Hunter's Bride and A Mother's Wish: Hunter's Bride / A Mother's Wish

Praise for Marta Perry and her novels

“Opens with a great scene that doesn’t disappoint. The characters are delightful and endearing.”

—Romantic Times BOOK reviews on Hunter’s Bride

“Marta Perry knows how to write romance and A Mother’s Wish is another fine example of her talent.”

—Romantic Times BOOK reviews

“In Marta Perry’s Unlikely Hero, emotionally charged characters and situations will leave readers entranced. The realistic portrayal of someone caught in abuse will resonate long after the last page is turned.”

—Romantic Times BOOK reviews

“Marta Perry’s Hero Dad shows the power of God and family to overcome trials. Detailed characterization brings the story to life.”

—Romantic Times BOOK reviews

Hunter’s Bride & A Mother’s Wish

Marta Perry

CONTENTS

HUNTER’S BRIDE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

A MOTHER’S WISH

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

MARTA PERRY

has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in more than twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her six beautiful grandchildren.

Marta loves hearing from readers, and she’ll write back with a signed bookmark or her brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at [e-mail], or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

Hunter’s Bride

For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord.

Plans to prosper you and not to harm you.

Plans to give you hope and a future.

—Jeremiah 29:11

This story is dedicated with much love

to my daughter Lorie, my son-in-law Axel,

and especially to my grandson, Bjoern Jacob.

And, as always, to Brian.

Chapter One

Chloe Caldwell was in trouble—deep, deep trouble. She tried to stand up straight against the intense, ice-blue stare of her boss, Luke Hunter. He wore the look some of his business rivals had compared to being pierced by a laser. She began to understand the feeling.

Southern women have skin like magnolia blossoms and spines like steel. Gran’s voice echoed in her mind. Have you lost yourself up north among them Yankees, Chloe Elizabeth?

Maybe she had. She took a strained breath and met Luke’s gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He arched his black eyebrows. “It’s a simple question, Chloe.” He held up a sheet of off-white note-paper covered with spidery handwriting. “Why does your grandmother think you and I are a couple?”

Possibly, if she closed her eyes, she’d open them to find this was all a dream—no, a nightmare. Oh, Gran, she thought despairingly, whatever possessed you to write to him? Luke must have picked up the mail when she’d been out of the office for a few minutes. If she’d seen it—But she hadn’t.

Luke was waiting for an answer, and no one had ever accused Luke Hunter of an abundance of patience. She had to say something.

“I can’t imagine.” Liar, the voice of her conscience whispered. “May I see the letter?”

She held out her hand, trying to find enough of that steel Gran insisted she had so that her fingers wouldn’t tremble and give her away. Luke held the paper just out of her reach for a moment, like a cat toying with a mouse, and then surrendered it. He leaned back against the polished oak desk that the Dalton Resorts considered appropriate for a rising executive. He should have looked relaxed. He didn’t.

She shot a hopeful glance toward the telephone. It rang all day long. Why not now? But the phone remained stubbornly silent. Beyond the desk, large windows looked out on a gray March day in Chicago, an even grayer Lake Michigan. No sudden tornado swept down to rip the sheet from her hand.

She forced her attention to Gran’s letter. She’d barely begun to decipher the old-fashioned handwriting, when Luke moved restlessly, drawing her gaze inevitably back to him.

She’d long ago realized that Luke Hunter was a study in contradictions. Night-black hair and eyebrows that were another slash of black contrasted with incredibly deep blue eyes. The strong bones of cheek and jaw reflected his fierce tenacity, but the impression was tempered by the unexpected widow’s peak on his forehead and the cleft in his chin.

It didn’t take one of Gran’s homegrown country philosophies to tell her what to think of Luke. A man with a face like that had secrets to hide. He wore the smooth, polished exterior that announced a rising young executive, but underneath was something darker, something that ran against the grain. She’d been his good right arm for nearly six years and had never seen more than a hint of it, but she knew it was there.

She took a breath. “I’m sorry that you received this.” The paper fluttered in her grasp. “I don’t know why Gran decided to send you an invitation to her eightieth birthday party next Sunday.”

“Oh, she says why.” Luke leaned forward, invading her space. “She thinks I’m your ‘beau.’” His tone put quotes around a word she’d never expected to hear from him. “Why does she think that?”

“My grandmother is an elderly lady.” She would try to convey the image of someone frail and confused, while sending a fervent mental apology to her peppery Gran. No one who knew Naomi Caldwell would dare to call her frail or confused.

“She sounds pretty coherent to me.” He plucked the letter back from her, and she had to fight to keep from snatching it. “If she thinks that, it must be because someone gave her that idea.”

Please, Lord.

She stopped the prayer before it could become any more self-serving than it already was. Obviously no heavenly intervention was going to excuse her from the results of her own folly.

“I’m afraid I must have.” She picked her way through the words carefully, as if she were back on the island, picking her way through the marsh grasses. “I think it happened when you gave me those symphony tickets. When I told her about it, she misunderstood. She assumed we went together.”

“And you didn’t correct her?”

She felt color warm her cheeks. “I thought…” Well, that sentence was going nowhere. Try again. “My grandmother worries about me. You have to realize she’s never been farther from home than Savannah. Chicago is another world to her. Once she thought I was dating someone safe, she stopped worrying so much.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Am I safe, Chloe?”

She’d stepped in a bog without seeing it. “I mean, someone she’d heard of. Naturally, I’ve often spoken of my boss.” Probably more than she should have. “I didn’t tell her any lies. I just…didn’t clear things up.” It was time to get out of this situation with what remaining dignity she had. “I’m sorry you were bothered with this. Naturally, I’ll tell her you won’t be coming to Caldwell Cove.”

Luke looked again at the letter, with some sharpening of attention she didn’t understand.

“That’s in South Carolina, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It’s on Caldwell Island, just off the coast.”

“Caldwell Cove, Caldwell Island. Sounds as if you belong there, Chloe.”

The faint trace of mockery in his voice made her stiffen. “I belong here now.”

“Still, to have a whole island named after you must mean something.”

“It only means that my ancestors were the first settlers. They gave their name to the village and to the island. It doesn’t mean every descendant stays put.” She hadn’t.

She held out her hand, hoping he’d give her that embarrassing missive so she could destroy it. “Again, I’m sorry.”

But he turned away, dropping the letter onto his desk. He glanced back at her, amusement in his eyes. “I’m not. It’s been an interesting break in the routine.”

“Speaking of which—” She looked at her watch. “You have a meeting with Mr. Dalton at eleven.”

“No.” The amusement disappeared from his face. “He was in early and he talked with me then.”

It went without saying that Luke had been in early. She sometimes wondered when he slept. “I see. Are there any meeting notes I should take care of?”

“None.” His voice contained an edge. “Just get me the Branson file, that’s all.”

He moved effortlessly back to Dalton Resorts business, obviously dismissing her and her small problems from his mind. She could escape. She’d reached the door when his voice stopped her.

“Chloe.”

“Yes?” She turned back reluctantly.

“Too bad I won’t be seeing Caldwell Cove. It might have been fun at that.”

Fun? She tried to imagine Luke Hunter, urban to the soles of his handmade Italian shoes, in Caldwell Cove. No, she didn’t think that would have been fun for anyone, least of all her. She gave him a meaningless smile and scurried out the door.

Once safely behind her desk, she took a deep breath, trying to quell the flood of embarrassment. It’s your own fault, the voice of her conscience said sternly, sounding remarkably like her grandmother. You set this in motion with your fairy tales.

Fairy tales, that’s all they’d been—innocent fairy tales. Letting Gran believe she and Luke Hunter were a couple had let her believe it, too, for a time. She shied away from that thought.

She should have realized that sooner or later this would backfire. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to erase the pounding that had begun there. She’d known he’d never give up until he had the whole story. That tenacity of Luke’s had played a major role in his success at Dalton Resorts.

She’d seen that quality when she first met him, when she came to Chicago six years ago. His office had been the size of a broom closet then, and she’d been the greenest member of the secretarial pool, homesick for the island and trying to find her way through the maze of corporate politics.

She’d learned fast, though probably not as fast as he had. She’d discovered that she had to get rid of her soft Southern drawl if she didn’t want to be made fun of. She’d found that there were as many alligators in the corporate structure as she’d ever seen in the lagoons on the island. And she’d realized that if you wanted to survive, you attached yourself to a rising star.

That star had been Luke Hunter, with his newly minted MBA and his fierce, aggressive intelligence. They’d come up together, working long hours, until they’d become a team, almost able to read each other’s thoughts. She’d identified herself with his interests, and she’d never regretted that move. Until, possibly, today, when her two worlds had collided.

She looked at the framed family photo on her desk, and warmth slipped through her. The Caldwell kin, everyone from Gran to little Sammy, aunts, uncles, brothers, cousins, even second cousins twice removed, had gathered on the dock for that picture. It was a wonder the weathered wooden structure hadn’t collapsed. She could still smell the salt tang in the air, feel the hot sun on her shoulders and the warm boards beneath her bare feet, hear the soft Southern voices teasing.

She’d told Luke she belonged here now, but she wasn’t sure that was true. She’d made friends, found a church home, learned her way around, but she’d never developed that sophisticated urban manner her friends wore so easily. Maybe the truth was, she was trapped between her two worlds, and she wasn’t sure which one claimed her.

But Luke Hunter didn’t need to know that. Any more than he needed to know the real reason she’d let Gran believe she was dating him. Not for Gran’s sake, but for her own.

You’ve got a crush on that corporate shark. She could still hear the incredulity in her friend Marsha’s voice when she’d let her secret slip. Girl, are you crazy? That man could eat you alive.

Chloe hadn’t been able to explain, but she hadn’t been able to deny it, either. Marsha hadn’t seen the side of the man that Luke sometimes showed her.

Chloe traced the family photo with one finger. When the call had come two years earlier about her father’s accident, it had been Luke who’d taken control in that nightmare moment. She’d been almost too stunned to function at the thought of her strong, vibrant father, the rock they all depended upon, lying still and white in a hospital bed.

Luke had arranged her flight home, he’d driven her to the airport, then he’d stayed with her until the Flight was called. He’d even watered the plants on her desk while she was gone. He’d never questioned her need to stay on the island until Daddy was on his feet again.

No, Marsha didn’t understand that. All the same, she’d been right. Chloe Caldwell did indeed have one giant-size crush on her boss.

Luke spun his chair around to stare out at the city. His city. Having a window big enough to look at it meant he was on the verge of success.

Or failure. The brief skirmish with Chloe had diverted his attention from the problem at hand, but now that situation drove back at him like a semi barreling down the interstate. Chloe had innocently mentioned the meeting with Dalton. She couldn’t have known just what kind of bomb Leonard Dalton had set ticking this morning.

A vice-presidency was in the offing, and the CEO had laid it out very clearly. Luke could prove he was ready by finding the ideal location for the next Dalton Resort and negotiating a favorable deal. If not—

Luke’s hand formed a fist. Opportunity didn’t knock all that often. He intended to answer the first time. He’d come too far, and he wasn’t going to be denied the reward for all his effort.

His mind took a reluctant sidelong glance at just how far he’d come. He didn’t let himself look often, because that was looking into a black hole of poverty, ugliness, rejection—a hole that might suck you back in if you looked too long.

He forced the image away by sheer willpower. No one in his current life knew about his past, and no one would. He’d be the next vice-president, because he wouldn’t accept anything else. And Chloe, quite without meaning to, might have given him the key.

Amusement filtered through him. That must have been the first time he’d seen Chloe Caldwell—quiet, composed, efficient Chloe—embarrassed by something.

Well, however embarrassing Chloe had found the exposure of her little fib, he’d have to thank her for it, because the mention of Caldwell Island, South Carolina, had rung a bell in his memory. He spun back to the computer and flicked through the past several years of site survey reports.

There it was. The area surrounding Caldwell Island had appeared on a list of possible sites for a new Dalton Resort three years ago. Dalton hadn’t established a new resort at that time, and this report had quietly vanished. He might be the only one in the company who remembered Caldwell Island.

He skimmed through the report quickly, his excitement mounting. Something—the little vibration he’d learned to trust—told him this was worth pursuing.

He leaned back, smiling. One of the hardest things about looking over a possible site was keeping the locals from learning what you were doing and thus sending prices soaring. Chloe, with her sweet little deception and the frail old grandmother she wouldn’t want to disappoint, had just given him the perfect way to check out Caldwell Island for himself.

Chloe hadn’t had enough time to forget her humiliation when the buzzer summoned her, insistent as an angry mosquito. Snatching a pad, she marched toward Luke’s office. All right, there was to be no reprieve. She’d go in there and show Luke that they were back to business, as if the morning’s fiasco had never happened.

“Chloe.” He looked up from a file on his desk. “I was thinking about that letter from your grandmother.”

All right, she wouldn’t be able to pretend it hadn’t happened. Steel, Chloe Elizabeth.

“Please forget about it. I’ll take care of it.” She raised the pad. “Was there something else you wanted?”

“I can’t forget about it.” He leaned back in the padded executive chair. Beyond him, gray rain slashed against the window, as relentless as he was. “I keep picturing your frail old grandmother being disappointed on her birthday.”

Wouldn’t he be surprised by the real Gran, one of a long line of strong Caldwell women who’d wrestle a gator if necessary to keep her family safe. “Gran will be fine.” She tried to put a little of that strength into her voice. “After all, the rest of her kin will be there.”

The word slipped out before she could censor it. Northerners didn’t call people “kin.” She’d been thinking too much about Gran today.

“But not her favorite granddaughter.” He smiled. “I’m sure you are the favorite, aren’t you?”

Warning bells began to ring. When Luke turned on the charm, he wanted something. “That’s probably my sister, Miranda. After all, she’s produced a great-grandchild.”

Luke swung forward in his chair, his feet landing on the carpet. “In any event, she’d be disappointed. I just can’t let that happen.”

She stared at him blankly, not sure where he was going with this. “I don’t…”

“Besides, what is it to us? One short weekend out of our lives to make an elderly lady happy.”

Panic rocketed through her. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was.

“You can’t be talking about going.” Her voice rose in spite of herself.

He stood, planting both hands on the desktop and leaning toward her. “That would solve everything, wouldn’t it?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

Her mind worked frantically. “We can’t pretend to be dating in front of my whole family.”

“Again, why not?” His words shot toward her, compelling agreement.

Her throat closed on the difficulty of telling him all the reasons. As usual, standing up to Luke Hunter was about as possible for her as flying to the moon. “We just can’t, that’s all.”

“Nonsense. Of course we can.” He swept past her objections, and with fascinated horror she saw him launching into the deal mode that no one ever managed to stop. “In fact, I’ve already done it.”

“Done what?” Her thoughts twisted and turned, trying to find a path out of this impossible situation.

“I called and talked with your father.” There might have been something a little malicious in his smile. “He was delighted that we’re coming. I’ll fly down with you on Friday. We’ll come back Sunday night after the birthday party.”

“But I can’t. We can’t.”

“Of course you can. All you have to do is reschedule my Friday meetings and pack, and we’ll make your grandmother happy. Aren’t you pleased, Chloe?”

Pleased? She could only stare at him, the horrible truth rolling inexorably toward her. Thanks to her weakness for storytelling and her total inability to stand up to Luke Hunter, she was condemned to spend the weekend pretending to her family that he cared for her.

She might have dreamed, in her weaker moments, of going back to Caldwell Cove with Luke on her arm. But this wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare, and yet it was only too real.

Chapter Two

“We’re almost there.” Chloe leaned forward in the passenger seat next to Luke, sounding as eager as a ten-year-old on a vacation.

“How can you tell? It all looks the same to me.” Luke pressed his hands against the steering wheel of the rental car and stretched. The trip to Caldwell Island from the airport in Savannah was less than an hour, but the narrow, two-lane roads wove through apparently endless miles of tall pines alternating with dense, dark undergrowth. It might have made sense for Chloe to drive, since she knew the road, but he hated letting someone else drive him.

He was also starting to have serious doubts about this whole expedition. Nothing he’d seen so far would lead him to consider this area for a Dalton Resort. It looked more like Tobacco Road.

Chloe flashed him a smile. “Just a little farther, and you’ll see the bridge.”

He’d see it. Then he’d see this precious island of hers. He’d be able to tell in half an hour, probably, if Caldwell Island was worth further investigation. If not, what he’d want to do was take the first plane back to Chicago.

But he couldn’t. Like it or not, he’d committed to this weekend, to pretending he and Chloe weren’t just boss and secretary, but something more. A faint apprehension trickled along his nerves. Chloe, with her honey-colored hair and her golden-brown eyes, was appealing, but certainly not his type. He went for sophisticated, not girl-next-door. Pulling this off could be tricky.

“There!” Chloe’s exclamation was filled with satisfaction as they emerged abruptly from yet another stand of pine trees.

He blinked. Ahead of them, lush grass stretched on either side of the road, golden in the sunshine. It might have been a meadow, but the grass grew in water, not earth. In the distance a cluster of palmettos stood dark against the sky, like an island. Sunlight glinted from deeper streams, turning the scene into a bewildering world between earth and sea. His apprehension deepened. Everything about this was alien to him.

Chloe hit the button, and her window whirred down, letting in a flood of warm air that mixed salt, sea and musky vegetation. “Smell that.” She inhaled deeply. “That’s what tells me I’ve come home.” She hung out the window, letting her hair tangle in the breeze.

“Doesn’t smell like home to me. Not unless it includes exhaust fumes, sidewalk vendors and pigeons.”

“Sorry. Would you settle for a great white heron?” She pointed, and he saw an elegant white bird lift its long neck and stare at them.

This was a different Chloe, he realized. One who knew everything here, one who was in her element. Just as he was out of his. The thought made him vaguely uneasy.

The road swept up onto a white bridge, shimmering in the sunshine. Tall pylons marched beside the bridge, feet in the water, carrying power lines.

“We’re crossing the inland waterway,” Chloe said, pressing her palms against the dash as if to force the car to move faster. “And there’s Caldwell Island.”

The car crested the hump in the middle of the bridge, and Chloe’s island lay ahead of them. His breath caught in spite of himself. The surrounding marsh grass made the island shimmer with gold, and it stretched along the horizon like an early explorer’s dream of riches.

“Golden isles,” Chloe said softly, as if she read his thought. “That’s an old name for the sea islands. The Golden Isles.”

The channel merged with marshes, then the marshes merged with the gentle rise of land, as if the island raised itself only reluctantly from the sea. A village drifted along the curve of shore facing the bridge, looking like something out of the last century, or maybe the century before that. A church steeple bisected it neatly.