All The Way

It killed something in her soul. “Not as a lover. As a mother.”

“I don’t know what kind of mother you are.”

She felt heat stain her cheeks. “A good one.”

“Prove it. Give us both time to come to terms with this.”

“You and me?”

“The hell with you, Livie. You don’t matter anymore. Me and Victoria Rose.”

He said it tonelessly. Something hot and wet hurt her eyes. She refused to cry.

“If she knows Guenther wasn’t her real father,” he said, “what does it hurt to introduce me into her life?”

You’ll go again. He was still the same man who hadn’t wanted her enough all those years ago to just stay put and make a life with the two of them.

She’d given him the option. He could have grabbed her back from marrying Johnny. He hadn’t done it. The wind he’d chased had been more important to him than catching her as she fell to earth.

“What are you afraid of, Livie?” His voice was suddenly silken with challenge. “That your little girl will tell you that you made the wrong choice in men?”

Her heels found the pine floor. Liv felt a little jarred, surprised by the impact when she slid off the stool with such force. She was even more surprised to find her snifter in her hand. There was little more than a mouthful of Remy left. She tossed it at him.

He came off his stool like lightning. It was one small thing she’d managed to forget about him, how fast he could move when he was angry. Not angry, she thought, feeling something shrink inside her. Furious. This time when his hand caught her chin, his touch hurt. His fingers did not clench. His grip did not tighten. But there was something there that threatened her, a certain heat that terrified her.

Liv wrenched away.

“There’s an easy way to do this,” he said, “and a hard way. It’s your choice, Livie.”

“Go to hell.”

She took a step away from the bar, then turned toward him, her whole body flowing into the movement. From her expression, he knew that if she had access to another drink, he’d be wearing that, too. When she finally turned away again, Hunter decided to let her go.

And simmer on it some.

That hadn’t solved anything.

Liv’s hands were like claws on the steering wheel as she rocketed her little BMW back up Main Street toward the inn at the edge of town. Even her heart was shaking. He wasn’t going to go.

She knew him far too well to delude herself into wishful thinking. He just wasn’t going to leave their lives again, at least not without kicking up a good bit of dust first.

Meeting with him had been an utter waste of time. All it had done was stoke more old memories. It had rekindled all the old pain. “Damn him, damn him, damn him!” She banged the heel of her hand against the steering wheel, jumping when the horn sounded. She almost swerved off the road.

She couldn’t drive right now, not like this.

Liv pulled over. She let the fury blaze through her, so immense, so alive it literally made red dots dance in front of her vision. How dare he?

She’d given him every opportunity eight and a half years ago to love her enough to stay put. To fight for her. To give her the simple sweetness of knowing that he’d do whatever it took to keep her from marrying another man. Instead, he’d walked out. Out of that bar and the Flagstaff resort, out of her life. He’d gone.

Now he dared to act as if he had some sort of rights in this situation. As a father. He dared to threaten her. To imply that she had done something wrong.

He wanted a fight? He’d have one, Liv decided.

It took Hunter five full minutes to remember that Liv Slade had never been able to drive worth a damn.

He went upstairs to his room and washed the Remy from his face. He shoved his damp shirt into the bag for the laundry. His blood was pumping.

Over the years he had learned to curb his temper. Bumper-to-bumper, quarter-panel-to-quarter-panel traffic at 180 MPH was no time to give vent to anger over some infraction committed by another driver. A retaliatory tap of metal against metal at that speed could send another man to his death. He’d learned to contain anger, to control it, to wait to finish things off after the race if need be. By then his fury had usually waned.

But now it was liquid fire in his blood, scouring the inside of his veins with something painful and blistering, and it showed no signs of abating. He couldn’t get rid of it.

She’d dumped him eight and a half years ago like a minor inconvenience. She’d gone chasing after her picket fences with his child. He’d taught her to laugh, to love, to ride, to drive—

To drive.

She’d once plowed his pickup right into the side of a barn. And she hadn’t been angry at the time. She’d actually been concentrating.

Hunter rubbed the back of his neck at the remembered whip-lash pain and went to the phone on the nightstand. He picked it up, held it for a long moment, then he slammed it down again. Who the hell was he supposed to call to let them know there was probably a maniac on the road? He didn’t quite hate her enough to bring the cops down on her head.

Well, he did, but that would be a particularly low blow. Not his style.

Damn her. She hadn’t needed him eight and a half years ago, and she hadn’t needed him once in all the time that had passed since then. If she was angry now and erratic, that was her problem.

Except she was somebody’s mother. His kid’s mother.

Hunter swore and grabbed a T-shirt out of one of the drawers. He snatched the keys to his rented SUV off the top of the room’s television. He jogged down the stairs and outside.

As he peeled out of the parking lot, he double-shifted for more immediate speed. The engine of the SUV gave a squeal of pure shock at what was being asked of it. Hunter didn’t know what he was looking for as he sped down Main Street. He didn’t know what kind of car she was driving these days. His eyes scanned the roadsides for a heap of smoldering metal. Mountainsides were harder than barn walls.

Then he spotted the BMW pulled to the side up ahead, just idling there. She was fine. She’d had the sense to pull over.

He stopped behind her. His headlights threw the interior of her car into a glare brighter than full noon on the high desert. He saw her fumbling with her armrest as he jumped down out of the SUV, probably trying to find the lock button. He ran to drag the door open before she could manage it.

She screamed.

“It’s me.” Hunter caught her elbow and dragged her bodily out of the little car. She fought him like a madwoman. Maybe his words hadn’t penetrated. Then again, maybe they had, and she really hated him this much.

He caught her wrists as she pummeled his chest with them. “Stop it!” He shouted this time. “Stop it!”

“I hate you!” she screamed.

Right on the second try, he thought. She’d known it was him. “No problem. You’re real low on my list of favorite people, as well.”

She reared back. “What are you doing here?”

Losing my mind. “You can’t drive when you’re upset. Hell, you can’t drive on a good day.” He sounded like an idiot, even to himself.

“This from Mr. Anaheim,” she spat.