Free Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Page A

boy. His wife. In that moment he had understood the madness that sometimes takes a person at the death of a loved one.
    â€œWhy not me instead?” he’d cried. “Why not me instead?”
    The screen door squeaked, and Hunter opened his eyes. Oliver peeked at him from around the door, his dark gaze unblinking and full of curiosity.
    Hunter stared at the child, the terror retreating, reality and a sense of equilibrium returning. He put a hand on the cypress column for support and tried to smile. He failed miserably.
    For a moment it looked as if Oliver was going to duck back inside without speaking, then he pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Owie?” he asked.
    Hunter made a choked sound and nodded. Oliver cocked his head, moving his gaze over Hunter. He frowned. “Where it hurt?”
    Emotion rose in Hunter’s throat and he flexed his fingers, forcing the emotion back, fighting for control. “Here,” he said finally, thickly, pressing a hand to his chest, to his heart.
    Oliver was silent for a moment as if considering that. Then he inched the rest of the way through the door and crossed hesitantly to Hunter, stopping in front of him.
    The boy tipped his head back to look up at Hunter. “Kiss make better?”
    Hunter’s breath caught. Pete had started doing that, right before he…before the end. He had started pressing soft, sloppy kisses on every hurt, real or imaginary.
    Hunter shook his head, a thread of panic curling through him, recoiling at the idea of a child other than Pete kissing him. “I don’t think so,” he murmured, taking a step back. “Thanks, but I…don’t…need…”
    Hunter’s words faltered as he gazed down at Oliver’s face. In it he saw trust and the simple, unshakable belief that a kiss really had the ability to take pain away. Oliver didn’t know him; judging by his previous behavior, he didn’t even quite trust him. Yet, he was offering to take his pain away. Hunter swallowed past the knot of emotion in his throat. Oliver was offering him a gift born out of pure love for a fellow human being.
    Nothing
could be less—or more—complicated.
    He couldn’t turn Oliver down, Hunter thought gazing at the little boy’s upturned face. Oliver wouldn’t understand the refusal. He didn’t yet have the ability, hadn’t yet experienced enough of life’s hard knocks.
    But if he had the ability, he never would have made the offer.
    That meant something, Hunter realized. It was important. And suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wanted the gift of healing this child offered.
    Hunter dropped to Oliver’s level. The boy looked into his eyes for one brief moment, then leaned forward and touched his lips to the place directly over Hunter’s heart.
    As light as the stroke of a butterfly’s wing, Oliver’s touch hit Hunter with the force of a punch to the gut. Hunter sucked in a sharp breath, the aftershocks ricocheting through him.
    â€œOliver?”
    Hunter shifted his gaze to the doorway. Aimee stood there, her expression blank with surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it.
    Oliver turned and ran to his mother. He paused when he reached her, taking a quick peek back at Hunter. A ghost of a smile touched his mouth, then he ducked into the store. Without saying a word, Aimee followed him.
    Hunter stared at the empty doorway for long moments, his thoughts a jumble.
    Kiss make better.
    Hunter shook his head, the strangest sensation building inside him. A sensation at once heavy and light, brilliant and dark. An ache. A sweetness.
    A need.
    Hunter shook his head in denial. He was becoming fanciful. He’d been moved by the child’s generosity, by the darkness of his own memories. That was all.
    He needed to get away from Aimee and Oliver, this place. He needed a couple of hours’ change of scenery, needed something to occupy his mind other than the