Free Night Jasmine by Erica Spindler Page B

past and the dynamics of a family he had no business becoming involved with.
    He had to find a way to put more emotional distance between himself, Aimee and Oliver.
    Straightening, Hunter crossed the gallery and descended the stairs to his car. As he opened the door, he looked back at the store. Aimee stood at the window. Something in her expression pulled at him and for long moments, he stood unmoving, his gaze locked with hers. Then he broke the contact, climbed into his car and drove away.
    * * *
    It took Hunter nearly three hours to put what had occurred between him and Oliver into perspective, and to rationalize how the boy’s gesture had made him feel. During that time he’d also assured himself that he was not becoming involved in Aimee or Oliver’s life. He’d reasoned that he hadn’t totally recovered from the shock of discovering he had another child. Once he did, he wouldn’t have any problem maintaining his emotional distance.
    Sure.
    Hunter parked his car beside the store and stepped out into the early afternoon sun. An older woman sat in a rocking chair on the gallery, Oliver asleep in her lap. She looked up and smiled as he approached.
    â€œYou must be Hunter,” she said in a voice heavily laced with the Cajun patois. “I’m Marie. Roubin’s sister.”
    Her smile was broad, genuine and full of warmth. Hunter found himself returning it in kind. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    She looked him over, her expression openly curious. He wondered if she’d been told of his relationship to Oliver. If she had, he saw no antagonism in her expression, no judgment.
    â€œYou are a friend of Aimee’s from California.”
    It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Yes.”
    â€œMe, I’ve never been to California.” She laughed. “But I’ve been to Shreveport.”
    Hunter stopped at the base of the stairs. “Well, you have me there. I’ve never been to Shreveport.”
    â€œYou are not missing much.”
    Hunter laughed, liking Marie’s sense of humor. Her openness. “Is Aimee here?”
    â€œ Non. She took Roubin to New Orleans. To see the physical therapist.” She clucked her tongue. “What a mess! My brother, he is not a good patient.”
    â€œI’ve noticed,” Hunter murmured, unwittingly shifting his gaze from hers to the sleeping Oliver.
    â€œHe is beautiful, non? ”
    Hunter looked up at the woman, then back at Oliver, a catch in his chest. “He looks like his mother.”
    â€œMore than you know, cher. I could show you photographs.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue again. “ Incroyable! They are like mirror images.”
    Hunter told himself to murmur a nicety or two, then excuse himself. Instead, he found himself climbing the stairs. “Really?”
    â€œOf course, there are differences. He is a boy, after all. But he looks like Roubin, too. And like me.” Marie threaded her fingers through Oliver’s hair. “The Boudreaux blood, it is strong. No matter who we marry, our babies, they look like our people.”
    She shook her head and squinted at a car that drove past, then lifted her hand in greeting. Turning back to him, she looked him straight in the eye. “Your blood, it is good?”
    Hunter met her gaze just as seriously as she met his. “I like to think so.”
    For a moment she remained silent as she rocked the chair rhythmically back and forth, then she angled him a glance from the corners of her eyes. “You are enjoying your visit?”
    â€œVery much.”
    â€œThe bayou, she is beautiful. Non? ”
    â€œYes.”
    The chair creaked as Marie shifted her weight. “And so are her women. The most beautiful in the world. You agree?”
    She gave him a look that dared him to disagree. Hunter smiled. But how could he? He’d always thought Aimee the most beautiful woman he’d ever