by Glynna Kaye
“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.
