As Terese smoothed her hair into place, the image of Hunter Coltrane flashed through her mind. The image of Hunter Coltrane with herâ¦
âNow, thatâs a pipe dream,â she muttered to herself. And no one knew it better than Terese.
Because Hunter Coltrane was handsome enough to stop traffic, leaving her with little doubt that she wasnât the kind of woman who would so much as turn his head.
Plainâthatâs what she was. It was an irrefutable factâTerese Warwick was a plain Jane. The kind of plain Jane who didnât draw even moderately attractive men on her own merits, let alone men like Hunter Coltrane.
âAnd donât you forget it!â she commanded her reflection as if it were another person.
Then she told herself to just be glad she was going to get to meet her nephew.
Sheâd have to work on erasing the lingering mental image of her nephewâs father. The mental image that had things inside her sitting up and taking notice.
Just the way the man himself hadâ¦
Be a part of
Because birthright has its privileges and family ties run deep.
When a shy but beautiful teacher fell for him, he had to decide whether he was ready to love againâ¦.
Hunter Coltrane: A widower with a sick little boy, Hunter was reluctant to open his heart to love. But then sweet and beautiful Terese entered his life, and he couldnât deny the feeling growing inside him. Maybe he could give love a second chanceâ¦.
Terese Warwick: Terese hadnât had much luck with men until she met Hunter and his adorable son and instantly warmed to them. They were the loving family sheâd always wanted. But Hunter had a damaged heartâcould she break through his old wounds and find love?
Bachelors galore!
With the upcoming charity bachelor auction, love was in the air at Portland General, but did someone want to ruin The Childrenâs Connectionâs good name?
âI donât have the time to explain it to you, mister. Eve Warwickâthatâs who I need. And come hell or high water, Iâm going to see her and Iâm going to see her now.â
After a full ten minutes of going round and round with the Warwick butler, who was blocking the doorway of the sprawling Warwick family mansion, Hunter Coltrane had reached the limits of his patience. He had the man by the shirtfront, his face no more than an inch from the butlerâs nose.
Hunter could see that the much smaller manâs features were tightened into a mask of abject fear. But at that moment the butlerâs fear was nothing compared to the fear Hunter felt, and he was too desperate to care that he was scaring the man. If scaring him was what it took, heâd terrify the guy.
âSheâs about to leave for an appointment and sheâll fire me if I let you or anyone else delay her,â the butler informed him in a strained whisper.
âThen how about if you donât let me delay her? How about if you just tell me where in this damn mausoleum she is and I go find her for myself?â
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â a grating female voice demanded from inside the house just then.
Without breaking eye contact with the butler, Hunter recognized the speaker. That voice belonged to Eve Warwick. He ungently moved the other man out of his way, stepped across the threshold and went into the foyer of the imposing residence that he and his late wife had visited on only one occasion a little over four years ago.
Eve Warwick was standing at the top of a grand staircase that curved in a full half-circle sweep to the second level of the three-story structure. She looked as outraged as she sounded, but Hunter would suffer that outrage and anything else she wanted to dish out to get what heâd come for.
He consciously tried to calm the unusual flare of temper that frustration had raised and forced himself to speak civilly.
âI donât know if you remember me or not. Iâm Hunter Coltrane,â he said. âMy wife and I adopted your babyââ
âI know who you are and you have no business here,â Eve Warwick decreed imperiously.
âIt isnât âbusinessâ Iâm here for. Iâm here for Johnny. Heâsââ
âI donât care what youâre here for. You just need to leave. Now,â she ordered.
Hunter ignored it. âJohnnyâthatâs what we named himâneeds your blood,â he informed her.
But not even blurting that out had an impact on the perfectly coiffed woman in the haute couture pink suit. Her only response was to transfer her gaze to the butler and say, âPixley, call security.â