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Keeping Her Safe
Barbara Phinney


He took the fall Hunter Gordon had pleaded guilty to a crime he hadn't committed.And served ten long years in prison. All to save the family who had taken him in: beautiful Rae Benton and her father. But right before Rae's father died, he revealed his daughter was in danger. Hunter had to keep her safe. How was he supposed to get close?Rae didn't know the truth and blamed him for the loss of all she held dear. Hunter would have to earn Rae's trust–without ever telling her what really happened a decade ago.









“Get off my land!”


Rae yelled. “I don’t care why you’ve come, Hunter. You’re not welcome here. You destroyed our lives ten years ago, and drove my father to illness he couldn’t fight.”



Gordon swallowed. Rae had grown into a beautiful woman. “There isn’t anything I can say that would make you feel better, Rae. Still, I…” He faltered. “I just want you to know how much your dad meant to me. He was a good man.”

Her expression wavered. He took a step toward her, wanting to haul her close and comfort them both.

She backed away. “Leave.”

He didn’t move. “I have nowhere else to go. You know this place was my only home.” He’d been crazy to come. To keep a woman who hated him safe from an unknown danger?

Guide me, Lord. Do You want me to help her?

His heart lurched in answer and he knew he couldn’t leave Green Valley.




BARBARA PHINNEY


Barbara Phinney was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.




Keeping Her Safe

Barbara Phinney








Therefore, there is now no condemnation

for those who are in Christ Jesus.

—Romans 8:1


To my family and friends and church, who put up

with my weird writing moments and risk getting

put into a book. All of you are the greatest!




CONTENTS


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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION




ONE


Rae Benton could not believe who had just walked into the mortuary chapel. The man who’d killed her father had the gall to attend his victim’s funeral.

With hands clenched as tightly as her jaw, she lifted her gaze from the inexpensive casket, up Hunter Gordon’s lean frame to meet his eyes. In the muted light, she couldn’t see the vivid blue, just the intensity that carried both empathy and wariness. She could buy the wariness; after all, he couldn’t expect to be welcomed here. But empathy? Hunter might not have pulled a trigger, but he was responsible for her father’s untimely death. He had no right to show any compassion.

He came to stand near her. “I’m sorry, Rae.” His voice had deepened during his years in prison, yet she could barely hear it in the quiet chapel. His words were obviously meant for her alone. “I wish I could have been here sooner.”

“Because you’ve just been released?” she muttered. “How did you get here so fast? Dorchester Penitentiary is a two-hour drive from here. They don’t release inmates at dawn.”

“I hitched a ride with a guard coming off duty.”

“Who told you Dad had died?”

His compassionate expression faltered slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “We stopped for gas up the road. The clerk told me. I came straight here.”

Edith Waterbrook owned the only gas station in the small New Brunswick village of Green Valley. Which meant if she’d recognized Hunter after ten years, everyone would soon know he’d been released. And had headed straight to the funeral.

Rae found herself fighting back the conflicting urges to smack him, and to feel again the comforting embrace he’d given her that day a decade ago when her family’s shop had burned to the ground.

Correction. The day Hunter had burned the workshop to the ground and destroyed Benton Woodworking, a livelihood the family had relied on for nearly a century. The day the police had arrested him for arson.

She recalled the savage blaze, how she’d come home to find the family business overcome by heat so intense that all the firefighters could do was hose down her nearby home so it, too, wouldn’t catch fire.

After all these years, the memory of those burning joists and beams still devastated her. A knot formed in her throat. Dad, why didn’t you have the strength to fight the cancer? I need you. I have no one now.

A scene from three days ago flooded back. Rae hated the memory. Her dad, in the hospital, weakened and bone thin, had grabbed her hand with surprising strength and forced her to agree to the unthinkable. He’d asked her to forgive Hunter and let…

Robert Benton had collapsed, unable to finish his sentence.

To placate her father, she’d agreed. But forgive Hunter? Never.

All she wanted was to be left alone to mourn her dad’s death, and to continue to build the business. And forget she ever knew Hunter Gordon.

The organist started playing some soft, sad music. Rae felt the touch of the funeral director’s white-gloved hand and allowed him to direct her to her seat.

Sitting, she watched Hunter scan the crowd, his suspicious eyes probing each face. When he reached hers, he swung around to find a chair as far away as possible.

His presence, however, filled the chapel, overpowering the somber mood with an emotion Rae refused to analyze.

“Who’s that?”

Rae looked into her cousin’s red-rimmed eyes. Annie Dobson had spent the last three days crying. Rae appreciated the sentiment; after all, Dad had been Annie’s favorite uncle. But with her own emotions roiling like oil and water, Rae could barely answer.

She finally forced the words through gritted teeth. “Hunter Gordon.”

Annie’s jaw dropped. On her other side, her husband swore. With his thick, dark brows knitted together, Kirk tried to locate Hunter in the crowd.

“Never mind him,” Rae stated quietly.

“We can ask him to leave,” Annie suggested.

“Or kick him out,” Kirk muttered.

The ideas tempted her, but Rae shook her head. There had been no collective gasp of recognition, and she didn’t want to make a scene. “Let him be. I don’t care if he’s here or not.” Despite her words, she stole another glance around. Andy Morrison had just slipped in and was making his way to the only available chair—beside Hunter.

Quickly, Rae faced the front, not wanting Andy to catch her eye. Of course he’d come. Thinking himself her suitor, he’d find any excuse to be near her.

Hot tears stung her eyes during the service. Battling them turned her body into a tight bundle of quivering nerves. And the whole time, she felt Hunter’s heated gaze fixed on her.

Perhaps she should ask the director to remove him. But she really didn’t want to cause a scene at her father’s funeral. Dad deserved better.

Rae dared another short glance over her shoulder. Hunter had matured in prison, into a handsome man who wore wariness as easily as she wore the loose navy suit Annie had loaned her for the funeral.

His nose looked as if it had been broken a few years back. On one side a scar ran from his nostril to the dark blond hair at his temple. His closed eyes and bowed head added a secrecy to his demeanor. Was he praying?

She snapped her attention to the front, where the pastor was finishing his short message.

What was Hunter praying for? Dad was dead, and Hunter had better not be praying for her to find peace. He had no right! she thought with outrage.

A moment later, she felt contrition swooping in. That wasn’t fair to Hunter.

After the casket was wheeled past, Rae let her cousin guide her out, keeping her head down to avoid the eyes of the crowd, and especially Hunter.

The interment half an hour later was pure torture. Autumn had provided a clear day with a warm wind, enticing well-meaning mourners to linger.

Relief washed over Rae when she and Annie entered the church hall, where refreshments waited. Hunter was nowhere in sight. If God had any mercy at all, she’d never see Hunter Gordon again.



“I believe Rae’s in danger. We both are. You’ve got to help us, Hunter.”

Recalling Robert Benton’s last visit, just over a week ago, Hunter stopped at the edge of Rae’s driveway. His mentor had shown him pictures of the new building.

Being here now felt so unreal. Hunter had been barely an adult when he’d gone to prison. Now he was nearly thirty.

One time, early on, when Benton had visited, he’d chided Hunter for fighting, saying it would lessen his chances at an early parole. Hunter hadn’t wanted to see him that day, let alone listen to a lecture.

Things had changed.

Today, Hunter smiled humorlessly into the thick woods beside the driveway. He’d ended up serving the full sentence. He’d survived the “range,” a place where cells faced each other across what was dubbed one of the meanest streets in Canada.

More than survived. After establishing a mean reputation, he’d done a 180, and given his life to Christ.

The warm breeze snaking through Green Valley waned in this sheltered corner near the top of the hill, but it still carried dampness from the nearby Bay of Fundy. Why was he really here? He owed Benton nothing, a part of Hunter argued. He’d kept Benton’s secrets, even when Benton wanted to ease his conscience and tell Rae everything.

Again, that last visit returned to him. “You have to keep Rae safe, Hunter. She’s in danger. I don’t trust anyone else.”

He’d straightened. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t have all the proof yet.” The old man had swiped a shaking hand across his gaunt face. “It’s complicated. I tried to tell you in a letter once, but it was too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than what we’d been doing?”

Benton had nodded. Hunter had folded his arms, then unfolded them. Help me forgive him, Lord. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s lurking around the shop. I found gas-soaked rags there. I burned them in the woodstove before I told Rae. She didn’t believe me. We need to figure out what to do when I come get you. It’s only a week away.” The man had coughed violently, drawing the attention of other visitors in the room.

Hunter knew then that the cancer was really bad. His chest had tightened. “You should go back to your doctor.”

“After I’m done here. But first, listen. I talked to God last night. I know He’s forgiven me, but I feel I should tell Rae about the fire.”

Hunter had shaken his head. “Do you think that’s wise?” He’d leaned closer as clarity slammed into him with shocking force. “You’d have to tell her everything. It’d be too hard on her.”

“She deserves the truth. I only just told her about the cancer.”

“You only just told her? How is that possible? I mean, you knew before I was arrested.”

Benton looked contrite. “I went into remission, and I didn’t want to worry her. She’d fuss, and with the business not so good, we couldn’t afford for me to start taking time off.”

Was that all? Hunter could tell his old mentor was holding something back. Something about the business, or maybe something about their little scheme?

“I know I’m not doing things your way, Hunter. But she deserves the truth, whether or not I told her about the cancer.”

Dread trickled through Hunter. “At least wait until I’m out. I’ll go with you.”

Benton’s lip had quivered, and remorse ripped through Hunter. The old man was dying. For all of his faults, and his late coming to faith, did he need to die now?

At that very moment, the buzzer had sounded throughout the cafeteria, ending the visiting hour. Benton rose wearily, and Hunter caught his arm. “Wait! What about this danger? You should tell Rae that. Or at least tell the police.”

The old man had shrugged off his hand. “Believe me, the police can’t be trusted. I think I’m being followed. Look, you’ll be home soon. We’ll figure something out.” He threw a hasty glance toward the door.

“You have to tell the police now!”

Benton hesitated. Finally, he nodded. “I will.”

With that, he’d shuffled out, and Hunter hadn’t seen him alive again. According to the gas station clerk, Robert Benton had collapsed at his doctor’s office, and four days later, semiconscious and delirious, he’d died in hospital.

Now, staring at Rae’s house, with the graceful birch trees behind it, Hunter felt a sense of loss. He had nowhere else to go. With no family, no job, only an old man’s confused warning, he’d come here.

The growl of an engine caught his attention. He stepped from the driveway to the grass, in time to see Rae’s truck screech to a stop in a cloud of dust. The driver’s door swung open and she alighted swiftly. “Get off my land.”

The welcome he’d expected. Hunter dropped the duffel bag he’d purchased from the prison stores in anticipation of his release, saving the pittance an inmate earned for that one item. In it was a change of clothes, a charity toiletries kit, his Bible and a small amount of cash.

“It’s okay. I just came—”

He shut his mouth. She was mad at him. And if he were to try to warn her that her life was in danger, she wouldn’t even listen to him. Besides, what would he say when she’d invariably ask why her father had visited him? Hunter would have to tell her everything.

Forget it. It wasn’t his job to speak ill of the dead. And she sure wouldn’t want him of all people, to talk to her. In her mind, he’d burned down her family’s livelihood.

In front of him, Rae had planted her feet shoulder width apart and settled her hands on her hips. “You’re not welcome here. You destroyed our lives ten years ago, and drove my father to an illness he couldn’t fight. Now get off my land!”

He swallowed. Even in her anger and grief, Rae was a beautiful woman, though she’d look better in a softer color to compliment the sun in her hair, he decided, rather than the harsh navy of her ill-fitting suit. “There isn’t anything that would make you feel better, Rae. Still…” He faltered. “I just want to say how much your dad meant to me.”

Her expression wavered. She blinked and the chin that had shown determination a moment ago now wobbled in a telltale way.

His heart wrenched. He took a step toward her, wanting to haul her close and comfort them both.

She jerked back. Then, snatching a Tupperware container from the bench seat, she slammed the truck door and stalked toward the house. “Leave. I don’t want to see anyone, not for a long time.”

He shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere to go. This was my only home.”

When she bit her lip, he hated the guilt he was heaping on her. “The prison system doesn’t turn people out into the cold, Hunter,” she protested.

“True. There’s a group home in Moncton, but that’s seventy kilometers away.” He was crazy to come here. To keep a woman who hated him safe from an unknown danger? Maybe Benton’s mind had begun to deteriorate from the cancer, and he’d only imagined a threat.

Rae’s eyes glistened in the late afternoon sun.

Guide me, Lord. Do You want me to help her?

She bit her lip, obviously grieving.

She had no one. Right then, he knew he couldn’t leave Green Valley.



Some time ago, Rae’s father had offhandedly told her that unless released inmates had family and friends, they were on their own.

Guilt flooded her, and she knew this was what her pastor called the touch of the Holy Spirit. Her father’s voice seemed to reach through the confusion. “You must forgive him, Rae.”

The words added to the ache behind her eyes. Breaking her last promise to her father was something she wanted to do, yet couldn’t.

With a halfhearted step toward Hunter, she heard herself say, “Why don’t you come in? I’ve had a ton of food dropped off the last few days. You must want a home-cooked meal.”

He had the most intense gaze, something she hadn’t noticed a decade ago. And if she correctly judged the flare of interest there, he was hungry.

“Thanks.”

Once inside, he glanced around curiously.

“Yes, it’s all the same,” she said, noticing his hesitance. “We didn’t have time to remodel after you…” She stopped, slipping the plain black pumps off her hot, tired feet. “We put all the insurance money into the new workshop.”

Hunter peered out the back window. “It looks good.”

Well, that was one thing they agreed upon. The new workshop, sturdy and welcoming, stood as a monument to Robert Benton’s hard work, despite the cancer.

He’d had that horrible disease for ages. She knew it had started its ravaging years before, despite him blaming various colds for his symptoms. Fresh tears stung her eyes. Lord, why all this suffering? Dad loved You. Yes, it took him all this time to give his life to You, but…

She grabbed the coffee tin. Thrusting it at Hunter, she muttered, “Can you make a pot? I have to change.” She plucked at the navy skirt she wore. “I borrowed this from my cousin Annie. Do you remember her?”

“I met her when she came for your father’s birthday party that time, and her husband sneaked beer into the house.”

Rae walked into the hall. “Yes. Dad sent him home in a taxi.”

Hunter’s deep voice rolled across the kitchen. “No. I drove Kirk home.”

“But Dad said…” Stopping in her tracks, she frowned. Ten and a half years was a long time ago. And shortly after that night, Hunter had lit a pile of gas-soaked rags in the shop. She’d forgotten all about the party until this very minute.

Wait. Hadn’t Dad said something recently about gas-soaked rags? He’d looked deeply concerned, but she hadn’t believed him.

With pursed lips, she stared across the quiet kitchen at Hunter. He didn’t move, not even to start the coffee she could really use. His eyes remained fixed on her, making heat rush to her face.

“No, your father didn’t call a taxi, Rae. I drove Kirk home that day.”

Indignation flared. Hunter had no right to correct her about her father, not on the day she’d laid him in the ground. Not when the very stress of what Hunter had done had killed him.

“Forget it, Rae. Go get changed.” He turned his attention to the coffeepot, leaving her torn between the urge to tell him off or flee.

She pivoted and strode up to her bedroom.

Hot, restorative coffee bubbled and dripped, the soothing sounds and scents dancing up the stairs when she emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later. She found Hunter setting cream and sugar on the table beside the triangle sandwiches and sweet squares she’d brought home from the church hall. A pot on the stove told her he was warming the chicken soup a neighbor had dropped off yesterday.

“Did you have anything to eat after the funeral?”

“Yes,” she lied.

He slanted her a look, taking in her jeans and cotton shirt. “The first thing a person learns in prison is that everyone lies. You get a lot of practice recognizing it.”

This was ridiculous. There was nothing shameful in being hungry. She sank into a chair. Feeling like a starving animal lured out of its hole by food, she reached over to snatch a sandwich.

Hunter poured the coffee and then slid the cream and sugar her way. He took his black and hot, she noticed. Well, if he could, she could.

But after one sip of the strong, scalding brew, she reached for the cream. Then the sugar.

“The woodworking business is still good?” he asked.

“Good enough.” She bit her lip at yet another lie.

His eyebrows shot up. Her grip on her mug tightened. “Why is that a surprise? Dad wasn’t the only person who worked here. I liked carpentry before you…”

Then, seeing his tight jaw, she questioned the wisdom of letting him into her house. He was, after all, a felon.

“You did a good job,” he said mildly. “Your father—”

Anger rose, unbidden. “What about my father? What could you possibly say about him?”

“Nothing. That’s why I shut up.”

She couldn’t stop, not after the day she’d had. “You have no right to say anything. I let you come in for a coffee and a bite to eat because you have nowhere to go.”

She shut her eyes, wanting to grieve alone. Hunter’s appearance had forced to the surface a deathbed promise she hadn’t expected to fulfil, and wasn’t sure she could.

“Being angry all the time will eat away at you, Rae. It’s like violence. It solves nothing.”

She peered at him. “And you with the broken nose should know this?”

“Along with the dislocated shoulder, twisted knee and a nasty scar from my chest to my neck. Yes, I know. Benton told me plenty of times I wouldn’t get anywhere with violence or anger.”

Rae felt her jaw sag slightly. Abruptly, Hunter stood. He helped himself to some soup. She twisted around. “When did my father tell you that?”

He didn’t look at her. At least not right away. When he did, his expression was hooded. “From the moment he met me in Moncton, until the day…” Hunter drew in a long breath “…the day I set fire to the workshop. Your father told me violence doesn’t solve problems. It creates them.”

Rae frowned. Hadn’t he just told her everyone lies in prison? Surely that included him? Had Dad really said that to him, or was Hunter fabricating a story to prove she was wrong to accuse him?

Her heart tightened. She was wrong. Scriptural words echoed in her head. Vengeance is mine. I will repay. With as much dignity as she could muster, she took the mugs and dumped the lukewarm coffee down the sink. Then dared another glimpse at him. Hunter seemed unusually awkward.

She did not want to analyze why, especially when the phone on the wall beside her rang.

Five minutes later and quite bewildered, Rae hung up. Her father’s lawyer, Mr. LeBlanc, wanted to see her now, if possible.

Not just her. Mr. LeBlanc had requested Hunter come, too. Her stomach tightened with concern. Why? Because of Dad’s will?

This was making for a long day. She’d seen Mr. LeBlanc briefly at the funeral, but he’d only had a chance to offer his condolences. While she could have begged off, she also knew she wouldn’t be working today. She may as well get this necessary reading of the will over and done with.

She turned to Hunter. “That was Dad’s lawyer. He wants to see us as soon as possible.”

Hunter’s brows shot up. “Me, too?”

“Yes, you, too.”

Rising, he covered the food. She tried to swallow to soothe her dry throat, but an uneasy feeling persisted. Something wasn’t right.



“Rae! Come in!”

Rae looked up to see Mr. LeBlanc standing by an inner office in his house. She crossed the low-pile carpet toward him. Over her head, she heard the lawyer address Hunter.

“Mr. Gordon, I presume. It’s good to get a hold of you two so quickly. Come in and sit down.”

They followed him in. Hunter’s expression turned wary as he accepted one of the leather chairs tucked around a table. A heavy man with more hair on his face than his head, the lawyer took a seat across from them and slipped on his reading glasses.

Rae fidgeted. Her father had mentioned briefly his will once, years ago. She’d heard nothing more. So why was Hunter needed? To be the executor?

“I appreciate you seeing me on short notice. Your father wanted his estate tidied up as quickly as possible after his death. Though I’m sure he wasn’t expecting it so soon.” The lawyer wore a look of shared sorrow. She nodded, and the lawyer continued. “Your father came to see me about seven years ago, and we made up a rough draft of a will. He didn’t sign it until a month ago.”

A month ago? Around the time of the alleged gas-soaked rags? Rae frowned.

“Your father asked me to be the executor of his will. It’s quite unusual, but I agreed, given the circumstances.”

“Which were?” Rae asked.

Mr. LeBlanc looked uncomfortable. “My conversation with your father was private, Rae. I’m sorry.” With that, he began to read a series of preliminary paragraphs, legal jargon about certificates and debts and the Family Law Act.

“Mr. LeBlanc,” she interrupted, touching the table between them. “This legal stuff is over my head. Just read the part that affects us, please.”

He set the papers down and peered at her over his reading glasses. “Basically, your father has left you all his personal belongings, listed here.” He freed a sheet from the portfolio and turned it around to face them. “But the real estate, that being the house, workshop and all the land around it, is to be shared jointly between you two.”

You two? Had she heard right? Rae’s mouth fell open as she blinked. “Shared? That’s impossible! Hunter hasn’t seen my father in years. It doesn’t make any sense!”

Mr. LeBlanc lifted his brows and shifted his cool stare to Hunter. Their gazes locked for a tense moment, until the lawyer turned to Rae again. “Your father wanted this, Rae. I know it’s hard to believe, but these are his last wishes. If you like, you can contest this will. But it could take years to resolve, and the court could order you to sell the land and split the money.”

Gripping the edge of the table, she pushed back her chair and stood. “Sell? Benton Woodworking has been in my family for a hundred years. Dad wanted it to stay in the family, no matter what.” To sell off Dad’s pride and joy would be heartless, as if she was…well, somehow killing him herself.

She sagged back in her seat. The very fact that her father had willed half of all he owned to Hunter Gordon proved he couldn’t have cared that much for Benton Woodworking. Should she contest it? Could she even afford to?

Mr. LeBlanc spoke. “Rae, do you want to contest this will?”

Finally, she shook her head. With the stroke of a pen, her father had condemned her to share everything she valued with the man who’d destroyed her life.




TWO


Again, Mr. LeBlanc asked, “Do you want to contest the will?”

Hunter watched Rae. Guessing her thoughts was easy: If only she had the money to buy him out.

Her eyes lingered on her father’s signature. Was she thinking of Benton’s life insurance? There should be enough remaining after the funeral expenses to buy out Hunter’s share of the estate. Then she would own it all.

The thought caused something to lurch within him. He’d have money and freedom. He could leave, go somewhere to start again.

What about Benton’s warning?

She stood. “No, I won’t contest it. Do all the necessary paperwork, please. There’s no hurry. I know there will be things like income tax, and any liens to be sorted out.”

Hunter rose in turn as she reached across the table to shake Mr. LeBlanc’s hand.

“Call us when you have the papers ready,” she said, and walked past them both, out of the office and into the brilliant fall sunshine. Hunter shook the lawyer’s hand, then followed her out.

She said nothing all the way home. As soon as she’d parked the truck, she hurried into the workshop. A few minutes later, Hunter found her scribbling notes on a pad at the desk there. He hesitated. It had been nearly an hour since the lawyer had dropped his bomb, and Hunter still hadn’t absorbed it all.

Rae looked up as he walked toward her desk. “I guess I can’t tell you what to do, now that you own half of everything.”

Stolen from Rae, a voice inside him whispered, because you and Benton dabbled on the wrong side of the law before Benton panicked when another man—what was his name?—began to threaten him.

Was that the danger Benton had mentioned? Hunter pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the desk. “Rae,” he began, “we need to talk. I wasn’t completely truthful with you earlier.”

“How so?” She looked up from her writing.

“You asked when your father talked to me about violence, and I let you believe it was before I went to prison. I’m sorry. He did talk to me in prison, about violence and about something else. He visited with me in jail.”

She set down her pen and seemed to freeze there, waiting for him to continue. He went on. “Your father told me that you’re in danger.”

Her gaze pinned him. “In danger? How so?”

Here came the difficult part. How was he supposed to warn her, yet not tell her everything? Though Benton had wanted to confess his crime to his daughter, Hunter had no desire to tarnish his mentor’s memory. It didn’t feel right. For all Benton’s faults, he’d been a good father. And God knew that Hunter hadn’t been perfect, either. Enough reason not to defame the man.

Hunter leaned forward. “He didn’t go into detail, probably because he knew someone could be listening.”

“Why would he be concerned by that?” she asked innocently.

“All I know is he warned me that both of you were in danger, and that I needed to make sure you were all right.”

She bristled. “I’m as fine as I can be right now. Are you sure he wasn’t just asking you to check in on me occasionally?”

“If I were to just drop by to see if you’re all right, why give me half the estate, knowing that would make me stay?”

Her lips tightened. “There is no danger here.”

He scrubbed his face. “There is. Your father found gas-soaked rags here once, and thought he saw someone lurking around.”

She perked up. “That was only a few weeks ago. This is a woodworking shop. Sometimes we use solvents. He probably smelled them. And as for someone lurking around, this is an attractive area. I own—we own nearly half of this mountain. There’s public property all around here and people are bound to accidentally cross onto our land.”

“Your father wouldn’t warn me for nothing.” Even as he said that, Hunter wondered again if Benton’s mind had been ravaged by the cancer. “This is serious, Rae. You’re vulnerable right now, and your father was concerned enough to ask me to make sure that you’re safe.”

She waved her hand. “As you can see, I’m safe.”

He pressed on. “We should contact the police. They can step up patrols in this area, check out who might be using the land around you.” As the words left his mouth, he knew he was being hypocritical. Ten years ago, he and Benton had stolen valuable wood from government land.

No. Even though he’d gone to prison for arson—not theft—he’d learned his lesson.

Leaning back, Rae shook her head. “The police won’t do anything. They’re too busy.”

“Just go to them, Rae, or I will.”

Her brows shot up. “They won’t believe you.”

“Then listen to your father one last time.”

Rae pursed her lips. “We need proof. Did Dad write anything down?”

He sighed. “No.”

“And you want me to go to the police anyway?”

“Your father was more than just concerned. Your safety meant more to him than anything. That’s why he asked me to help. If you ignore his warning now, it’ll be as if he meant nothing to you.”

She sat a moment in silence. Hunter prayed for her to listen to reason.

Finally, she shrugged. “All right. We’ll go, but I honestly don’t think they can or will do anything.”



Rae didn’t want to go to the police, but even more, she didn’t want anyone to think her father’s love meant nothing to her. She was gathering up the papers on the desk, readying them for filing, when a sudden noise made her lift her head.

Something black whisked past the small window of the workshop door, startling her.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked.

“I just saw something outside.”

They moved toward the front of the workshop, but Hunter cut her off at the lathe. “Let me go first.”

Rae nodded. She was no fool. Hunter was big and brawny, and in regards to security, he was an asset to her shop.

Good grief, was she actually taking his warning seriously?

He threw open the door and stalked out. Rae followed.

The front of the place was empty. She’d seen the movement to the left, and hurried to the end of the building, stopping at the corner nearest her house, only a few feet away. Beyond, the forest stretched, its golden autumn leaves quivering in the breeze from the bay.

Years ago, Rae’s mother had planted New Brunswick violets along this shady side of the house, but after the shop had been rebuilt and the land trampled by workers, all that remained was moss.

Rae glanced along the house. A woman stood there, dressed in black, a digital camera dangling from her left hand.

Rae caught Hunter’s attention, flicked her head toward the stranger. He strode over. “May we help you?” he asked.

The woman turned. She looked familiar, but like so many slim, bottle blondes, she could have been anyone. Smiling, she picked her way over the soft moss toward them, yanking out one narrow heel when it sank into the ground. Rae noticed her spiked sandals, a strange choice of footwear for the season. They didn’t quite complement the expensive-looking business suit. Some of her hair had escaped the loose roll she wore, but she didn’t seem to care. Her makeup didn’t soften the hard edge to her expression, either.

Rae bit her lip. She liked herself, and what she’d become over the years, but a part of her regretted not being more feminine, as this woman seemed to be.

“Rae Benton?” The blonde said her name as though she’d just recognized an old school friend. She hadn’t. Rae knew all her old classmates, and this woman wasn’t one of them.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Rae asked as Hunter shifted closer to her. She didn’t need him to protect her. This woman was hardly a threat. Yet as soon as she thought that, she recalled her father’s concern about finding gas-soaked rags. A woman could do that as easily as a man.

“I’m Christine Stanton.” The blonde thrust out a business card. Hunter took it before Rae could move.

She glanced down at the card before he pocketed it. Real estate agent? That’s where she’d seen her before. The woman ran her own agency, and her face graced flyers, whole pages in newspapers and occasionally the sides of city buses.

“What can we do for you?” Rae asked.

“This is a wonderful piece of property!”

“It was a land grant to my great-grandfather.”

“Good hardwood?”

Beside her, Rae felt Hunter stiffen. “Like everywhere else,” he answered.

Still smiling, Christine walked past them. When she reached the driveway, she peered upward. Rae owned half of the highest mountain in the area.

No. She and Hunter owned it now. Not that one could call the slope a mountain. Once, years ago, Rae had flown out to British Columbia to see her mother’s family. Those things out there were mountains. This was just a large hill.

All the same, its rounded peak rose high above the workshop. Rae was about to tell Christine how much of the mountain she owned when she stopped. It was hardly this woman’s business.

As if sensing Rae’s suspicions, Hunter said, “You haven’t told us why you’re here.”

“No. I’m sorry. I’m here, Ms. Benton, to see if you’d be willing to sell.”

“Sell what?”

“The house, the workshop, the property.” Christine lifted penciled brows and fluttered her hand. “Your father is gone, and what use is all this to you now?”

Heat tore across Rae’s cheeks and she bit down hard. It took locking her knees and a fast prayer to keep her from chasing the woman to her car.

Lord, give me some patience.

“You’re not from around here, are you, Ms. Stanton?” Hunter asked.

“I recently moved to Green Valley, but I can tell a prime piece of real estate when I see one.”

Or an opportunity to take advantage of someone in mourning, Rae thought savagely. As soon as she did so, she regretted it.

Forgive me, Lord. She was to be in this world, but not a part of it. That meant not thinking so callously.

Hunter spoke. “Are you aware that Rae just buried her father this morning?”

Christine put on an appropriate look of sympathy, but Rae wasn’t convinced of its sincerity. “I did know,” the woman said. “And allow me to offer my condolences. I should have done that sooner. But being financially secure at this difficult time can help to ease the burden that mourning places on us. Your father was wise not to sell before this. The market wasn’t ripe like it is now.”

Rae frowned. “Are you saying you approached my dad before he died?”

The woman flushed. “Uh, no, I didn’t. I just assumed that he would have thought it at some time. But now, eco land is growing in value, and this would bring you a tidy sum. I can offer you—”

“I am not ready to slap up the For Sale sign yet, Ms. Stanton. I’m sorry you had to come all the way up here to hear that, but my business is growing and I have no inclination to sell.”

“Not to mention that I am half owner of this land.”

Rae had wanted to deliver that tidbit later, but Hunter’s words struck where they needed to. Christine’s jaw fell.

“Half owner?” she echoed.

“That’s right,” Hunter answered. “Robert Benton, Rae’s father, willed the land to both of us, along with the buildings and the business. So whenever you feel the need to discuss business, both of us need to be present. And I agree with Rae. There’s no need to sell, especially not today.”

Rae felt Hunter’s gaze settle briefly on her. While she wanted to stand up to this real estate agent by herself, she was quite glad to hear his words.

Maybe when she got her insurance money, she’d push for him to sell to her, but for now, they stood in united opposition to this worldly agent.

Rae liked the solidarity.

But it was hypocritical to want Hunter around only while it was convenient.

“I didn’t know.” Christine’s voice had dropped, as if she’d been expecting something totally different. A second later, her bright smile returned. Swinging her camera sassily, she added, “I’m the best agent in the area and can get you a great price for this place.”

“We’re not interested,” Rae said flatly.

After a glance at Rae, Hunter studied the woman with suspicion. “Why do you think this land is so special? What did you call it? ‘Eco’ land?”

“Just like those ecotours of environmentally sensitive areas of the world, I see places like this as returning to the way they should be, so the land can be enjoyed in an ecologically minded way.”

Rae found it a strain to stay polite. She’d done nothing to this land, so how could the woman insinuate otherwise? “Well, you have no worries there. My woods are going to stay this way for a very long time. We don’t allow lumber to be harvested anymore, and we don’t do anything to the forest. It’s exactly the way God meant it to be.”

“Well, like I said, money can provide the security you need. Give it some thought.”

“Who do you think might want this land?” Hunter asked.

She smiled again, making Rae shiver unexpectedly. “I have a few people in mind. Perhaps I could evaluate your property for you. Free of charge, of course.”

“No, thank you,” Rae answered.

“Are you sure? Acreage around here is going fast.”

The woman wasn’t getting the message, Rae thought. But she had managed to pique her interest. “What land around here? I haven’t seen any For Sale signs, and behind me is all provincially owned forest.”

“Don’t be fooled by the lack of signs. This area is ripe for development and I want you to benefit from it.”

Wasn’t she kind? Rae wanted to answer her own question, but by then the woman had drilled one of her thin stiletto heels into the soft edge of the driveway. With a yank, she pulled her sandal free and sashayed back to her little black coupe. When she turned at the end of the driveway, the car door showed her bold, smiling face along with her agency’s logo.

“I can’t believe what just happened.” With a shake of her head, Rae returned to the workshop. Hunter still stood outside. Through the window, she could see his back. He turned, as if scanning the property.

Her heart lurched. Was he actually considering Christine’s offer? Was he thinking of forcing her to sell this place?

Would he thwart her desire to make this shop viable again? Worry gnawed at her and she did her best to discard it. Don’t borrow trouble. You have enough on your plate today to deal with.

She’d make this place work better than ever before. She had to. She’d bring the business back to its former strength, and no one was going to stop her.

“Let’s go.”

Rae frowned at Hunter, who’d walked in while she was deep in thought. “Where?”

“To the police. We agreed, and we’d have been there and back by now if it wasn’t for that woman. She doesn’t change anything here. We need to talk to the cops.”

He was still concerned for her safety. That seemed to squash any suggestion that he wanted money out of their new arrangement. Otherwise he would have used the threat, along with this offer of Christine’s, to force her to sell.

She reluctantly followed him outside. It was going to be a long day. Reaching the truck, she turned. The half-bare trees beyond her house rattled in the wind, like dry, bony skeletons.

The milled lumber at the edge of the yard snagged her eye, and she saw that what had been a neat pile two weeks ago was now leaning awkwardly, almost like a makeshift teepee. Had the wind pushed over the boards? Or had trespassers knocked the lumber off its supports on their way across her land?

Shivering, she stole a glance at Hunter as he climbed into the truck. It was probably hikers, nothing more, and not worth mentioning.

All the way into Green Valley, she wondered how he was going to convince the police that someone wanted to hurt her. A dead man’s complaint of gas-soaked rags, burned up now, and the notion of trespassers, probably Christine and her staff checking out the place, were hardly worrisome.

That was as crazy as Rae sitting in the police station foyer with Hunter, waiting patiently for some officer to come out and listen to a supposed warning from her father.

Hunter had to be insane to think that the local cops would act on such weak evidence. They were going to think her dad had become deranged from the cancer.

Tears stung Rae’s eyes. She was hurting her father’s memory by coming here.

An officer entered the small foyer. The tall man glanced down at her, then his curious gaze settled on Hunter, who had risen when the security door opened.

The two men stared at each other. Immediately, Rae sensed tension between them. The officer stiffened, and Hunter’s hand strayed to his shoulder, where the scar showing above his collar deepened in color.

The policeman turned to her. “My name’s Mike Halloway. How can I help you two?”

Hunter answered. “This is Rae Benton. We need to report a danger to her.”

Rae rose. She didn’t want to censor Hunter’s words, but perhaps she could tell the police what Hunter had told her, without making her father look like a fool. “There could be a small amount of danger to my life.”

Halloway crossed his arms. “What makes you think that?”

She paused. “My father told him when he was in jail.”

“Prison. Hunter was in the federal prison, not the provincial jail.”

He knew Hunter had been incarcerated? They were on a first name basis? Was that the reason for his obvious tension?

“Whatever,” she told the officer. “The point is, my father believed my life was in danger, and asked Hunter to come back here to discover why that was.”

“Your father didn’t know?”

Her cheeks warmed. “No, he didn’t. And he didn’t tell me anything about it. He probably thought he could handle it, and was too proud to ask for my help.”

“Was it like him to do that?”

She wasn’t sure. She’d thought that her father had kept her informed on most, if not all, issues of importance, but he hadn’t told her about his will. Or even about his cancer until the very end. Feeling foolish, she shrugged.

Hunter looked impatient. “Can we discuss this in your office?”

“If you like.” Halloway led them into the small station, past some desks and into a row of cubicles that served as offices. He indicated for Rae to sit.

She’d never been in a police station before. She’d never even talked to an officer of the law before. And doing so now felt like a waste of everyone’s time.

“So,” Halloway began, pulling up another chair, while taking out a large notepad and pen. “What has happened to make you two think someone wants to harm you?”

Hunter repeated everything he’d said to her.

Halloway’s pen hovered over the paper, while Rae studied his profile.

She’d seen the officer before, she decided, at the hospital, the day before her dad had died. Moncton General Hospital was a busy place. There were usually dozens of people in the entrance alone. But she remembered seeing this tall policeman there.

Strangely, that memory made the hair on her scalp tingle and a chill trickle down her neck.

Halloway glanced up at her, his pen still poised above the blank paper. He met her startled gaze coolly and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. Maybe about how they were wasting his time?

Letting her exasperation flare, she stood. This was ridiculous. “Look, Hunter, we’ve reported it, such as it is. I don’t think there’s anything serious going on.”

Hunter scowled. “You may not care, Rae, but this could be serious. You can’t ignore it.”

“Why? What could be such a threat up there?”

Halloway looked over at Hunter. “What do you think we can do about this?”

Rae bit her lip. Hunter cared enough to drag her down to the station. Yet this was so foolish, so unnecessary.

She threw her little knapsack over her shoulder, then waved her hand. “Look, if you’re not going to do anything, we won’t waste time here. I’ve got too much to do.”

“Let me take down some information and we’ll increase our patrols by your house. Would you like us to drop by periodically?”

No, she didn’t want them to. She wanted to go home and rebuild her business, not look like a child afraid of imaginary threats.

But Hunter answered, “It wouldn’t hurt. It’s coming into hunting season and there’s a lot of unused land behind her house.”

Halloway paused. The only words written on the paper between them were, “Rae Benton feels there is a threat to her safety.”

She watched Hunter’s jaw tighten and again she felt the uneasiness swell between the two. Halloway shot her a calculating glance, and more shivers rippled down her spine.

When the report was finally finished, she hastily signed the bottom of it. And found herself anxious to be free of the uneasiness lingering in the cubicle.




THREE


Outside, the day was ending, and Rae had nearly reached her truck, which she’d parked around the corner from the station, when she heard her name being called.

She turned. Her cousin was hurrying down the street toward her. At their small truck, half a block away, stood Kirk, his arms folded as he leaned against the front bumper.

“Rae!” Annie gave her a warm hug. Years ago, after the fire, she had tried hard to be a mother figure to Rae, but young herself, and without children, she had ended up being more of an older sister.

Rae returned the hug, and then Annie shot a short, suspicious look at Hunter, who hung back. “Did I just see you coming out of the police station? Goodness, why?”

Rae swallowed, not wanting to lie to her cousin. “It was nothing, really. I’ll tell you all about it later, when I return that skirt suit. I want to get it dry-cleaned first.”

“Never mind that. You hardly wore it for any length of time, and I know money is tight.”

How would she know that? Annie had sat in on several brief consultations about the funeral arrangements, but hadn’t been there when Rae discussed billing details.

Over Annie’s head, Rae glanced at Kirk, who was idly kicking at some dry leaves. He was being a bit antisocial, but considering his opinion of Hunter, of course he wouldn’t walk over.

Her cousin was chattering on, and Rae realized that she’d missed the first part. “…put you on the prayer chain. For peace and guidance?”

Did anyone really know what it was like to lose both parents? How hard it was to know that they’d never see any grandchildren, be there for the good and bad that would inevitably happen? Her heart tightened as she refocused on her cousin. “Thank you. That sounds nice.”

Annie threw one more glance at Hunter, before guiding her away from her truck and him. “Are you okay? I mean, what is he doing here with you?”

Steeling herself, Rae answered, “Dad’s lawyer called me shortly after the funeral. He read Dad’s will to me.”

“What did it say?”

“Dad gave half of everything to Hunter.”

Annie gasped. “That’s crazy! You have to fight this, Rae. It isn’t right.”

“It’s what Dad wanted. I have to respect that.”

Annie quickly glanced over at her husband, who, although still lingering some distance away, had grown interested in their conversation. “Your father was sick, and maybe that was affecting his judgment. You can tell the judge that and get him to overturn the will. You deserve that land.”

Behind her, Rae felt Hunter close in. Once again, she was glad for it. Annie meant well, but she was wrong here. Rae had to respect her father’s decision.

Odd, though. Annie had thought the world of her uncle, and been ecstatic when he’d given his life to the Lord. She had even quoted the Biblical story of the laborers who all got paid the same despite how much time they’d put in. It had been a comfort to Rae after Dad had been admitted to the hospital.

But to now condemn his decision? It was very odd indeed.

“Annie, it’s just something we have to get used to. Hunter is going to be around for a while.” She decided not to say anything about her hopes of buying him out, at least not yet.

Her cousin leaned close. “Just be careful, Rae. And how are you, financially? Do you have enough money? I could lend you some. Just between us.”

Did she mean not to tell Kirk, or Hunter? It was obvious Annie didn’t trust Hunter, but Kirk had often complained she spent too much money.

Rae shook her head. “I’m going to call Dad’s life insurance company soon, and get that matter settled. I’ll come over with the suit as soon as I can. We’ll have a nice talk over a hot cup of tea.”

Annie began to turn toward her husband, but stopped. “Come during the day. Kirk will be at his shop.” She leaned in for another hug, and added quietly, “Be careful. Hunter is a criminal, however kind he acts.”

“I saw him praying at the funeral.” Even as she murmured the words, she wondered at the sudden need to defend him. Was it because he’d stood up with her against Christine Stanton? Or was it perhaps the concern in his warning? Confusion swirled as she remembered the fire he’d set ten years ago.

She should hate him.

And yet, her father had given his life to the Lord. Had Hunter also?

She found herself whispering, “I think he’s a Christian.”

“‘Not everyone who says to me, Lord, Lord, will enter the Kingdom,’” Annie quoted softly before pulling away.

Rae watched the Dobsons drive off, lifting her hand to wave. As Kirk did a U-turn in the middle of the quiet Green Valley street, Rae wondered why they’d been down this way. They lived up by the highway, and his electrical repair shop was near a stretch of abandoned buildings nearby. Coming down here was as odd as Annie’s quote from the Gospel of Matthew. Always a staunch Christian, Annie had sounded strange, issuing a warning as she had.

With a sigh, Rae turned and climbed into the truck. As she started the motor, she glanced toward Hunter. “Annie’s always looking out for me. Dad was her favorite uncle.”

“But she doesn’t trust me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Rae answered, knowing that he would. “It’s going to take time.”

“For you, too?”

She thought again of her father’s life insurance, and felt a wave of hypocrisy. Instead of answering, she yanked at the gearshift and pulled out of the parking space.



Hunter couldn’t stop staring at the land around him as he climbed out of the truck. Being incarcerated so young, he’d never owned property. Now he co-owned a piece so huge it already had vultures circling.

Benton’s desperate warning came back to him, the fruitless visit to the police adding to its sharpness. The old man had been serious, and now Hunter had to be, as well.

The workshop phone rang, its outside buzzer piercing the air like a fire bell. Rae scrambled to unlock the shop door, then hurried over to the desk.

Within a minute, it was obvious the caller was a client with whom her father had a large contract. Three weeks ago, Benton had told Hunter about it. It had been the first big order in months, a project that would restore life to their sagging business. When Robert’s health had taken a turn for the worse, most contracts had followed suit.

Hunter tightened his lips. Now Rae had the unpleasant task of telling the news about her dad. Even at this distance, he could hear the man’s voice. The client was shocked, contrite…but concerned about his own deadline.

Gripping the receiver, Rae threw a plaintive look across the room at Hunter. She didn’t possess the extra hands to complete the order in time.

Hunter strode across the shop, gently pried the phone from her grasp and spoke into it. “When did you need the first shipment by?” he asked after a brief conversation. Rae’s head jerked up, her eyes wide. Shortly after, he ended the call.

“I can’t fill that order, you realize,” she said.

“Yes, you can,” he answered.

She looked tired and worn. “How? I need Dad’s skill, and he had all the paperwork, made all the arrangements—”

“Your father had the information. That guy said it’s all in a file here. I know exactly what he needs.”

Rising, she shook her head. “Dad promised a type of rare wood for the guy’s banister spindles that I can’t get!”

Hunter frowned. Benton had promised rare wood? Was it possible he was still involved with illegally harvesting timber? Hunter darted a glance at Rae, but she didn’t seem to notice his hesitation.

“Besides, it’s too much work for one carpenter. Who’s going to help me?”

He would have to. If Benton had been still stealing trees, which was becoming dangerously lucrative, that could be the reason for the danger to Rae. Hunter looked at her again. “I’ll help.”

“You? What do you know about woodworking?”

“I was your dad’s apprentice for three years.”

She blinked. “Ten years ago!”

He answered coolly, “I got plenty of on-the-job training.”

She folded her arms. Irritated, he yanked the phone from its cradle and thrust it toward her. “Go ahead, call that guy back. Tell him you can’t fill his order. And don’t forget to add that you’ll be lining up at the food bank for groceries by the end of the year, because if you don’t fill this contract, you’ll starve this winter.”

She looked shocked. “How do you know I need money?”

“If you had any money or credit, you’d have offered to buy me out right there in the lawyer’s office.” He tilted his head, his expression quickly turning sympathetic. “Rae, we can do this. Give me a chance.”

The set of her mouth revealed doubt. “There’s some intricate detail work in this order, Hunter.”

He hung up the phone, drawing on his reserves of patience. “I haven’t been making pine coffins, Rae. I can help you. If we run into a snag, we can subcontract.”

With her thumb and forefinger, she rubbed her forehead. “Dad knew where to get the rare wood, but I don’t. There are too many details to work out. I can’t do it.”

And, Hunter added silently, seeing the turmoil in her face, there are way too many emotions and memories tangled up in this workshop for you to tackle a contract right now.

But Benton Woodworking had made a commitment.

He walked closer, then pressed his hand on the desk, inches from hers. His voice dropped to a soft murmur. “Let me help you, Rae. This is half my business now, and I want it to succeed as much as you do.”

He had to help. If Benton had been doing something that might endanger his daughter, Hunter needed to be here.

Finally, she nodded. “It’s not going to be easy.”

He didn’t back away, but rather, leaned forward. “I’ve lived for the last decade on the meanest streets in Canada.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been in prison for the last ten years.”

He smiled grimly. “That’s what some guards call them. Cops patrol the regular streets, but guards have to patrol the meanest streets. I survived them and I’ll survive this. Besides, I have the greatest Ally a sinner could ever hope for.”

She shot him a confused frown, obviously doubting his sincerity. It didn’t matter to him. Hunter knew the truth in his heart, and he’d faced disbelief before.

Still, it wasn’t hard to figure out the argument roiling within her. Hunter was an ex-con, and he’d told her that everyone in prison lies.

He cleared his throat. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now, but that’s what I’m asking. Will you?”

She paused. “If you think you can do it…” Pushing away from the desk, and him, Rae stood. “But if you don’t mind, it’s late. And too much has gone on today. Can we start again in the morning?”

He straightened. As soon as the words left her mouth, he knew what they meant. She wanted him to leave.

Except he had nowhere to go.

As if just realizing that, she turned. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t have a place to stay.” She cleared her throat. “Out back is a small annex. Over the years, Dad puttered at fixing it up. It has a bed and bathroom and a kitchenette. Dad said if I ever got married, he’d move in there and give me the house. You can stay there. But I’m warning you, it’s small.”

Was she implying it was too small for a newly released prisoner? Was she letting him stay there until he figured he deserved a bigger place, now that he was free?

“Thank you.” He peered out the small workshop window. Already, the sun had slipped below the horizon, the world preparing for another long night. “Go to bed, Rae. Get a good night’s sleep.”

As he swung around to head out the door, she stopped him and handed him her house key. “Wait! Take some of the food from the refrigerator in the house. I won’t be able to eat it all, and I know you haven’t eaten much all day. Just leave the key on the kitchen table. I’ll be right in.”

He nodded and walked out of the workshop. In the kitchen, he carefully took only enough to hold him until he got groceries. The rest of the food was meant for Rae. And she’d need it.

He shut the fridge. Then, on an afterthought, he cruised through the house, checking locks and windows, anything that might threaten her. Satisfied, and not wanting to intercept Rae, he quickly left. She’d had enough of him for one day.

Inside the annex, Hunter set the food on the bed. While being infinitely better than a cell, the annex was small. A man could get claustrophobic if he didn’t have experience dealing with small spaces.

Before the evening air could chill the room, Hunter shut the door. To his left, under the window, stood a small fridge and a two-burner propane cooktop, with a tiny sink and cupboard. Between all that and the bathroom was a chest of drawers. On top sat a small television.

He opened the tiny fridge to set the food inside, and spied a thick T-bone steak through the plastic door to the freezer. Catching sight of his name, he grabbed the note taped to it.

Hunter, welcome home. Take care of Rae. Remember what we talked about. Don’t let them trick her.

The note was signed “R.B.”

Hunter sank onto the bed. If Benton had collapsed at the doctor’s office the day he’d visited Hunter in prison, he must have bought this before, hoping to explain everything on the way home.

Too late now. The flimsy clues penned here weren’t much help. What were the threats? Who were the people hoping to trick Rae?

Still frowning, Hunter looked around. This small room had been built for him, and having been backed into a corner by her father’s will, Rae had let him use it.

With gritted teeth, he unpacked the few things he owned. Then, with a silent prayer of thanks, he grabbed the steak, plus a pan he found in the cupboard, and fired up the stovetop.

He didn’t remember ever eating a decent steak like this one. While it cooked, he reached for a date square, thankful that Rae had noticed he was hungry. But it just hadn’t seemed right to eat the food delivered to her by well-meaning mourners.

Still, the snacks and the steak were long gone by the time he crashed on the bed.



He was still asleep, Rae noted. He hadn’t heard her soft knock, or the door open when she twisted the knob a minute later. The draft of cool morning air that rolled in hadn’t disturbed him, either.

“Hunter!” she whispered as she peeked in.

The guy slept like the dead. Rae didn’t want to step into the small room, but they had work to do. A quick glance around showed he’d settled it. Her father had taken her grandmother’s quilt for the bed, plus warm fleece sheets. Her inspection returned to Hunter’s face. This was his first full day of freedom. She shouldn’t deny him one sleep-in.

With a feeling of guilt, she noted the small garbage can holding the remains of a steak and its wrapper and tray.

Plus a note with Hunter’s name on it, in her father’s handwriting, though the words were smeared.

Dad had bought Hunter a steak? They could barely afford groceries right now, and her father had purchased a top quality, twenty-dollar steak?

Irritation rolled over her. Here she’d risen early, eaten leftovers and prepared for a day that would begin her healing and earn some much-needed money, while Hunter, full of steak, slept in….

Louder than before, she called his name for a third time.

When he still didn’t move, she knew something was dangerously wrong.




FOUR


“Hunter!”

His eyes shot open. “What’s wrong?”

Rae blew out a sigh. “I couldn’t wake you. It’s time to get up. We have work to do.”

He closed his eyes, looking pained. “In a minute.”

Sympathy washed over her as he lay there. He wasn’t sick. He was just tired, something she felt herself.

Embarrassed by the sudden intimacy, she backed away, bumping into the door.

He opened his eyes again, giving her a full measure of the cobalt blue of his irises. “Wait! What’s that scent you wear? You had it on yesterday.”

She hesitated, surprised by his question. “There’s no point wearing perfume when I spend all day in a workshop. It’s just a lotion.”

“What’s it scented with?”

“Roses.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I…I like it.”

“I can see why. It’s soft. A good choice for you.”

She cleared her throat. This conversation was becoming a little too personal. She reached behind her to grab the knob of the still-open door. “Why do you ask?”

The pained frown returned. “I once knew someone who wore a scent like that.”

“Your mother?”

“Hardly. She smelled like cigarette smoke. No, it was my first foster mother.”

“First?” Rae knew Hunter had spent time in a foster home, but more than one? “Why didn’t you stay with her?”

“She and her husband were killed in a domestic dispute with another foster kid’s parents.” He shifted, as if hoping to terminate the conversation.

Rae bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to get up, then. Meet me in the workshop.” She made a hasty exit, finding herself pulling the cool morning air into her lungs as she headed into the shop. Then she straightened. Her father had bought Hunter a steak. He’d built that annex with him in mind, even written him a welcome note, hoping Hunter would help him find a threat, as if only he could do that. Why?

For that matter, why had Dad given him half of the estate? As incentive for him to stay? Walking toward her desk, Rae thrust aside her questions. She didn’t have the time or the energy to waste on them. Dad was gone—oh, how it hurt to admit that—and she had things to do. She sat down and stared at the paperwork in front of her.

Then she remembered the call she’d made early this morning. Dad’s insurance broker had been kind enough to squeeze her in today at noon, promising he’d have everything ready for her. She’d settle the life insurance policy and hopefully, in a few days, be able to offer Hunter a fair price for his half. Her disquieting feelings would leave with him.

Encouraged by that thought, she picked up a note her father had put in the contracts file. The door to the workshop opened and she stiffened her spine. On the threshold stood Hunter, silhouetted against the bright morning light. He’d grown into a husky, powerful man, but today he looked tired, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered as he reached to rub his right temple.

She stood, unable to deny her growing sympathy. “You want some coffee? Dad keeps—kept—a pot and a small fridge here.” Without waiting, she walked behind the desk to the pint-size refrigerator, upon which stood a coffee machine and some cups. She quickly set about brewing a pot, finding she needed a strong cup herself. When Hunter approached, she threw him a glance over her shoulder.

He looked worse close up. What had he indulged in last night, besides the steak, on his first night of freedom?

“You look awful. What’d you have? A one-man party last evening?”

He shot her a cool look. “The only thing I did was eat a steak, which was very good, then those desserts you gave me. I don’t drink, smoke or do any sort of drugs.”

“So all you did was eat and sleep?”

“And read my Bible. The prison chaplain gave me a study guide to Job, and I was doing that before I was released, so I continued.”

The memory of the funeral, and of seeing Hunter offer up a prayer, returned. She didn’t want to hear how he had found God, asked for forgiveness, and—as much as she didn’t like the truth right now—been forgiven.

He grabbed a mug and poured coffee from the pot before it had even stopped dripping. The steaming liquid sizzled onto the burner underneath. He took a sip from his mug and winced slightly.

Rae blew out a sigh. “You’ve picked up a bug.”

“I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Maybe it was too much steak.” As she spoke, she wondered if maybe she did resent her father giving him that steak.

Forget it. She bustled back to the desk. “Are you ready to work? Because I need you to find some things.”



Her words were clipped, reminding him of the way he’d been treated in prison. No one really cared about him….

Hunter drained his coffee and ignored the headache stabbing at him. “What’s first?”

He took the short list of supplies she handed him. “I assume that the shed out back holds a bunch of stuff.”

“Yes, but Dad had supplies everywhere. I need to make a few phone calls before we go into the city. Hopefully by then you’ll know what we need to pick up.” She pulled out the phone book from under a messy stack of papers. The resulting draft wafted that soft scent of roses over to him.

Hunter automatically inhaled, then stopped himself. He was here to protect Rae. From what, he didn’t know yet, but he’d never find out sucking in rose-scented air.

He stifled a yawn. In the middle of the night, he’d awoken, and unable to sleep, he rose. He’d searched the workshop for several hours, looking for some clue as to who would want to harm Rae. By four o’clock, he’d found nothing.

He pivoted on the heel of his boot now and strode outside. He’d just have to keep his eyes open.

The hours ticked by and the headache eased only slightly. He spent the morning assembling the lumber needed for the job, and finding to his irritation that Benton had become disorganized over the years.

Living in a small cell had taught Hunter to be rigid with his own sense of order. More than once, his discipline came in conflict with other prisoners, and he had needed to defend himself….

Enough. He wasn’t there anymore. He was here, trying to rebuild his life, and help Rae. Keep her safe.

Lifting a pile of short boards and a drop cloth near the desk, he peered down at a large leather punching bag. Beside it, sealed in clear plastic, were a pair of boxing gloves.

His hand stilled as he reached for them. The medium-size box that held them was made from bird’s-eye maple, cut and joined in Benton’s unique grooved style.

The only source of that rare wood was on the government land behind their property. Was the illegal harvesting of wood they’d done a decade ago still going on?

Hunter lifted the gloves. “Were you planning on taking up boxing?”

“No. That was given to us a few weeks ago. The client couldn’t pay us because he’d hit bottom, financially. I just couldn’t make his life worse.”

“So he gave you a punching bag?”

Shrugging, she returned to her work. Even with her head bent he could see embarrassment stain her cheeks. “He had nothing else.”

“But it can’t pay your bills.”

Conceding, she flicked up a hand. “I can’t take him to court. He’s paying child support. I should try to sell the set.” She peered over at Hunter. “Or you could use it.”

Benton’s firm words on fighting returned to him. “Punching a bag builds up a need to fight. It’s better to learn to manage anger,” he murmured.

“You don’t look like you’ve stayed a pacifist.”

“I won’t fight.” He dropped the boards back over the punching bag and gloves. Hunter knew she’d seen some of his scars, even though he’d worn a T-shirt to bed. If she continued to stare at him now, he didn’t know what he’d do.

Eventually, he turned. “We have everything for the project, except, of course, the bird’s-eye maple.” He stepped in front of the box containing the gloves and bag, hoping she hadn’t paid any attention to it. If she noticed the wood, with its distinctive swirls, she’d start asking questions.




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