowing he was giving her a little insight into his past and his thinking. She felt...well...it was an old-fashioned word but...honoredfit the bill. Hunt, she was pretty sure, didn’t often speak about his past.

And he still hadn’t explained why he needed to secretly support Miss Mae. “Tell me about your highly classified mission,” Adie said, lightening her tone to ease some of his tension, “and why Miss Mae won’t take the help you seem to think she needs.”

“Uh, that would be because, years and years ago, I waltzed into my old home full of sass and importance, with a truckload of stuff—furniture and appliances and clothes—and flung it at her, expecting her to throw her arms around me and tell me how wonderful I was. I hadn’t seen her for a couple of years and wasn’t very good at keeping in touch and she was already pissed at me for my silence.

“My intentions were good, but my enthusiasm ran into her pride. She lost it and ripped into me, told me that I was too arrogant by half, that she wasn’t a charity case and she’d survived for a long time without my help. I yelled, she yelled. I called her ungrateful, she called me a patronizing brat...”

He shrugged. “I handled the situation badly but she has more pride than Lucifer.”

So, she suspected, did Hunt.

“So now you support her quietly, through the social worker.”

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