Claiming The Single Mom's Heart

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.