Their Unexpected Love

Sunshine Carston is looking for more than beautiful scenery when she moves with her daughter to Hunter Ridge, Arizona. She’s looking for answers. According to family legend, her ancestors were cheated out of their land by the Hunter family. But when she meets Grady Hunter, Sunshine’s mission is endangered—how can she investigate the Hunters when she’s falling for one? When Grady’s mother becomes ill, Grady steps in to help her run against Sunshine for town council. But what will Grady say when he finds out about Sunshine’s investigation? To rise above the past and forge a future together, they’ll need a love stronger than any feud…

“Hey! How is everybody this morning?”

Her heart inexplicably lifting at the sound of the familiar voice, Sunshine turned to see Grady striding toward them with that distinctive masculine gait, his impossibly broad shoulders clad in a windbreaker.

“Grady!” To Sunshine’s surprise, her daughter let out a cry of welcome and abandoned the swing to run toward him.

When Tessa reached Grady, she grabbed his hand and gazed happily up at him. “Now you can see how high I can swing.”

He glanced at Sunshine, looking slightly taken aback at Tessa’s grip on his hand. “I can do that.”

Willingly, he allowed her to pull him forward to stand next to her mother.

Tessa dashed for the swings. In a flash, she had herself moving.

“Are you watching?” a demanding voice called.

“We’re watching!” they yelled in unison, then exchanged a glance and laughed.

The kindergartner was pumping herself higher and higher, a determined look on her little face.

“You’re doing great, Tessa!” Grady’s words of encouragement impelled her to pump harder, and her triumphant smile widened.

Sunshine’s heart swelled with love.

GLYNNA KAYE treasures memories of growing up in small Midwestern towns—and vacations spent with the Texan side of the family. She traces her love of storytelling to the times a houseful of great-aunts and great-uncles gathered with her grandma to share candid, heartwarming, poignant and often humorous tales of their youth and young adulthood. Glynna now lives in Arizona, where she enjoys gardening, photography and the great outdoors.

Claiming the Single Mom’s Heart
Glynna Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

—Jeremiah 29:11

The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.

—Deuteronomy 31:8

To Jim and Phyllis Dorman, whose deep love of God and faithful ministry have greatly influenced my life. Thank you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“A family legend is worthless unless you have proof.”

“I’m going to get proof.” With more confidence than she felt, Sunshine Carston gave her longtime friend Tori a reassuring nod. “It’s just taking longer than expected.”

Much longer.

She shifted restlessly in the passenger seat of Victoria Janner’s steel-blue Kia compact as they searched for a parking spot in the crowded graveled lot of Hunter’s Hideaway. Her own ancient SUV was in the shop—again—and out-of-town visitor Tori had agreed to take a detour while running errands Saturday morning. But Tori’s willingness had swiftly evaporated when on the way to their destination Sunshine had divulged her true intention for this next stop.

Big mistake.

She rolled down her window, breathing in the soothing scent of sun-warmed ponderosa pines. An aroma deliciously indigenous to the rugged mountain country surrounding Hunter Ridge, Arizona, it was one her great-great-grandparents would have been familiar with. One she herself would have likely grown up with had life not dealt her ancestors an unfair blow.

She stared across the parking lot at the connecting log, stone and frame structures that made up the main building of Hunter’s Hideaway. The vast wooded acreage had been a home away from home for hunters, horsemen, hikers and other outdoorsmen since Harrison “Duke” Hunter had—allegedly—rooted it to that exact spot early in the past century.

“They seem to be doing a good business this Labor Day weekend.” Resentment welled up within her. “No noisy remodeling like they’re inflicting on the Artists’ Cooperative gallery this morning.”

A cute blonde with a pixie haircut, Tori and her usual dazzling smile was nowhere to be seen as they slipped into an empty spot. “If you go in there with a chip on your shoulder,” she cautioned, “you can’t expect a positive outcome.”

What response had Sunshine hoped to get from her friend when she’d confessed her true motive for relocating to Hunter Ridge two years ago? A cry of outrage at the unfairness of it all? Reinforcement of her plans? Encouragement to face her fear of the influential family who the town was named for?

“And don’t forget,” Tori added as she cut off the engine, “what the good Lord says about revenge.”

“I’m seeking justice. Not revenge. There’s a difference.”

A big difference. Revenge involved retaliation. Inflicting injury. Justice had to do with revealing truth and righting wrongs. And yes, restoring of at least some of what by rights belonged to her family. To her. And to her five-year-old daughter, Tessa.

Tori cast her a disbelieving look. “Surely you don’t think anyone is going to fork over restitution for something your great-great-grandfather was supposedly cheated out of. Even if you could prove it—which I doubt you can—you don’t have the money to back up your claim with legal action.”

“No, but I’m counting on the seemingly impeccable reputation of the Hunters to apply its own brand of pressure. That they’ll be compelled, for the sake of their standing in the community, to make things right once the facts are brought to their attention.”

Tori slumped down in the bucket seat. “I wish you hadn’t told me any of this. It sounds too much like blackmail.”

Sunshine made a face. “Not blackmail. I look at it as an opportunity for them to live up to their good name. I don’t hold it against later generations that Duke Hunter didn’t play well with others.”

“You could get hauled into court if one of them thinks it smacks of extortion.” Tori gave her a sharp glance. “Especially now that you’ve decided to run for a town council seat against one of the family members.”

Against Elaine Hunter, who was trying for a second term.

“Everything will be aboveboard. Trust me, okay?”

If only her maternal grandmother, Alice Heywood, were still alive. She’d recall the details of the account Sunshine remembered hearing as a kid. The vague references to “the ridge of the hunter.” A betrayal by someone considered a friend. It was a story, though, which over time she’d dismissed as nothing but a fairy tale that once captured her childish imagination. That was, until her world turned upside down not long after her daughter’s birth and she began pondering the possibilities.

“The din from their renovation of the property next to the Artists’ Co-op,” she continued, “offers a perfect excuse for a visit. You heard the racket this morning. That less-than-sympathetic contractor overseeing the project told me to take it up with the Hunters. So here I am.”

Squaring her shoulders, she’d just exited the vehicle when someone stepped out on the covered porch that stretched across the front of the adjoined buildings. A muscle in her midsection involuntarily tightened.

“Oh, no, not him,” she whispered. Wouldn’t you know it? That too-handsome-for-his-own-good Grady Hunter, cell phone pressed to his ear, now paced the length of the porch like a lion guarding the entrance to his lair.

Although she’d only seen him around town, she’d heard plenty of starry-eyed feminine gossip surrounding the popular ladies’ man. Having once had a personal, close-up view of what it was like to be married to a male with that reputation, she wasn’t impressed.

“I wanted to get invited inside to talk to his mom or his grandma so I could look around. You know, for clues. But I don’t want to deal with this guy.”

“Maybe God doesn’t think snooping is a good idea,” Tori said.

“I have to start somewhere, don’t I?” She focused again on the broad-shouldered man striding across the porch. Black trousers. Snow-white shirt. Gray vest. Black bow tie.

“Why’s he dressed like that?” Tori echoed the question forming in Sunshine’s mind.

Then realization dawned and any remaining courage to take on the Hunters drained out of her. “I forgot. It’s his older brother’s wedding day.”

How had she lost track of such a high-profile event? Widower and single dad Luke Hunter was marrying Delaney Marks, a young woman who Sunshine had become acquainted with over the past summer. Obviously she’d been way too busy and much too preoccupied if she’d forgotten. So what was new?

“Maybe you’d better come back in a few days.” Tori sounded relieved that her mission might be aborted.

“But by then the holiday weekend will be over, the last of the summer customers come and gone.” There might soon be leaf-peepers searching for a burst of aspen gold—and hunters, of course—but the prime season to market the talents of local artists would be over until late next spring. “I have a responsibility to represent the best interests of our artists’ community. And that constant din next door isn’t one of them.”

Torn, she again looked to where Grady had finished his conversation and pocketed his cell phone. She found big, self-confident men intimidating, but she’d have no choice but to deal with him if she ventured forth now.

Intruding on a family gathering, though, might not be the best strategy. Nor would stating the case for the Artists’ Co-op to the man on the porch rather than to his civic-minded mother. But before she could get back in the car, Grady’s gaze swept the parking lot and he spotted her, his eyes locking on hers.

Her heart jerked as his expression appeared to sharpen. Question. Challenge.

The decision was made.

“Ramp up the prayers, Tori.” She shut the car door, cutting off her friend’s words of protest. Here we go, Lord.

* * *

What was she doing here?

Grady Hunter’s eyes narrowed as the petite young woman, her black hair glinting in the late-morning sunlight, wove her way between cars in the parking lot. Clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, the fringe of her camel-colored jacket swaying with each step, Sunshine Carston looked like one determined woman.

Just what he didn’t need right now. Not, for that matter, what any of the Hunter clan needed while setting aside anxious thoughts regarding his mother’s recent cancer diagnosis in order to celebrate today. Couldn’t whatever Sunshine had on her mind wait until after the Labor Day weekend? Or at least until after the guests dispersed from his big brother’s postwedding brunch, which was now in full swing?

Having ditched his tux jacket inside, he loosened his tie, regretting having stepped outside for a breath of fresh air and to make a quick phone call. He didn’t know who Ms. Carston intended to see, but regardless he would halt her at the door. Admittedly, he had a reputation for being overly protective of his family. But thirty-four years of life’s lessons had given him reason to be, and today would be no different.

“Good morning.” An almost shy smile accompanied her greeting as she paused at the base of the porch steps, but her dark brown eyes reflected the resolve he’d initially identified from a distance.

Up close she was prettier than he’d originally thought from seeing her around town and—only recently—in church. Although his area of expertise was wildlife photography, he nonetheless found himself mentally framing her for a perfect shot. Not a stiffly formal studio portrait, though. She was far too vibrant for that.

Her glossy, shoulder-length hair, slightly longer in front than in back, accented her straight nose and high cheekbones, and a smooth, warm skin tone hinted of possible Native American ancestry. She appeared to be in her late twenties—much too young to challenge his mother or Irvin Baydlin for a seat on the town council. From what he’d heard from multiple sources—including his mom—she kept the current council members on their toes. Which, of course, wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

But he wouldn’t be voting for her.

“Good morning,” he acknowledged with a friendly nod. Hunters were known for their hospitality, and he’d uphold that to his dying day or risk repercussions from Grandma Jo. He stepped off the porch and extended his hand. “Grady Hunter. How may I help you?”

Doe-like eyes met his in momentary hesitation, and then she gripped his hand in a firm shake. “Sunshine Carston. Manager of the Hunter Ridge Artists’ Cooperative.”

Her voice was softer, gentler, than he’d assumed from her reputation. That, combined with the delicate hand she’d placed in his, contradicted the image he’d previously formed of the single mom as “one tough cookie.”

She motioned to the overflowing parking lot of the property his great-great-grandparents had settled in the early 1900s. “I apologize for the intrusion. I forgot this is Delaney Marks’s wedding day.”

That was right, his brother’s new bride was, coincidentally, an aspiring artist herself and, in exchange for jewelry-making lessons from another local artist, on occasion worked at the Artists’ Co-op.

“I won’t take but a few minutes of your time,” she said, not waiting to see if he’d voice any objections to conducting business on his brother’s wedding day. “The adjoining property north of the Artists’ Co-op is being renovated by a contractor hired by Hunter Enterprises.”

“That’s correct.”

“I realize Hunter’s Hideaway caters to a different customer base,” she continued, and he found himself drawn to the softly lilting voice, the expressive eyes. “But, as a fellow business owner who is impacted by visitors to this region, you know how important the months from Memorial Day weekend through Labor Day are to local businesses.”

“They are indeed.” Fortunately, although Hunter’s Hideaway no longer offered guided hunts on their own property or in the neighboring national forests, they’d diversified through the years to not only provide camping and cabins for hunters, but also for competitive trail riders and runners seeking to condition at a higher altitude. For seekers of a quiet place to get away from it all, as well.

Those more recent additions, in fact, gave him hope that he might soon see his long-held dream come to fruition—wildlife-photography workshops and related guided tours of the forested wilderness surrounding them. But he had to convince his family that it was worthwhile. Not an easy thing to do.

Sunshine’s dark eyes pinned him. “Then, you can understand how sales might be negatively impacted at a fine-arts gallery when the adjoining property is undergoing a massive overhaul on the last holiday weekend of the season.”

So that was the problem. It couldn’t be that bad, though, could it? It wasn’t as if they were dynamiting. “No harm intended, I assure you.”

“The contractor overseeing the project says he’s under a tight deadline.” She folded her arms as she looked up at him. “We’ve had disgruntled customers walk out of the gallery when the pounding, vibration and whine of power tools wouldn’t let up.”

Weighing his options, he briefly stared at formidable clouds building in the distance for what would likely bring an afternoon monsoon rain. “What do you say I give the contractor a call and postpone things for a few days? I imagine he and his crew wouldn’t mind having the rest of the weekend off.”

Brows arched as if in disbelief. Or was that disappointment flickering through her eyes? Had she expected—relished even—a fight?

“You’d do that?”

“Neighbors have to look out for neighbors.”

The contractor did have a deadline, but there was no point in making things harder for Grady’s mother right now by waving a red flag in Ms. Carston’s face. Although the family was struggling to come to terms with Mom’s upcoming surgery—a single-side mastectomy—she insisted she still intended to run for office, so there was no point in riling up one of her opponents unnecessarily.

“Well, then...” Sunshine’s uncertain tone betrayed that verbalizing gratitude wasn’t easy for her in this instance, almost as if she suspected she’d missed something in their exchange. That maybe he was trying to pull a fast one on her. “Thank you, Mr. Hunter.”

“Grady. And you’re welcome.”

But she didn’t depart. Instead, she stood looking at him almost expectantly.

“Was there something else?”

An unexpected smile surfaced. “I’m waiting for you to make the call.”

Oh, she was, was she?

A smile of his own tugged in response to the one that had made his breath catch, and he pulled out his cell phone. He wasn’t used to not being trusted to do what he said he’d do. But anything to keep the peace, right? And to keep Sunshine smiling like that. On Mom’s behalf, of course.

Under her watchful gaze he put some distance between them, then punched the contractor’s speed-dial number. “Ted. It’s Grady. I hear you’ve got your crew working this weekend.”

“A deadline’s a deadline,” the gravelly voice responded, his tone defensive. “I’ve never missed one yet.”

“That work ethic is certainly why you were picked for the job.” Grady cut a look at Sunshine. “But what do you say we extend it by a week and let you and your boys knock off for the rest of the holiday weekend?”

It would be cutting it close, but an extra week wouldn’t be a deal breaker, would it?

After a long pause, Ted chuckled. “That pretty artist complained to you, didn’t she?”

Grady forced a smile as he nodded reassuringly in Sunshine’s direction. “You’re welcome, Ted.”

“Pushover.”

Was he? “Glad I could help your crew out.”

The contractor chuckled again. “Be careful there, Grady. You’re playing with fire.”

“Sure thing. You have a good one, too, bud.”

Pocketing his cell phone again, Grady moved back to Sunshine. “All done.”

From the wary look in her eyes, she clearly hadn’t anticipated he’d willingly accommodate her. A sense of satisfaction rose, catching her off guard, throwing a wrench in her assumptions.

“Anything else?” He needed to get back inside. They’d be cutting the cake shortly and he’d promised a toast. “I know you’d once approached Hunter Enterprises about leasing the property next door to expand the Artists’ Co-op, but we’ve long had plans for it. We’ll do our best to be a top-notch neighbor.”

“It’s true we could use the additional space, but it will be nice having a bookstore in town.”

He frowned. “Bookstore?”

“You’re opening a bookstore, right?”

“No.”

“I heard it was going to be a bookstore.”

“It’s not.”

“Then, what—” her words came cautiously, reflecting a growing dread in her eyes “—will be going in next door to us?”

Chapter Two

“Hunter Ridge Wild Game Supply.”

“When you say wild game,” Sunshine ventured without much hope, “I don’t suppose you mean a place that sells video games?”

Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of Grady’s deep blue eyes and she steeled herself against the engaging grin. This was Grady Hunter, ladies’ man, and she’d do well to keep that in mind. He’d been unexpectedly accommodating about the renovation next door. What was he up to?

“No, I mean a store that sells equipment and supplies for processing wild game. You know, stuff for making elk sausage and venison steaks.”

Okay. Deep breath. She could handle this. Her great-great-grandfather had, according to her grandmother, been a marksman who’d put food on the table with his hunting skills. She herself wasn’t any more squeamish about wild game than she was about buying chicken or a pound of hamburger at the grocery store. But some Co-op members might disagree.

“Not solely in-store sales, but online, as well,” Grady continued, a note of pride in his voice. “Once we pass inspection, we’ll also be officially licensed to do processing demonstrations as well as process game donated for regional food pantry programs. That’s what the ongoing renovation is about—to put in a commercial kitchen, freezers, the works.”

She stiffened. Processing on the premises? Services that meant hunters hauling their field-dressed trophies through the front door? On the other hand, how could she object to feeding the hungry?

She must have hesitated a moment too long, for Grady’s eyes narrowed.

“You have a problem with that?”

Not wanting to give the impression she was opposed to the idea, she offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. As a candidate for town council, she had to weigh her words carefully. It wouldn’t be wise, two months before an election, to give the majority of those living in a town catering to outdoorsmen the impression she had issues with that.

She glanced toward the parking lot where Tori was no doubt watching and wondering what was taking her so long. “I personally have no problem with it, but some gallery customers and Co-op members may.”

“That’s unfortunate.” He didn’t look concerned. “But your worries are unfounded. We won’t hang carcasses in the window or mount a deer head over the front door. It will be low-key. Discreet.”

“You do understand my problem, though, don’t you?” She looked to him in appeal. “Our members are trying to create a welcoming atmosphere for shoppers of the fine arts. The gulf between the two worlds might be disconcerting for some.”

“I know a number of hunters who appreciate the fine arts and who, in fact, are award-winning painters and sculptors of wildlife. Maybe the Co-op should expand its horizons and find a way to better serve the foundation that Hunter Ridge was built on.”

“Taxidermy?” She flashed a smile. “I don’t think that would go over well with local artists who call this town home.”

“Then, it sounds as if folks should have researched Hunter Ridge more closely before coming here, doesn’t it?” He quirked a persuasive smile of his own. “You could move the gallery, you know. If not to another town, there are empty buildings that I imagine would be suitable.”

“Unfortunately...” Sunshine drew in a resigned breath “...the Co-op recently signed a three-year lease.”

Which had been her doing. She’d been proud of convincing their out-of-town landlord, Charlotte Gyles, to give the Co-op a lower monthly rental rate in exchange for committing to a three-year contract. But look where it had landed them now. Member Gideon Edlow, who’d give anything to unseat her as manager of the Co-op, would gleefully cry, “I told you so.” Being booted out of the position would mean losing the apartment above the gallery and being forced out of town before she’d had a chance to verify her grandmother’s story.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Even if relocation isn’t an option, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Grady tugged at his loosened tie, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d looked in the full regalia at that morning’s nuptials. “This is to be an unobtrusive, word-of-mouth and online operation. We have a good-size customer base of hunters who have been asking for this type of service for years. Word will get around without fanfare.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Mr. Hunter. Word getting around.”

“Grady, remember?” Twinkling eyes held her gaze a bit too long. “There’s no cause for worry.”

Easy enough for him to say. She’d taken a huge risk coming to Hunter Ridge in pursuit of the truth of her grandmother’s tale and in accepting the nomination to run for town council on behalf of the artist community.

“Everything will be fine,” he concluded. “Trust me.”

Trust a Hunter? Like her great-great-grandfather had? Like she’d trusted her ex-husband to stick around after Tessa’s birth? “I guess we don’t have a choice, do we? That is, unless you’re willing to relocate?”

Startled brows raised, then his eyes warmed as if charmed by her impertinence. “Not a chance, Sunshine. But if it would put your mind at rest, why don’t you come out to the Hideaway this week and take a look at the architectural drawings. I think you’ll be satisfied with what you see.”

He was inviting her to Hunter’s Hideaway?

It wasn’t likely that he’d spread the blueprints out on a picnic table under the trees or on the porch, was it? Surely she’d be welcomed beyond the public areas and into the more private ones?

A ripple of excitement danced through her. Right when she’d almost given up hope of a closer look at the property, Grady had unknowingly opened the door to an answered prayer.

She nodded, hoping a carefully casual response wouldn’t betray her eagerness. “If I can find the time, I might do that.”

* * *

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of making more changes to those plans, Grady.”

With a grin, he looked up from where he’d spread the blueprints across the heavy oak table he used as an office desk. Her silver-gray hair upswept and secured with decorative combs, eighty-year-old Grandma Jo stepped into his office. It wouldn’t be long before her signature summertime attire of jeans and a collared shirt gave way to wool slacks and a turtleneck.

“No, no more changes. Sunshine Carston went into a tailspin when she found out we’re opening a wild game supply next to the Artists’ Co-op.” She’d have probably freaked out had he mentioned bow hunters were currently combing neighboring forests for mule deer and that elk season was getting underway. “I made the mistake of inviting her to look at the plans and see for herself that she has nothing to worry about. She called a while ago to say she’s on her way.”

“That sounds proactive. Why is inviting her here a mistake?”

“Just is,” he said with a shrug. He wouldn’t admit to his grandmother that the manager of the Artists’ Co-op had been on his mind more than she should be. “I guess by going this extra mile to disarm her fears, I almost feel as if I’m fraternizing with the enemy. I mean, she is Mom’s opponent.”

“Nonsense, Grady.” Grandma joined him to gaze down at the blueprints. “I have the utmost confidence in you as a guardian of this family’s best interests. Don’t let that previous situation you found yourself in undermine you. We all make mistakes, and trust those who aren’t worthy of our trust. But don’t let that weigh on you. Nothing came of it.”

Except his own broken heart and the humiliation of the betrayal. Not to mention letting down Jasmine’s daughter when things had fallen apart, and how he’d unwittingly risked his family’s reputation. Don’t forget that, Grandma. He hadn’t.

Since Hunter had grown up on stories of how his great-great-grandfather had almost lost the Hideaway due to misplaced trust, and seeing with his own eyes the repercussions of Aunt Charlotte’s nasty divorce from Dad’s younger brother, you’d have thought he’d have been more cautious about where he placed his heart. But he’d been head over heels for Jasmine—who’d falsely given others the impression that he and his family endorsed a controversial land-development project she was orchestrating behind the scenes. One that, had she succeeded, would have resulted in filling her pockets with a lucrative kickback. Thankfully, the ring was still in his pocket when everything came to light. But it had been a close call.

“Grady?” His twenty-year-old sister, Rio, appeared in the doorway, sun-streaked blond hair cascading down her back and her expression troubled. “Sunshine Carston’s here. She says you’re expecting her, but I asked them to have a seat while I tracked you down.”

“Them?” Sunshine brought someone else along? He hadn’t counted on a third party.

“Her kid is with her.”

Tensed muscles relaxed. “Thanks, I’ll go get her in a minute.”

Rio departed and Grandma Jo returned to the door.

“This is a smart move, Grady, to put Sunshine’s fears to rest. Don’t let the past cause you to second-guess yourself.”

But had his motive for inviting her been entirely untainted? Since that last disaster in the romance department, he’d rededicated himself to safeguarding the Hunter clan in both business and personal dealings—going to excessive lengths to ensure he didn’t make the same mistake again. But had his invitation, ostensibly on behalf of family business, been influenced by a subconscious hope of spending time with the attractive woman?

Now alone in the room, he moved to the window facing the forest behind the Hideaway and adjusted the wooden louvers. Rearranged a chair. Straightened a crooked lampshade.

Then, tamping down an inexplicable sense of anticipation, he paused again to appraise the room—and uttered a silent prayer that his spiritual armor would remain securely in place.

* * *

“Come sit by me, sweetheart.” Sunshine patted the leather sofa cushion next to her, relieved that Tessa seemed less clingy this morning than she’d been in recent weeks. She’d slept somewhat better last night, too, only calling twice for her to banish something lurking in the shadows of her closet. Now enthralled with the animal heads on the log walls, the half-barrel end tables and an antler-designed chandelier above, it was almost too much to expect her raven-haired kindergartner to anchor herself to one spot.

Maybe she should have waited to come until after Tessa was in school for the afternoon. Having a five-year-old in tow wouldn’t make sleuthing for clues easy. But after the holiday weekend, Tori had had to make a quick trip back to the thriving Arizona artists’ community of Jerome. Then she’d return tomorrow to help with Tessa and, somewhat reluctantly, with the historic record research Sunshine intended to do.

“Look, Mommy.” Tessa pointed to a wide staircase that ascended to an open-railed landing. “Can I go up there?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re not guests.”

But how tempting to look the other way while Tessa wandered up the carpeted flight, then hurry up behind her to bring her back, giving herself a chance to look around. This building, of course, may not have existed at the time her great-great-grandparents had been here. Probably hadn’t. But could there still be something of value to lend credence to Sunshine’s grandma’s stories?

“Good morning,” a familiar male voice greeted. “I’m glad you could make it here today.”

She stared into Grady’s smiling eyes as he approached from a hallway beyond the staircase, looking at home in the rustic surroundings. In jeans, work boots and a Western-cut shirt, he exuded a commanding confidence.

She rose from the sofa, a betraying flutter in her stomach. But was that at the prospect of exploring private areas of the historic building? Or spending time with Grady? “I hope you don’t mind that I brought my daughter. She won’t be in school until this afternoon.”

“No problem.” Still smiling, he held out his hand to the little girl. “Hi, I’m Grady. What’s your name?”

“Tessa.” She shyly shook his hand.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful young lady.” Grady looked over at Sunshine. “She looks like you.”

Sunshine’s face warmed. She’d heard that comment before. She’d wildly, foolishly, loved Tessa’s father, Jerrel Carston. But she was grateful not to look into a miniversion of his face on a daily basis.

“Is this your house?” Tessa asked, again drawing Grady’s attention.

“This is where I do business. I live in a cabin not far from here.” He glanced at Sunshine. “Would you like to come back to my office? I can walk you through the plans.”

“Thank you. Come on, Tessa.”

They followed Grady through a shadowed hallway, Sunshine taking her time as she tried to absorb everything around her. Old photographs, paintings and sketches on the walls. An antique mirror. Faded framed embroidery work.

Up ahead Grady waited outside an open door, watching as she paused to study the faces in one of the yellowing photos.

“Is this your family?”

He laughed, and the sound unexpectedly warmed her. “Who knows? Mom’s been known to rescue historic photographs from garage sales and antique shops, and they can pop up anywhere—guest rooms, cabins, hallways.”

Disappointed, she gave the image a lingering look as Grady beckoned her and Tessa forward to usher them into his office.

Inside the sunlit room, he motioned for them to take a seat off to the side, his gaze touching apologetically on her daughter. “I’m afraid I don’t have any fun kid stuff, Tessa.”

But as always, Tessa’s eyes were wide, taking in her surroundings with interest. The book-lined shelves, wall groupings of photographs from an earlier era and striking black-and-white photos of wildlife. Elk. Deer. A fox.

“Don’t worry. Books, paper, crayons. We’re set.” Sunshine held up a tote bag, then almost laughed at the relief passing through Grady’s eyes.

“Well, then, let’s take a look at the plans, shall we?”

With Tessa rummaging through the tote, Sunshine joined him at the table, suddenly aware of his height, solid build and a subtle scent of woodsy aftershave. He tugged one of the large blueprint sheets forward. “What we have here is an elevation of the front of the building. As you can see, it looks like any other shop you’d expect to encounter in Hunter Ridge.”

It did, and the tension she’d harbored since Saturday eased slightly. The two-story stone structure remained true to the 1940s era in which it had been built. But it was the color rendering of the building on a laptop screen that brought its charm alive. Even with the shop’s name lettered on the window, if she didn’t know better, she’d think you were entering nothing more controversial than a gift shop or bakery.

“So what do you think?”

It would be nothing but stubbornness that kept her from admitting its acceptability. She raised her eyes to his, startled by the intent scrutiny of his gaze. “It appears tastefully done.”

He gave a brisk, satisfied nod and tapped a key on the laptop to bring up another rendering. “The second floor is reserved for an office and stock, but this is the front interior. As you can see, it gives the impression of what you’d expect of an old-fashioned hardware store.”

Lots of wood. Retention of the beamed ceiling and polished wood flooring. Indirect lighting.

“And this—” his gaze, now uncertain, remained on her as he moved to the next screen “—is the interior rear of the building.”

The game processing area. But it looked as modern and benign as any restaurant kitchen with its massive stainless-steel island, vertical freezers and oversize sinks. The heavy double doors, of course, led to a graveled parking lot out back. The comings and goings of hunters and their game would be discreetly conducted away from the public eye.

“So can the Co-op live with this?”

Did it matter? He’d plainly told her it was there to stay. That the Co-op had only itself to blame if its neighbor was less than ideal for the next three years.

She stepped back from the table and farther from the imposing presence of Grady. “I can’t speak for the other members of the Co-op, but I see nothing objectionable here. As you indicated, it’s low profile. Nothing blatantly offensive to the sensibilities of others.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

She offered a coaxing smile. “Would you have any objections if I took printouts of the color designs to the Artists’ Co-op meeting tomorrow night?”

He studied her for a long moment, as if hesitant to turn loose the illustrations. “Maybe I should speak with them personally. Deal with their concerns. I can rearrange my schedule.”

Grady Hunter in attendance? Not a good idea.

“Thank you, but as the saying goes, a picture paints a thousand words.” She didn’t want the more contentious members haranguing Grady if he were there in person.

Unquestionably, the growing artists’ community needed to be fairly represented in local government and she’d committed to being their voice. But they didn’t need to further turn the longtime residents of Hunter Ridge against them with unreasonable demands. “I’ll take responsibility for the prints and won’t allow anyone to photograph or otherwise copy them.”

“I have your word on that?” A half smile surfaced, as if recognizing his wasn’t a trusting nature any more than hers was.

“You do. And I’ll return the printouts as soon as possible.” It was a good excuse to come back to Hunter’s Hideaway. Maybe she could take a closer look at the old photographs in the hallway—and the ones in his office, as well.

He studied her a moment longer, as though trying to convince himself of her trustworthiness, and her face warmed under his scrutiny. Then abruptly he reached over to the laptop to press the print key for each of the illustrations he’d shown her. Straightening again, he gave her a challenging look. “Since I have your word...”

He moved to stand over a credenza, where a printer whirred its output, then removed the pages from the tray. Frowning, he held them aloft. “Looks as though it needs a new black ink cartridge. I’ll be back in a minute.”

As he headed into the hallway, she confirmed Tessa was occupied, then approached a grouping of framed photographs that had caught her eye. Were the faces of her ancestors captured here? If only she had time to scrutinize them. If only...

She darted a look toward the door and, before she could stop herself, she whipped out her cell phone from her jacket pocket.

But as she raised it, zoomed in on one of the old photos, she paused. She’d given her word not to copy the building illustrations, the implication clear that she’d not use them in any way against Grady’s family. Would capturing the old photographs in an attempt to find something that she could use against the Hunters be breaking that vow?

A muscle in her throat tightened.

Grady would be back any moment. Yes, as he’d pointed out, the photos might not have any connection to his family. But who knew when she’d again have an opportunity to examine evidence that might provide substance to her grandmother’s tale?

It was now or never.

Aligning the camera lens once more, she glanced toward her daughter concentrating on the coloring book in her lap. Her daughter in whom she intended to instill the hallmarks of good character, determined that she wouldn’t follow in her father’s footsteps.

With a soft sigh and a lingering look at the photos, she pocketed her phone—just as Grady strode back into the room.

* * *

“How did it go?” Grandma Jo’s voice came from behind him where he stood on the front porch, watching as Sunshine’s SUV backed out of a parking spot.

Cutting off his apprehensive thoughts, Grady responded. “She agreed that the store design is, in her words, ‘tastefully done.’ So I don’t think Mom will get pushback from her during the election.”

“Excellent. Well done, Grady.”

His heart swelled at the praise, something Grandma Jo didn’t lavish unless merited. Sunshine had been cooperative, but what about the other Co-op members who’d view the renderings? He should have insisted that if the printouts went to the meeting, he be part of the package, too. But those dark, appealing eyes, the soft coaxing voice, had won him over.

Hadn’t he learned his lesson six years ago?

“Ms. Carston doesn’t stand a chance against your mother.” Grandma’s tone brooked no argument. “While the artists she represents will rally, there aren’t enough to swing a vote.”

“Garrett says she’s not concentrating exclusively on the artist community.” His pastor cousin was often privy to behind-the-scenes rumblings—aka gossip. “She’s digging deep to learn what others might like to see change in Hunter Ridge and promising to represent their viewpoint, as well.”

“I’m not concerned.” Grandma Jo’s chin lifted. “We’ve had Hunters on the town council since its beginnings.”

“True.” Aunts, uncles, cousins. One day, if he couldn’t run fast enough, he’d probably get lassoed into the role, too. But hopefully that was a long way off—if ever. He had too many other things he hoped to accomplish and no taste for politics.

“Again, Grady, good job.” Grandma Jo patted his arm. “We can always count on you.”

She returned inside and he restlessly stepped off the porch. Grandma was a straight shooter who wasn’t afraid to look you in the eye and give you her honest opinion. He’d gotten a no-holds-barred appraisal from her six years ago. She was giving him her equally honest opinion now.

She trusted him.

But, as she’d reminded him that long ago day when things had fallen apart with Jasmine, a reputation once shattered might be patched together—but people would forever be on the lookout for cracks.

There would be no cracks on his watch.

Nevertheless, why hadn’t he confessed to Grandma Jo that he’d sent Sunshine off into the world with photocopies of their latest business endeavor?

Chapter Three

“Things could have been worse,” Sunshine admitted to Tori as she closed the apartment door behind her Wednesday night. “Nobody stoned me, although I did see Gideon eyeing a molded concrete owl used as a doorstop in the public library’s conference room.”

More than once, though, she’d wished for the calming presence of Co-op member Benton Mason, her loyal supporter on about any stance she took. But he was working at his part-time maintenance job at Hunter’s Hideaway tonight.

Tori set aside the book she’d been reading, her gaze sympathetic. “How was the turnout?”

“Good. About seventeen. Eighteen, maybe.” She moved into the open area that served as a dining/living room to put a folder of meeting notes and Grady’s printouts on a flat-topped trunk. Then she dropped into a chair opposite where Tori was seated on the sofa and proceeded to rummage through her fringed leather purse. “You haven’t seen a sparkly turquoise pen wandering around here have you? I went to pull it out tonight and it was gone.”

“No. That’s the one your father gave you for high school graduation, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Graduation had been one of the few milestones in her life that Gordon Haynes had remembered to acknowledge. Her wedding and the birth of Tessa had escaped his radar. She sighed and set aside her purse, determined to look for the sentimental item later. Then she glanced at the closed door leading to Tessa’s bedroom. “Did you have any trouble getting her to bed?”

“Not too much, although at first she insisted on waiting for you to get home. She wanted to make sure you didn’t get locked out. I told her I’d make sure.”

“I don’t know what’s made her so anxious these past few weeks. It started shortly before school started.”

“Even kindergarten can be demanding. Schools expect a lot out of kids these days.”

“I suppose. But at least this district seems to focus on the basics, on getting the kids grounded academically. I guess we’ll wait and see how many times she comes to get me tonight.” With a sigh, Sunshine scooted forward to adjust a throw pillow behind her back, then settled in once again.

“Thanks again, Tori, for helping out with her. With the gallery and all the behind-the-scenes business that goes with it, I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to meet with potential voters outside the arts community. You know, to find out what their vision is for Hunter Ridge. Although I might edge out Irvin Baydlin, I know the likelihood of beating Elaine Hunter is slim. But I don’t stand a chance with either of them if I can’t convince others that I can adequately represent them, too.”

“I’m more than happy to be here. With things up in the air between Heath and me...” She gazed down at the diamond engagement ring on her left hand.

“He’ll come around.”

But for reasons that weren’t yet clear, Tori’s fiancé had decided they needed space. So at Sunshine’s invitation, she’d loaded her car with clothes and the tools of her artistic trade and come to Hunter Ridge.

“I appreciate, too, that you’re willing to help me with family research while you’re here. I haven’t had any free time to explore the truth of anything I remember Grandma saying. Honestly, I don’t know where to start.”

With little time to call her own, she hadn’t so much as confirmed that her great-great-grandparents had been in this region at the same time as the Hunters whose descendants now called this area home. She had no idea if “the ridge of the hunter” her Apache great-great-grandmother had purportedly referred to was truly a reference to Hunter Ridge—or just a coincidence.

Tori drew in a breath, her expression doubtful. “About that research, Sunshine. I’m not sure that—”

Her words were halted by a knock at the door that led to small studios, storage space, a fire escape and stairs to the gallery below.

“Hold that thought, Tori. I think Candy’s here to let me know she’s locking up for the night.” The gallery hours were ten to six, but two nights a week—Wednesday and Saturday, mid-May through mid-September—they remained open until nine. Candy had covered for her while Sunshine met with the Co-op members.

“Hey, Sunshine.” Ever perky, the early-twenties brunette standing in the hall was nevertheless smiling more than usual. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a man downstairs who’d like to speak with you.”

“Does he have a name?”

Her fair cheeks flushed and she lowered her voice. “He didn’t say and I forgot to ask. I guess I got flustered. He’s one of those ruggedly handsome types with dreamy eyes, a yummy voice and a killer smile.”

The description fit blond-haired, blue-eyed Sawyer Banks, owner of the Echo Ridge Outpost down the street. Sunshine had run into him at the grocery store that day and they’d chatted a few minutes. But as a newcomer to town, Candy hadn’t yet met many of the locals and certainly not one who didn’t hang out with the artsy set. But Sawyer was hardly the type to come calling to borrow a cup of sugar, so he must have something else on his mind.

“I’ll be right back, Tori.” She followed Candy down the stairs.

At the bottom of the steps, she didn’t immediately see him as her gaze swept the open space, its hardwood floors glinting under soft, strategically placed lighting. Breathing in the faint, familiar scent of oil paints and leather, she noted with satisfaction the pleasing arrangement of the Co-op’s offerings. Oils, watercolors and acrylics. Pottery. Ceramic tiles. Leather handbags. Jewelry. Embroidered pillows and clothing. As the daughter of artists, albeit one of them a mostly absentee father, Sunshine felt right at home.

Candy having hurried on her way home through the front door, Sunshine called out to the seemingly empty space, “Hello?”

“Over here,” a low male voice returned and, as she looked toward the rear of the gallery, her heart lurched.

Not Sawyer. Grady Hunter.

Dressed in jeans, work boots and a gray long-sleeved chamois shirt, the big man looked out of place surrounded by clear glass shelving and spotlighted by canister lights. Or was it that the gallery appeared incompatible in the presence of the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man?

“What brings you here this evening, Mr. Hunter?” Surely he hadn’t expected her to drive out to his place tonight to return the printouts immediately after the meeting? But she’d have to turn them over to him now—so there’d be no follow-up visit to the hallowed halls of Hunter’s Hideaway. She should have snapped a picture of those old photos on his walls when she’d had a chance.

His expression intent, Grady gently placed a delicate piece of hand-blown glass back on the shelf in front of him. Then he looked up at her with a proud smile, as if relieved that his big hands had successfully accomplished the feat.

“It’s Grady, Sunshine. Remember?”

His blue eyes skimmed appreciatively over her as he approached and, to her irritation, her heart beat faster. Oh, yes, he was as engaging as the rumors had suggested. That disarming grin and unexpected cooperative spirit at their last two meetings had caught her off guard. But she was ready for him tonight. Armor in place.

Nevertheless, she offered a smile, finding it difficult to suppress. But she’d make him ask her for the printouts, if only to see what excuse he’d make for coming to collect them. “How may I help you...Grady?”

He nodded toward the north wall of the gallery. “I’m giving you a heads-up that there will be increased activity next door for the next couple of days.”

He couldn’t have phoned the gallery and left a message? “Activity, as in noise?”

“Bingo. I’ve discussed it with Ted and we think we can work things out to meet our deadline with only weekday disturbance.”

“Thank you.” Cooperative and considerate. And although Candy was right—he did have dreamy eyes and a yummy voice—she couldn’t let that distract her.

“So...” He tilted his head. “How did the meeting go tonight?”

Uneasy about that, was he? He didn’t look uneasy, though. In fact, as usual, he appeared as relaxed and self-assured as she’d expect a privileged Hunter to be. But hadn’t there been a fleeting uncertainty in his eyes when he’d turned over the printouts to her yesterday?

“I can’t say there was celebrating in the streets, but the drawings you provided set the minds of the majority at rest. At least for now.”

“Glad to hear it.” But a crease formed on his forehead. “No concerns I need to be made aware of?”

How much should she tell him? Certainly not the details of a sometimes heated discussion. As expected, Gideon had pointed out that they wouldn’t be stuck in this position if she hadn’t negotiated the lease renewal for three years. Also, that by now advising them not to take any action at this point, she was cozying up to the opposition in the upcoming election. But, fortunately, most members saw the reasonableness of her counsel.

She moved away to straighten a sculpture on its pedestal, then glanced at Grady. “There were some concerns, yes. That occasional game processing taking place right next door might be off-putting to the clientele the gallery is attempting to attract. A few members were, shall we say, disturbed. There was...talk of a petition.”

* * *

A petition? “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Unless you plan to use this issue to boost your standing at the polls.”

Color tinged her cheeks. “I didn’t say it was my idea.”

“Everything was done aboveboard, out in the open. I don’t know who told you that space was to be a bookstore. Maybe it was someone’s idea of a joke?”

Or the doing of his aunt Charlotte, who owned the gallery space. She and her big-city lawyers not only grabbed custody of her toddler son, but just about cleaned out Uncle Doug. That was what rallied the family to pull together and form Hunter Enterprises as a future protective measure.

“We’ve had this plan for the game supply store in the works,” he continued, “and preliminary approvals acquired long before the Co-op leased the property next door to it.”

“I understand that and I did make that point to everyone at the meeting.”

This kind of thing was exactly what Mom didn’t need—misinformed people starting up a petition that she’d have to address in her campaign. But that was the least of her and Dad’s worries right now. Despite the family’s urging, with Luke’s wedding scheduled for last weekend she’d postponed surgery until today. In fact, he’d just come back from the regional medical center in Show Low.

With effort, he drew his thoughts back to the present. “You said earlier that the Co-op signed a three-year lease, right? If Co-op members are so bent out of shape, why don’t they simply sublet this place, find a new spot and be done with it? There are plenty of available properties.”

In fact, Hunter Enterprises had bought several—like the one where the game supply store would go—to keep longtime friends from going bankrupt. But others were now bank owned or the absentee owners continued to fork over the mortgage payment until an upswing in the economy allowed them to unload the property.

Sunshine brushed back her hair. “Unfortunately, there’s a nonsublease stipulation in the contract.”

That figured. Aunt Char wouldn’t risk a Hunter subletting one of the prizes she’d managed to wrest from them.

“Look,” she continued. “I was quite firm that a petition would cause hard feelings in the community toward us—the ‘aliens.’ You have heard us called that, haven’t you?”

A glint of amusement now lit her eyes.

“Aliens. Outsiders.” His own smile tugged. “Just as I’ve heard those of us who’ve long made this our home labeled ‘old-timers’.”

“So you can see it’s not to our benefit to further antagonize the community. Or at least that’s my standpoint.”

“Spoken with the finesse of a true politician.”

“I’m not a politician. I’m merely someone who feels passionate about the arts and fair play.”

“Fair play? Pushing into a community uninvited and trying to extinguish the core character of a town?” Newcomers needed to accept Hunter Ridge for what it was or move on. Even a newcomer who looked mighty attractive tonight in denim capris, sandals and an off-the-shoulder embroidered tunic.

“Look, Grady—”

“Mommy?” A plaintive voice called from the top of the staircase and a barefooted, pajama-clad Tessa eased down one step at a time. “I think there’s something in my closet.”

Grady caught the distress in Sunshine’s eyes.

“Sweetie, there’s nothing in your closet but your clothes.”

“But there is.” The girl’s eyes widened as she spied him, and then she crouched down on the step.

Sunshine sent a look of apology in his direction. “Give me a few minutes to get her back to bed.”

“Sure. And about those building renderings I gave you...”

“I’ll drop them off tomorrow after I’ve looked at them again, if that’s okay.”

“That won’t be necessary. Shredding them would be fine.”

Sunshine frowned.

“There you are, Tessa.” A feminine voice called from the top of the staircase and a short-haired young blonde appeared, relief tingeing her tone when she spied the little girl. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. I stepped into the bathroom for a minute or two.”

“It’s okay, Tori. Don’t worry about it.”

The other woman took Tessa’s hand, her gaze touching on him curiously. Sunshine caught the look.

“Tori, I’d like you to meet Grady Hunter. Grady, this is my friend Tori Janner. She’s visiting from Jerome.”

“Hunter?” The name was spoken almost cautiously.

“As in our soon-to-be next-door neighbor,” Sunshine supplied. “He stopped by to let us know to expect more activity tomorrow.”

“I’ll get out my earplugs.” She tugged lightly on Tessa’s hand and the two returned upstairs.

Grady shifted. “I’d better let you go trounce whatever is in Tessa’s closet. Monsters?”

Sunshine gave a weary sigh. “Monsters I could deal with. Moms are natural-born slayers of monsters. This, unfortunately, is a more vague anxiety that’s had her upset since shortly before school started.”

“Once she makes friends and settles into a new environment, those worries will evaporate.”

“That’s my hope.” But she didn’t sound as if she believed his words.

He moved closer to look down on her with mock chastisement. “Now, don’t you go worrying about Tessa’s worrying. You know what the Good Book says about that.”

Or maybe she didn’t know. She’d only recently started attending Christ’s Church of Hunter Ridge. Was that a politically motivated move? He’d like to think a single mom had more concern for her child’s spiritual welfare than that. But God gave people more freedom of choice than he would if running the show himself.

With a sigh, she stared down at the floor and his chest tightened. This kid thing must be getting to her.

“It’s just that...” She shook her head, lost in thought.

Without thinking, he reached out and gently lifted her chin with his fingertips, her startled eyes meeting his.

“Stop with the worrying, Sunshine.”

* * *

She froze, staring up at him as the warmth of his fingers shot a bolt of awareness through her. An unsettling, although not unpleasant feeling. But this was Grady Hunter. A male cut from the same bolt of cloth as her ex.

She stepped back to break the connection, fearful he’d feel the pounding of her heart. “Believe me, I’m doing my best not to.”

“Well, good, then.”

Their eyes remained locked for an uncomfortable moment, and then she glanced to the top of the staircase. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drop off the design printouts tomorrow?”

“Like I said, destroy them.”

There went her excuse to visit Hunter’s Hideaway again.

He moved toward the door, then paused in front of a watercolor painting displayed on an easel. “I noticed that several of these bear the intertwined initials ESC. Is that you?”

The subject of this painting in particular could have clued him in on the identity of the artist, as well. The child, in partial shadow and facing slightly away, might easily be recognizable as Tessa to someone who knew her. Reluctantly, Sunshine joined him where he continued to study the painting.

“The E stands for Elizabeth. Sunshine’s always been the name I go by.” Her father, who’d been around more often in those early years, had bestowed it on her when she was a toddler.

“You’re extremely talented.”

“Thank you.”

“This is for sale?” His brow furrowed as his gaze met hers uncertainly. “A painting of your daughter?”

He sounded almost disapproving.

“It’s not a portrait.” With effort, she suppressed the defensiveness his words provoked. “It could be any little girl with a Native American patterned blanket clutched in her arms. Customers like that Southwestern touch.”

“It’s very striking.”

“Thanks.”

He moved to the door and she followed to lock up.

“You will keep me informed, won’t you?” He paused in the doorway, all business now. “I mean, if there are any developments with the Co-op members I should be made aware of? I’m available to meet with them, to answer questions and set things straight.”

“As I said earlier, I believe the proposed petition has been squelched.” At least Gideon had backed off for the time being.

Grady looked as if he wanted to say something more but instead nodded a goodbye. She locked up and dimmed the lights. Then wearily heading up the stairs, two troubling thoughts remained foremost.

Why did Grady touching her take her breath away?

And please, Lord, don’t let me be present if Grady Hunter and Gideon Edlow ever cross paths.

Chapter Four

Whoever would have thought when Grady insisted she destroy the printouts rather than returning them that another excuse to visit Hunter’s Hideaway would be delivered to her doorstep so speedily?

Now, Thursday afternoon, trailing his younger sister Rio down the hallway to his office, she could hardly believe her good fortune. There was an added bonus, as well. Rio said Grady had stepped out and hadn’t yet returned. So if she could manage to ditch Rio, she might not only find her missing pen, but have an opportunity for another look at the photographs on Grady’s wall. On closer examination, would a face in one of them stand out as resembling her mother or grandmother?

“This is the only place I think I could have lost it,” Sunshine said as Rio flipped on the light and they stepped into Grady’s office. “I used it to jot down notes when I was waiting in the lobby the other day, then distinctly remember putting it back into my jacket pocket. That’s the last time I saw it. At Hunter’s Hideaway. And since it wasn’t in your lost and found, hopefully it’s in here somewhere. It was a gift from my father, so it’s special.”

After having thoroughly combed her apartment, SUV, tote bag and jacket pockets that morning, it had taken mental backtracking to figure out the possible whereabouts of the pen. That maybe when she’d pulled out her phone here a few days ago, she’d accidentally dislodged the pen. It was a long shot, but if it had dropped to the thick, patterned area rug, she wouldn’t have heard it hit the floor. Engrossed in her coloring book, Tessa might not have noticed, either.

Rio adjusted the wooden louvered blinds to admit more natural light. “Let’s take a look.”

Ignoring a prick of disappointment that Grady’s sister chose not to return immediately to the front desk, Sunshine gave a longing look at the photographs on the wall, then embarked on the quest for her pen.

“I sat in this area with Tessa for a few minutes,” she explained, leaning over to check under the chairs and lamp-topped table, “then stood over there with Grady to look at the blueprints and his laptop screen.”

She wouldn’t mention wandering the perimeters of the room with a camera in her hand.

“If it’s here, we’ll find it.”

“Thanks, but I hate taking you away from your work.” Maybe you’d better get back to it. Hint. Hint.

“Maybe Grady found it.” Rio optimistically checked out the pencil cup on the desk, then shook her head and they resumed the search.

“Aah, here it is.” As tempting as it was to nudge the colorful pen farther under the edge of the rug with her toe, Sunshine reluctantly bent to retrieve it. So much for thinking God had rewarded her with an opportunity to explore. “Ta-da!”

“What’s going on?” Grady’s deep voice drew her attention as he crossed the threshold of his office, surprise at seeing her there evident in his eyes.

“Sunshine was looking for the pen she lost here the other day.” Rio cast her a bright smile. “Her dad had given it to her.”

“I hadn’t realized you’d lost something or I could have looked around for you.”

“No problem.”

When Rio disappeared into the hallway, Grady moved to his desk and placed his laptop case on the oak surface. “You’re close to your dad, are you?”

Clutching the pen in her hand, she moved to stand across the desk from him. “Not exactly.”

A puzzled look shadowed his eyes.

“I don’t mean to sound mysterious,” she amended. “It’s just that, well, I never saw a lot of him. He wasn’t around much—he never got around to marrying my mom.”

Grady’s expression filled with sympathy. “Rough.”

“But I’m over it.” She slipped the pen into her purse, careful to push it securely to the bottom. “So I guess it’s corny to get overly sentimental about a high school graduation gift.”

“Not corny at all. I’m glad you found it.”

His reassuring words comforted. Made her feel less silly for clinging to the pen for all these years. “Like I said, it isn’t that he’s an intentionally bad father or anything like that. He has a busy career, and has always traveled frequently.”

“What did he do for a living that took him away so often?”

She trailed her fingers along the edge of the desk, remembering as a child how excited she’d be when he put in an appearance—and how disappointed when he left without a goodbye. “He’s an artist. Jewelry maker. His work is featured in shops and galleries throughout the Southwest.”

“Wow. So that’s where you got your talent.”

“And from my mother. And her mother and her mother’s mother before that. I’ve heard stories that my great-great-grandmother had strong creative leanings, as well.”

“That’s quite a lineage. You should be proud of that.”

“Oh, I am.” Why was she telling him this? Searching for a change in topic, she glanced at one of the wildlife photographs on the wall. “Who’s the photographer?”

He looked up from where he was booting up his laptop. “What’s that?”

“Who took these amazing wildlife shots? I noticed them the last time I was here. I’d love to get a print of this deer for my living room.”

“That can be arranged.”

“You know the artist? Whoever took these has an incredible eye for detail. A great understanding of composition.”

“I’ll pass on the compliment.”

“Is he local? Or she, I guess I should say. A focus on wildlife isn’t the sole domain of males.”

“He’s about as local as you can get.” Grady grinned sheepishly and suddenly she got it.

“You took these pictures?” She moved closer to the one of the fox. “They’re amazing. I didn’t know you were a professional photographer.”

He came around the desk to stand by her. “Define professional.”

“Talented. Gifted. And receiving payment for your work.”

“Then, I guess I don’t qualify.”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding. Why not?”

“Just a hobby.”

“You mean you’ve never tried to sell anything?”

He folded his arms. “Wildlife photographers are a dime a dozen—especially with the advent of digital cameras. Go online and type in wildlife photography and see the results you get. There are bunches of talented people out there.”

“And you’re one of them.”

He looked shyly pleased at her words, but she could only stare at him in surprise. “Has no one ever told you how accomplished you are? How sensitively you’ve captured the nuances of nature? It’s criminal that you’re not being paid to do this. I could—”

No, while she could easily prove her point that his work could garner sales, she wouldn’t offer to take his photos to the gallery. Not only would some of the other Co-op members—like Gideon—frown on that, but why should she, a struggling artist herself, smooth the rocky road for a Hunter?

Drawn to the charismatic outdoorsman with an artistic eye, how quickly she’d forgotten he was where he was today and she was where she was because his ancestor had cheated hers.

* * *

“Photography is a private thing for me.” Grady turned his full attention to the petite woman standing beside him, absorbing her evaluation of his work. He’d never talked to anyone outside the family about his photography. And seldom with family, although if he was going to get his plans off the ground to add a photographic element to the Hunter Ridge lineup, that would soon be changing. “Don’t you find that yourself? That in each of your creations you’ve poured a piece of yourself into it and find it hard to release it into the hands of others?”

He still didn’t understand how she could put that extraordinary watercolor of Tessa up for sale. To offer it to some stranger to hang on the wall of their home or office just because they forked over a credit card.

With a soft laugh, she cast him a wary look, no doubt recognizing where his thoughts were going. “A similar reluctance may have been the case for me years ago but now, with a child to support, the almighty dollar wins out every time. I definitely agree with you, though. Each creation carries the creator’s fingerprint, so to speak.”

He nodded. Although she’d pushed herself beyond the self-conscious unwillingness to expose her work to the criticism of others—the thing that held him back—she nevertheless understood his hesitance to go public.

Sunshine pointed at the photo of a fox he’d taken last winter. “Like this one. I don’t imagine you conveniently shot it through your kitchen window, did you? While it’s a moment caught in time, it’s my guess you observed the comings and goings of this elusive creature, studied the angle of the sun, glare off the snow, and gave thought to composition. You knew the mood and message you wanted to convey before the shutter clicked. All three of these photos strongly reflect the artist behind the lens.”

Artist. He didn’t much care for that label. He thought of himself as more of an observer of wildlife who’d learned the tricks of capturing an image. One who made use of a camera’s technical features to produce a pleasing photo.

They talked for some time about his current preference for black-and-white, use of focal length and the considerations made in composition. About the challenges of wildlife. It was in many ways oddly affirming to speak with someone knowledgeable about those aspects of his work.

“Oh, my goodness.” Sunshine cringed as she looked at the clock on his credenza. “I barged in on your day to look for my pen, but didn’t intend to take up all your time.”

He smiled at her flustered movements, the appealing flush on her face. “I didn’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. I enjoyed our visit.”

“I did, too.” Another wave of color rose in her cheeks. Then she abruptly turned away. “But I need to get back to the gallery.”

Halfway to the door, she glanced at the grouping of vintage photos on the wall and paused. “So are these more of your mother’s yard-sale finds?”

Curiously relieved that she hadn’t dashed off, he moved to stand beside her. “Not these. I latched on to them when my grandpa Hunter passed away when I was nineteen.”

“So this is your family?”

“Some are.” He studied the photos, then pointed to a stiffly composed group of people standing outside a cabin. “Like this one.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“These two are my great-great-grandparents. Harrison—he went by Duke—and Pearl Hunter. They came here on the cusp of the twentieth century. Acquired land in the very early 1900s. The youngster hanging on to the mangy-looking dog is my great-grandfather, Carson. And his sisters are next to him.”

“And what about these two?” Sunshine touched her finger lightly to the nonreflective glass, noting another man and a woman off to the side. “If I’m not mistaken, the woman looks to be Native American.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Those people lived on the property. Friends of the family.”

That was, if you could call a man who’d betrayed you a friend. Grady had intentionally placed this photo front and center in his office after Jasmine’s underhandedness. A reminder that, as also in the case of Aunt Char’s disloyalty, Hunters had to look out for Hunters first and foremost. Outsiders couldn’t be trusted.

“Do they have names?”

“Walter Royce and his wife, Flora.” Their monikers were emblazoned on his brain. “And yes, she’s Native American. White Mountain Apache.”

Sunshine stepped closer, her gaze more intent. Like his mom, she seemed enthralled with old-time photographs and the stories they held.

“That woven blanket draped over her arm... It’s such an interesting pattern. One I’d like to incorporate in one of my paintings.” She looked to him hopefully. “Would you mind if I took a picture of it?”

He shrugged. “Have at it.”

She eagerly slipped her cell phone from her purse and snapped a few shots. “Inspiration sometimes comes from directions you least expect, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Actually, he knew so. How many times had his eyes been drawn to something because of the texture, the shadow, the sheer beauty of it and his fingers itched to reach for his camera? Like right now. With Sunshine’s dark eyes bright with excitement and natural light from the windows glinting off her glossy black hair and highlighting a soft cheek and the gentle curve of her lips.

“When do you think this photo was taken?”

“Judging from my great-grandfather’s age here, I’m guessing about 1906, 1907, maybe?”

A wistful look flickered in her eyes. “It must be wonderful to trace your family back this far. To know that these pine trees on the property shaded them as they do your family now. That every single day you’re walking where they walked.”

“Yeah, I guess it is remarkable.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, and he found himself smiling. “In fact, the original cabin in this picture and the one the Royces lived in are still on the property.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I’d love to see them sometime.”

While they weren’t rotting or anything like that—his family had seen to it that they were well maintained—they hadn’t been modernized. “They’re nothing fancy, you understand.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be. But I’d love to see buildings that hold such history.”

“Well, then, sometime when you don’t have to rush off, I can arrange that.”

From the indecisive flicker in her eyes, for a moment he thought she might claim that getting back to the gallery was of minor importance and insist that now was as good a time as any for a tour. But when she merely uttered a thank-you, he determined the perceived wavering on her part must have been in his imagination.

Wishful thinking?

Unfortunately, that could only get him into trouble. He’d heard grumblings at a family breakfast meeting that morning about Sunshine’s earlier visit to the Hideaway. Uncle Doug warned that she might be snooping around for something to use against Grady’s mother in the upcoming election—although neither he nor Uncle “Mac” McCrae could come up with exactly what that might be. Aunt Suzy—Dad’s sister and Uncle Mac’s wife—reiterated that until more was known about her sister-in-law’s health status, everyone should keep silent about it with those outside the family. As political opponents, Sunshine Carston and Irvin Baydlin didn’t need to be alerted just yet.

Grandma Jo, fortunately, had put in a good word as to his “proactive” endeavors to soothe the ruffled feathers of the Artists’ Co-op members regarding the new Hunter business. But how would he explain escorting Sunshine around the property to see old family cabins?

“Grady?” Sunshine’s curious eyes met his, no doubt wondering where he’d mentally wandered off.

“Let me know when you’re available to take a look at the cabins, and I’ll check my schedule.” Maybe he could put her off for a while. With all there was to do at the Hideaway with the influx of hunters and with details of the new wild game supply store demanding his attention, he’d have an excuse to beg off if he needed one.

She moved to the door, then paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Your mother wouldn’t happen to be around this afternoon, would she? I wanted to ask her about—”

“No, I’m afraid not. She’s out of town this week.”

“Oh? I’ll get in touch with her later, then.”

As Sunshine disappeared into the hallway, Grady again studied the old photograph of the original Hunter’s Hideaway. Remembered the deceit that had severed a friendship.

Was Sunshine’s request to talk to his mother an innocent one? Or had she somehow gotten wind of her opponent’s possible Achilles’ heel and today’s visit was nothing more than a fishing expedition to learn more?

Chapter Five

“I think I may have confirmed it, Tori.” Sunshine glanced at her friend Saturday morning. “Not only is ‘the ridge of the hunter’ likely the same as Hunter Ridge, but I may now have proof that my ancestors knew the Hunter family just as in the family legend.”

With satisfaction, she tapped the screen of her laptop computer, where she’d uploaded photos from her phone. They were the first images she’d ever seen of her legendary ancestors if, indeed, these two were her great-great-grandparents. When Grady pointed them out, named names she’d never before heard, it was all she could do not to topple over in amazement as the pieces fit together.

“A pioneer family named Hunter, can you believe it? Who not only lived in the area that one day would neighbor Hunter Ridge, but who were friends of another couple—an Anglo husband with an Apache wife. Identical to the family story related by my grandma.”

Had Grady noticed her excitement?

“You said her name was Flora?” Tori inspected one of the photos. “That doesn’t sound like an Indian name, but she does look like the full-blooded White Mountain Apache of family folklore, doesn’t she? I can see where your jet-black hair, dark eyes and beautiful warm complexion could have been inherited from her. Do you see any other family resemblance to either of them?”

“Flora’s build and facial structure is similar to my grandmother’s—Flora’s granddaughter—if indeed this is my ancestor. And Walter?” Sunshine frowned. “I’m not sure.”

“This is wild.” Tori stepped back, but her attention remained fixed on the screen. “I have to admit, I didn’t think there was any substance to those tall tales you told me.”

“Well, we don’t know for sure.” But something deep inside Sunshine bubbled up, telling her she was looking into the faces of those who’d come before her. “I never knew their names. But it’s not as if I’ve had some pristine lineage traced back to the Mayflower, you know. The family on Mom’s side has been fragmented. There was never an interest in documenting our ancestry. Grandma’s mother died when Grandma was a teen. That’s who she’d have gotten her information from, and Grandma’s grandma died before that. So even though my great-grandma knew her parents’ names, that wouldn’t necessarily have been passed down to her own daughter.”

“Gets complicated, doesn’t it? I didn’t even know my own great-grandparents’ names until I did research.”

“It’s not as if my grandmother tried to verify any of this, either. I mean, the substance of the story she passed down was focused solely on the unfortunate fact that our ancestors were cheated out of property by someone they considered a friend.”

Tori crossed the room to lower herself onto the sofa. “Even if these two are related to you, that doesn’t mean there’s any truth to the core of that story. You know, that Hunters grabbed their land or anything.”

“No, but...” Stories had to start somewhere, didn’t they?

“So what’s next?”

Sunshine moved to a front window overlooking the road through town, then pushed aside a sheer curtain to watch the activity below. “Well, I guess I need to go online and see if those names can be verified on one of those genealogy websites.”

“You know it isn’t as easy as those TV shows depict, don’t you? I mean, they have professional genealogists who do months of background research. Then when the celebrity shows up with cameras rolling, they tap a few keys and pull up the proof as if they’d just discovered it.”

“I know, but it’s somewhere to start. I’ll begin with what I know about Mom and Grandma and work my way back.”

“People in the olden days didn’t always have birth certificates. And your Apache ancestor likely didn’t.”

“True.” Sunshine rested her forehead on the cool pane of glass, trying to better see what was going on below. Was that Grady Hunter hauling a box out of a navy blue SUV in front of the building next door?

“What are you looking at?”

“Oh, nothing.” Sunshine moved away from the window and sat down. “So has my family mystery intrigued you enough that you’re willing to help me? I know you have reservations about how the story involves the Hunters.”

“That’s the part that I’m most concerned about. But I’ve researched my own family and found it rewarding. So I’d be happy to do that for you while you’re seeing to the gallery, Co-op business and getting out to meet your future constituency.”

“You’re the best friend in the world, Tori.”

But when would Tori’s fiancé recognize the treasure he had in her? He hadn’t asked her to return the engagement ring, so that had to mean there was hope, didn’t it?

“It’s the least I can do, with you letting me stay here. I couldn’t stay in Jerome and risk bumping into Heath every time I turned around. Or having people ask me about him, probing to find out what’s going on with us when I don’t know myself.”

“Have you—” Sunshine paused, knowing this was sensitive territory “—considered breaking the engagement yourself? Provoking him into working through whatever it is that’s gotten into him?”

“I know it sounds stupid.” Tori looked down at the ring on her hand. “But I’m not ready to close the door yet. I love him.”

Ah, yes, love.

Sunshine had been there herself and couldn’t point fingers at her friend now. “Whatever happens—wedding or no wedding—know that I’m here for you.”

When Tori returned to her room, Sunshine again moved restlessly to the window. Yes, that was Grady down there, now talking with the man she knew to be his contractor.

He’d promised to show her those historic cabins, but they hadn’t firmed that up. The likelihood that she’d make new discoveries under those roofs to confirm her grandmother’s story was slim, but it would be worth a try.

She glanced down at her watch. She had thirty minutes until she had to unlock the gallery doors for another business day.

“Tessa?” she called, intending to see if she’d like to go on a walk, which would coincidentally lead past the renovation of the store next door.

But then she stopped herself.

That thinking—or rather not thinking—was exactly how she’d gotten tangled up with Tessa’s father. And this guy was a descendent of Duke Hunter.

* * *

Windshield wipers beating a steady rhythm, Grady applied the brakes as he rounded another wet curve on the way back from visiting his mother at the hospital Sunday evening. She’d had an adverse reaction to her medications a few days ago, but seemed to have stabilized and might soon come home. Then would begin the long haul of postsurgery physical therapy and chemotherapy treatments.

Man, he hated to see her go through that. Dad, too.

Please, God, heal Mom. We need her.

Now, halfway between Canyon Springs and Hunter Ridge, twilight had given over to darkness, and clouds from a late-season monsoon rain hung low. The days were rapidly growing shorter and summer was pretty much over as the nighttime temperatures dropped into the midforties. Elections would soon be upon them. Would Mom stick it out or withdraw from the race?

He lowered the volume of the country tune belting out of the stereo speakers. It was a mournful love song that, for some irritating reason, made him think of Sunshine.

He’d been relieved that after their conversation a few days ago, she’d made no further attempts to visit the Hideaway or to try to see his mother. Nor had she pressed him to show her the old family cabins that appeared to have captured her imagination when he’d mentioned them. So his family’s concerns that she had ulterior motives were unfounded.

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