along famously. And I’m here to see you through this rough patch.”
“So let bygones be bygones? Give you a place to stay until you feel emotionally strong enough to go after your next rich conquest? I don’t think so,” Molly said through gritted teeth. “I came to tell you Hunter and I are back,” she said to her father. “We can talk later. At the moment, I have nothing more to say.”
She pivoted away and, ignoring everyone in the room, Hunter included, she walked out the door.
Hunter took a step toward her but Frank shook his head. “I’d give her a few minutes to catch her breath. This wasn’t a welcome surprise.” Frank turned an icy glare to Molly’s mother. “Francie, what is it you really want?” The older man’s exhaustion permeated his voice and his expression.
“I’m tired. I’ve had a long flight and a trying time in London before I left. I’m staying at the Hilton. It’s not the Ritz but it is four stars or so they claim,” Francie said.
Hunter blinked. The woman was truly unfazed by the emotions of everyone around her, including her only daughter and the man she’d lied to and betrayed years before.
“I think you’ve done enough damage by just showing up,” Frank said wearily. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave Molly alone.”
Hunter seconded the notion.
“I don’t think that’s your call to make. Molly’s always here for me when I need her. She may be upset about your situation, but once she pulls herself together, she’ll be happy to see me. She always is.”
“She’s changed,” Hunter heard himself say.
“A girl is always there for her mother.” Francie lifted her purse and placed it over her shoulder.
“Shouldn’t that be a mother is always there for her daughter?” Frank asked. “Or does that only apply to other mothers but not to you?”
The other woman yawned. “I’m too tired for this conversation now. Frank, would you drive me to the hotel? The taxi driver dropped me off here earlier and I don’t have a way of getting there.”
Hunter glanced at Francie’s perfectly set hair and light-colored suit. “I’d be happy to give you a lift,” he said, winking at Frank behind her back.
Placing Francie on the back of his motorcycle was petty, but it was a small form of payback for the years of pain she’d caused Molly. Her messy hairdo would be sweet revenge.
“FRANK?”
The general turned at the sound of his name to find Sonya standing in the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I rang the bell but nobody answered. The door was ajar, so I let myself in.” She stepped toward him, a welcome vision in black slacks and a white shortsleeved sweater.
Still technically in mourning, Sonya had been choosing appropriately subdued clothing when she left the house. Even if her feelings were in turmoil, she couldn’t deny she was mourning the loss of something in her life, if not the love of a husband she’d turned away from a long time ago.
“I’m glad you did.” He kissed her cheek and led her to one of the kitchen chairs. “So what brings you by?” he asked as he joined her.
She shrugged. “Nothing really. I saw Molly’s car and I wanted to know what they found out in Atlantic City. Did they find anything?” she asked hopefully.
“I don’t know yet. We had a visitor that took precedence over everything else.”
“What in the world could be more important than your case?” Sonya was affronted on his behalf.
Frank couldn’t help it. He laughed. “Molly’s mother showed up. And trust me, when you meet her you’ll realize that everything in the world revolves around Francie. Nobody else’s problems or needs matter.” He shook his head hard. “Don’t know what I saw in her all those years ago.”
Sonya rose and walked behind him, bracing her hands on his shoulders. She began a slow, steady massage of his muscles, which were so tight he thought they’d snap in half.
He bent his head forward, giving her better access. “Lord, that feels good.”
“You’ve got too much on these broad shoulders,” she said. “More than one man should have to handle. Now, about what you saw in Molly’s mother. Is she pretty?”
“She’s beautiful, but there’s nothing warm inside. Nothing compassionate or giving.”
Sonya continued her firm workout of his shoulders and neck. “How old were you when you met her?” she asked.
“Eighteen and half a step away from enlisting.”
“Something tells me you weren’t interested in what was inside her heart.” Sonya softly chuckled, her voice firm with the wisdom of age.
He grinned. “You’re a smart woman. And damn beautiful inside and out,” he said, not wanting her to think for an instant he still had any feelings for his shallow ex.
“I appreciate that. Sometimes I forget I was anything more than Paul’s whipping boy. Figuratively speaking.”
“Sometimes.”
Her hands stilled. “You’re right. Denial isn’t necessary anymore. Force of habit, I guess.”
He covered her hand with his. “It’s going to take time to adjust to the new normal.”
“It’s going to take even more time to figure out what that is.”
He inhaled a deep breath. “Hopefully we’ll have all the time in the world to do that. And hopefully Hunter can work miracles, because from where I sit, things look pretty bleak.”
Frank hadn’t said it out loud before now, but he lay awake at night panicked that Hunter wouldn’t be able to prove his innocence and he’d spend the rest of his life locked up in a tiny cell.
He broke into a sweat just thinking about it.
“It’ll be okay,” Sonya said, leaning her head against his. “You aren’t going to pay for a crime you didn’t commit.”
When Sonya said the words, he almost believed it.
MOLLY CURLED UP in a ball on her bed in her father’s house. It wasn’t her house but she thought it had come to be her home. If she defined home as a place inside someone’s heart. She’d believed her father’s acceptance had taken care of her old wounds, but leave it to her mother to show up now and point out exactly how wrong Molly was. Francie’s presence reminded Molly of all she’d missed out on and failed to accomplish in her life. Winning her mother’s elusive affection and approval had been a driving goal. And a glaring failure.
And really, wasn’t that what Hunter had tried to tell her the other day? That she still had unresolved issues when it came to love and acceptance? She’d fought his arguments, but apparently he had a point.
A knock sounded on her door and Molly scrambled upright. She pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand, blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“Come in,” she called.
Hunter slipped inside, leaving the door ajar behind him. “Don’t want to give Jessie the wrong idea. If she has to leave her door open, so should we.” His gaze zeroed in on Molly. “Are you okay?” he asked, warm concern filling his voice.
She nodded.
“But you’ve been crying.” He settled himself beside her on the bed and reached out to brush a tear that had escaped and dripped slowly down her face.
She shrugged. “I’m female. And women cry sometimes.”
He let out a laugh. “What a crock of bull. And so not like my Molly.”
“Don’t you mean the Molly you know?” she asked bitterly.
He shook his head. “That was your mother’s mistake, not mine. I don’t pretend to know everything about you, but I do know you don’t believe in stereotypes about weak women.”
“Okay, I’ve been crying because I was feeling sorry for myself. How unlike me is that?”
