Free Warrior at Willow Lake by Mary Manners

everything—but in a good way. I have to be a better man now—hold a higher standard. It’s not just about me anymore. I like that.”
    “I could do without the spit-up…” Hunter laughed. “But I think your son likes me. He’s already stopped crying.”
    “He knows his Uncle Hunter.”
    “Uncle?”
    “We always were like brothers, weren’t we?” Ryder grinned. “Why should that change now? If anything ever happens to me, I need you to keep an eye on Ali, to help her, OK?”
    “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Yes, I know.” Hunter nodded. “You have a son now…a family.”
    A place to belong…forever.
    The song of the violin drew him like a beacon along the path, making everything clear. Hunter tucked Rory in closer as he quickened his pace back toward the inn…and Maci.
     
    ****
     
    Maci paused the bow in its glide across the violin’s strings as Hunter entered the great room of the inn through French doors opened wide along the back deck. He cradled Rory in his arms, one huge hand splayed protectively over the baby’s tiny head.
    His gaze found hers and he smiled, an intimate gesture meant for her alone. Maci’s pulse stammered and for the slightest moment, a hush came over the room. Then she nodded slightly and resumed her serenade as the crowd of guests settled back in Adirondack chairs that Ali had strategically placed along the deck rail.
    The night was gorgeous. A breeze kissed Maci’s cheeks, bringing with it the scent of changing leaves that signaled the waning days of summer. Soon autumn would rush in, bringing with it cooler temperatures and a festive air. Bullfrogs sang to one another along the shores of the lake while moonlight glazed the willows beyond in milky shadows.
    Hunter settled against the rail as Ali approached. She handed him a baby bottle, smiling, and then left again to replenish a tray of finger sandwiches. Maci drank everything in as, mindlessly, she coasted through Beethoven’s Romance No.2 in G major . When Hunter pressed the bottle to Rory’s puckered mouth, his lips moving in what she was sure were gentle and coaxing words, her heart ripped in two.
    He was great with children…a natural. Every time she saw him hold Rory, she knew it to be true. But she had to face facts—Hunter might love other people’s children but he’d never want a family of his own. He’d told her so that day in the nursery. Since then he’d avoided the subject. She had to respect his wishes.
    Once, she’d been perfectly content to throw herself into her job and the symphony orchestra—to live a solitary life—but all that had changed when she met Hunter…and with Rory’s birth. She’d tasted, through Ryder and Ali, a life that was rich and fulfilling, one filled with laughter and love. In some ways, it had ruined her. Now, she could never settle for less.
    She thought of the necklace Hunter had given her. It swayed as she worked through the piece, the bow caressing strings. She thought of his kisses, tender and sweet, that ignited emotions so powerful she wondered how she survived them.
    She loved him—that much was certain.
    But was it fair to stay with him—to ask for his love in return, when their differences provided little hope for a future together?
    Tears marred Maci’s vision and she sniffled through the piece. Finishing, she placed the violin in its stand, nodded slightly as the crowd clapped appreciatively, and turned away to rush from the room before Hunter noticed her tears.
     
     
     
     

9
     
    Hunter parked his pickup outside the concert hall and killed the ignition. The lot was illuminated by security lights—part of the security plan recently implemented by the city council. People skittered about, climbing the steps and entering through grand double-doors that led to the concert hall. The chill of fall whispered through the air and leaves, dried and lifeless, scratched the pavement as they scattered and danced.
    Hunter