Читать книгу Claiming The Single Mom's Heart - Glynna Kaye - Страница 12
ОглавлениеWhoever 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?
