around. If it was Amy—
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Joselyn Stephens.” Two hands picked her up, holding her eye to eye with a large wall of a man.
“Fisher?” She couldn’t believe this...this person was Hunter’s little brother. “What happened to you?”
He smiled. “I drank milk.” He pulled her into a bear hug.
“By the truckload?” She hugged him back. “You look great.”
“I do.” He nodded.
She giggled, stepping away from him as he put her on the ground. “At least your sense of humor hasn’t changed.”
“Not that I mind you all stopping by, but can we start over so I know what’s going on?” her dad interrupted. He was a stickler for his routine. The bakery opened at six, so he was in bed by nine each and every evening. She glanced at the clock. It was ten after nine.
Hunter spoke first. “Christmas float time. FFA met tonight and came up with a few ideas. One of them was to build something around Josie’s story characters.”
Josie didn’t know where to look. If she looked at Hunter, she felt...all sorts of conflicting and overwhelming things. If she looked at Eli, she felt empty. And if she looked at her dad, she felt rumpled and unattractive. Fisher was her only option. He winked at her when she glanced his way. It helped.
“You don’t have to tell me it’s Christmastime. Christmas parade kicks off the Gingerbread Festival.” Her father winked at her. “Which means Josie and I will be up to our elbows in the stuff for the next week.”
“Can’t wait.” Josie smiled. “Bonding while baking is a family tradition.” She made the terrible mistake of looking Hunter’s way. Hunter, who was watching her. His crooked grin and cocked eyebrow stirred up a series of memories. A flash of him smiling at her while they floated down the river. Another of them lying on a blanket under the stars. Him teaching her to drive stick shift. Making love for the first time. Not thoughts I need to have right now. Her heart lodged itself in her throat.
“Family traditions are good.” Fisher grinned. “Even better if it puts food on the table, right? A man’s got to eat.”
“Which characters?” her father asked, turning to Eli.
Eli shrugged. “Thirty-four, probably. Since some of us have calves.”
“Thirty-four?” She tore her gaze from Hunter.
“It was Dad’s calf, right?” Eli asked.
Josie nodded, rattled. “Yes, his state champion calf.” Her gaze settled on Eli. He looked a lot like Hunter when they’d first met. Her heart hurt. “What can I do to help?”
“Well, we’re gonna build the float. But they—we—were wondering...” Eli was clearly uncomfortable. “Would you ride on it?”
She shook her head. “Um, I hate the spotlight, Eli.”
“It’s just a parade.” Eli’s eyes were scornful. “In Stonewall Crossing.”
“Come on, Josie,” her father said. “You wrote books about this place, the town and people.”
Fisher elbowed her. “You are a celebrity here, kind of.”
“And it’s for the kids,” her dad added.
She held her hands up. “Really, Dad? You’re going to play the for-the-kids card?”
Hunter laughed, sending a wave of awareness along her neck. “Nothing to add, H-Hunter?” She stumbled over his name. It was stupid. Not like she could call him Mr. Boone. It’s a name, for crying out loud. Saying it shouldn’t affect her, or send the slightest shiver down her spine.
His gaze traveled over her face before peering into her eyes. “You might make some good memories before you go back. Something for a new book.”
She couldn’t look away. And she really needed to look away. He might not be grappling with memories, with need and want, but she sure as hell was.
“Come on, Josie. Live a little,” Fisher added.
She should say no, but Hunter had found her weakness. A new book... Wouldn’t that be something? Not that anyone knew she was in the midst of the longest creative drought of her career. That’s why she was considering the teaching position in New Mexico. She wanted to feel inspired again.
Maybe working on the float could help. At this point, it couldn’t hurt. Her career, anyway.
“So?” Eli’s question ended her tortured introspection.
“Yes.” She smiled at Eli as she spoke. “Thanks, Eli. I mean, it’s nice to feel special for my stories.” Don’t ask. Don’t ask. But she did. “Did you ever read them?” Thinking about Amy reading her stories to Eli made her stomach twist.
Eli looked at his dad. “Dad used to read me 34 and Floppy Feet all the time.”
Fisher snorted. “Hey, hey, now. I’ve read the cow one—”
“It’s called 34,” Hunter answered.
“Right, 34.” Fisher nodded at his brother. “A time or two, Eli.”
Eli grinned at his uncle.
Josie risked another glance at Hunter, but he was staring into the fire with a small smile on his face.
“That reminds me, Josie, Annabeth called from the elementary school earlier. She wants you to do a story time there.” Her father spoke up.
“I’d love that.” She smiled. Other than her father, Annabeth was the only one in Stonewall Crossing she’d kept in touch with after she’d left.
Hunter looked at her, his voice soft as he said, “The kids would, too, Jo.”
Jo. For an instant she wanted him to grab her and kiss her, just as he used to. When he’d kissed her, nothing else mattered. She nodded, staring into his eyes wordlessly.
“We should go, Dad. I’ve got a math test Monday morning.” Eli stood up. “Thanks for helping us out...Miss Stephens.”
She turned away from Hunter and beamed at the boy. “You really can call me Josie, Eli, please. I don’t like feeling old.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He barely glanced at her, his answering smile forced. “Thanks for the breakfast this morning, Mr. Stephens.”
“How’d you do?” her father asked.
“Eli got a one at the stock show.” Hunter smiled at his son, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s been working real hard with Bob, his steer. And the judges could tell.”
It was clear Hunter was a devoted father, just as she’d always known he’d be. Something hard settled in the pit of her stomach, a hollow, empty ache.
“I wasn’t the only one.” Eli’s cheeks were red. “Now there’s nothing big until after Christmas.”
“Time to get ready for the next one.” Her father winked at the boy. “You should be proud, Eli.”
“Thank you, sir.” Eli nodded and headed for the door.
“Don’t get up,” Josie said to her dad.
“Now, Josie—” her father started to argue.
“Dad.” She held her hand up.
“We know the way out. Don’t get Jo all worked up.” Hunter shook her father’s hand. “Have a good evening, Carl. Thanks for having us over.”
Her dad winked. “You’re welcome anytime, Hunter. You know that. You, too, Fisher.”
She knew her father cared for Hunter—he always had.