Читать книгу Claiming The Single Mom's Heart - Glynna Kaye - Страница 10

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?