Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish. Marta Perry

a little embarrassed. “It’s a family tradition—a scripture promise to live by. Gran gave each of us a verse on our baptism, just as her grandmother did.”

      He stood, and he was very close to her. “What’s your verse, Chloe?”

      She looked up at him, wanting to turn the question away with a light comment. His blue eyes seemed to darken, staring into hers with such intensity that she couldn’t escape, and he took both her hands in his. Her breath caught in her throat.

      “It’s from Jeremiah.” She forced the words out, trying to sound natural. “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ says the Lord. ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.’”

      “Hope and a future,” he repeated softly. “That’s a nice promise, Chloe Elizabeth.”

      The lump in her throat was too big to swallow, and she could only nod. It had been a mistake to bring Luke Hunter here. She should have known that it would be. Things had changed between them. They’d never be the same again.

      But they’d also never be the way she sometimes wished they would be. Somehow, she had to accept that.

      He had to stop letting these people affect him so much. Luke drove toward the inn after dropping off Chloe’s grandmother, trying to dismiss the feelings that had crept over him in the cemetery. Trying to tell himself the whole thing was maudlin, or quaint, or silly.

      It didn’t seem to work. He glanced sideways at Chloe. She wasn’t really that different here than she was in Chicago, was she? Maybe not outwardly, but inwardly…He felt as if he’d opened an ordinary-looking package and discovered something rich and mysterious.

      He couldn’t erase the sense that she’d introduced him to a new world, a world where family meant something other than a collection of strangers held together by law. Those moments in the cemetery had moved him in a way he’d never experienced, and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings.

      He’d like to categorize this whole visit as an expedition into the sticks. It could be an amusing story—something to entertain his acquaintances at the next cocktail party or gallery opening. He tried to picture himself talking about Chloe’s family and their quaint customs. He knew instinctively that he never would.

      Okay, he’d accept that. But he’d also accept the fact that none of this fit into his real life—not Chloe, not her family. He didn’t understand them, and they’d certainly never understand what he came from. He had to get things back to business, and he definitely had to trample the insidious longing to share more of himself with Chloe.

      “Looks as if your father’s just coming in.” He drew up opposite the dock and watched Chloe’s father jockey his boat into position.

      Chloe was out of the car before he could go around and open her door. “Come on. We’ll give him a hand.”

      She jogged onto the dock, and he followed reluctantly. The water was higher than it had been the last time—meaning the tide was coming in, he supposed. Waves slapped against the wooden boards, making them vibrate uneasily beneath his feet. The salt air assaulted his nostrils, and the expanse of sky made him feel vulnerable and exposed.

      He didn’t have to like it here. He just had to look at it through a businessman’s eyes, so he could make the right deal.

      “Hey, Daddy.” Chloe grasped one of the dock supports and leaned out to take the line her father held, then made it fast. “Any luck this morning?”

      “Nothing running.” Clayton Caldwell cut the engine. “If we depended on my fishing to put food on the table, our bellies would be bumping our backbones—”

      He glanced at Luke, and Luke read reserve in those clear eyes. Clayton hadn’t decided what to make of him yet.

      “Hop down and secure that aft line, Luke.”

      The small boat bounced, bumping against the dock, and Luke’s stomach bounced with it. Hop down? He didn’t think so. But saying no would declare him either a rotten guest or a wimp, and he didn’t like either of those alternatives. Steeling himself, he took a step forward.

      Chloe nipped in front of him and stepped nimbly down into the boat. “I’ll get it, Daddy.” She grabbed the line and looped it around the upright. “Have to show you I haven’t forgotten how.”

      “I didn’t think that, Chloe-girl.” Clayton stepped easily up to the dock, then leaned down and pulled Chloe up next to him.

      The man must be close to sixty, but his muscles seemed as hard as those of any bodybuilder. Clayton’s level gaze rested on him, and Luke discovered he felt smaller under that calm stare. He didn’t like it.

      Chloe hugged her father, pressing her face against the older man’s white T-shirt. “You’ve been saying the same thing about the fishing ever since I can remember. We haven’t gone hungry yet.”

      Her father squeezed her, then released her. “Must be about lunchtime. You two coming?”

      “We’ll be along in a minute.” Chloe leaned against the railing as if the dock’s movement was as common as the ascent of an elevator. She waited until her father was halfway up the crushed shell walk, then turned to him.

      “Are you all right?”

      “Of course I’m all right.” He didn’t sound authoritative, just irritable. But he didn’t care for the way Chloe looked at him—as if he needed her pity. “Let’s go.”

      Chloe caught his arm, and her fingers were cool on sun-warmed skin. “You’re afraid of the water, aren’t you?”

      “What makes you say that?” He gave her a look designed to prevent any further questions.

      She smiled. “Well, it might be the way you gripped the seat when we were out with David and Sammy. Or the way you turned white when my daddy asked you to hop down on the boat. Don’t you know how to swim?”

      “Everyone knows how to swim.” He’d forced himself to learn in college, when he’d realized that ability was taken for granted by his classmates. “I’ve just never liked it, that’s all. Let’s go up to lunch.”

      Her fingers tightened. “I’m sorry. This is a bad place to be if you’re afraid of the water.”

      “I’m not afraid,” he snapped. It was none of Chloe’s business, anyway. What right did she have to push him? Maybe she’d be the one telling stories about this trip to amuse her friends—how the big corporate executive was afraid of a little water.

      She shrugged. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I just thought since you’re here, maybe you’d like to try and get over it.”

      He forced himself to look at her. He didn’t see amusement in her eyes, just concern, maybe friendship. He grimaced. “Have you been taking psychology lessons in your spare time, Chloe?”

      Her smile sparkled like sunlight on the waves. “No. But as long as we have to stay for a week…”

      She let that sentence trail off, but the challenge in her gaze reminded him that he was pushing her to do something she didn’t want to do. It dared him to do the same.

      “All right.” He pushed away from the dock railing. “I guess you have a deal. Now can we go?”

      She nodded demurely. “Of course.” She led the way off the dock.

      He should feel better once he was back on solid ground, following Chloe toward the porch. He should, but he didn’t. Oh, it wasn’t the business of getting over his fear. He could suck it up and pretend, if he had to.

      What bothered him was considerably more personal. It was the realization that he’d just shown Chloe a piece of himself. It was a piece he always kept hidden, along with anything else that might make him vulnerable. He wasn’t sure how Chloe had come far enough into his inner life to see it. Or how he’d ever get her