Grace gave her a look. “Uh, Hunter had a ring. Never got around to giving it to her. She decided she wanted to go into the Peace Corps or teach English in Indonesia or study male models in Italy—maybe all of the above. Bad break, I heard, but they’d been friends so long, it became fairly amicable after a few months. She always wanted to go back to him but didn’t know if he’d take her back. And Hunter had never had a girl this serious before, so…” She looked back at the group with a small frown. “I haven’t seen her in years. I thought she was dating a baseball player.”
The way she was flirting with the gang, Mal doubted she was dating anyone, but she certainly had plans to. She wasn’t focused on the group in general. She had eyes only for Hunter.
And he wasn’t looking anywhere else.
Grace eventually wandered off while Mal kept watching, and she grew more and more uneasy the more Hunter smiled. Then Emma whispered something in his ear, and he frowned but nodded and took her arm, leading her away from the music and off the pavilion. Mal followed along the windows of the upper room and saw them go down the stone steps toward the beach.
They talked for a few minutes, and Hunter’s expression didn’t change at all. He kept his arms folded loosely, listening as intensely as he ever did, while Emma’s hands moved and flailed with her words. Mal wasn’t close enough to read lips, and the lighting was awful, but she felt her heart jump into her throat when Hunter’s arms unfolded and his hands went to his hips. His head lowered, and he nodded just once.
Then, for whatever reason, Emma started crying. Mal saw Hunter’s shoulders move on a sigh, and he pulled Emma into a tight embrace. He stroked her hair, murmured in her ear, and smiled when she hugged him back and buried her face into his shoulder. And then he laughed.
Mal clamped her lips together, wondering if she were going to be sick or fall over or scream. None of those things happened, but her eyes filled with tears the longer they held each other. Emma smiled, and so did Hunter before they disappeared, presumably in the direction of the dance floor.
Together.
Mal stared at nothing, but the place Hunter and Emma had been lingered in her mind, and in the haze of her unfocused vision.
That was a picture of a perfect couple—perfectly situated, perfectly matched, and perfectly superior. That was Hunter’s path, and Mal had been stupid enough to think that the fancy, rich man with the gorgeous looks was serious about the photographer. He must have been bored stiff with no Vanderbilt cousin fiancée on his arm.
Well, he could have her.
Mal made her way down the stairs, her tears somehow staying contained, and hesitated between going back to the pavilion to make her excuses to her family or just leaving.
Just then, a slow song started up from the reception, and her mind played out a horrifying scenario of Hunter leading Miss Emma Halliday, the one that got away, onto the dance floor and slowly swaying with her, maybe even dipping his head to kiss her shoulder.
A strangled cry escaped her, and her feet carried her toward the door at the front of the lodge.
“Mal?”
She screeched low in her throat, her tears welling over, but she stopped at Caroline’s voice.
“Grace came to get me. What’s up?”
Mal shook her head, not turning around.
Caroline was suddenly in front of her, grabbing her arms and peering into her face. “Oh, honey.”
Mal looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears back, but they wouldn’t go.
“Who am I killing, babe? I’m all fired up. Just name the son of a–”
“Hunter,” Mal managed, praying it was the last time she’d ever have to say his name.
Caroline stopped at once, eyes wide. “Seriously? What did he do?”
“I can’t.” Mal hiccupped, swiping at her face. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” Caroline soothed, pulling her in for a tight hug that Mal returned, which only made Caroline hold tighter. “Okay. You need to go?”
Mal nodded against her.
“Go,” Caroline urged, pushing back and smiling. “I’ll talk to Mama. We’ll come see you in Denver soon, okay?”
Mal nodded, wiping at her eyes, then handed her camera off. “Can you get the grand finale? You know how to work this?”
Caroline nodded, taking it from her. “Point and shoot, right?”
“It’s a camera, not a Colt .45,” Mal muttered, her chest aching from restraining her cries.