by Glynna Kaye
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 carri
es 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.”
