Claiming The Single Mom's Heart

Aligning the camera lens once more, she glanced toward her daughter concentrating on the coloring book in her lap. Her daughter in whom she intended to instill the hallmarks of good character, determined that she wouldn’t follow in her father’s footsteps.

With a soft sigh and a lingering look at the photos, she pocketed her phone—just as Grady strode back into the room.

* * *

“How did it go?” Grandma Jo’s voice came from behind him where he stood on the front porch, watching as Sunshine’s SUV backed out of a parking spot.

Cutting off his apprehensive thoughts, Grady responded. “She agreed that the store design is, in her words, ‘tastefully done.’ So I don’t think Mom will get pushback from her during the election.”

“Excellent. Well done, Grady.”

His heart swelled at the praise, something Grandma Jo didn’t lavish unless merited. Sunshine had been cooperative, but what about the other Co-op members who’d view the renderings? He should have insisted that if the printouts went to the meeting, he be part of the package, too. But those dark, appealing eyes, the soft coaxing voice, had won him over.

Hadn’t he learned his lesson six years ago?

“Ms. Carston doesn’t stand a chance against your mother.” Grandma’s tone brooked no argument. “While the artists she represents will rally, there aren’t enough to swing a vote.”

“Garrett says she’s not concentrating exclusively on the artist community.” His pastor cousin was often privy to behind-the-scenes rumblings—aka gossip. “She’s digging deep to learn what others might like to see change in Hunter Ridge and promising to represent their viewpoint, as well.”

“I’m not concerned.” Grandma Jo’s chin lifted. “We’ve had Hunters on the town council since its beginnings.”

“True.” Aunts, uncles, cousins. One day, if he couldn’t run fast enough, he’d probably get lassoed into the role, too. But hopefully that was a long way off—if ever. He had too many other things he hoped to accomplish and no taste for politics.

“Again, Grady, good job.” Grandma Jo patted his arm. “We can always count on you.”

She returned inside and he restlessly stepped off the porch. Grandma was a straight shooter who wasn’t afraid to look you in the eye and give you her honest opinion. He’d gotten a no-holds-barred appraisal from her six years ago. She was giving him her equally honest opinion now.

She trusted him.

But, as she’d reminded him that long ago day when things had fallen apart with Jasmine, a reputation once shattered might be patched together—but people would forever be on the lookout for cracks.

There would be no cracks on his watch.

Nevertheless, why hadn’t he confessed to Grandma Jo that he’d sent Sunshine off into the world with photocopies of their latest business endeavor?

Chapter Three (#ulink_f4dfaef1-7905-5d4b-bae5-0a7b24c1ab71)

“Things could have been worse,” Sunshine admitted to Tori as she closed the apartment door behind her Wednesday night. “Nobody stoned me, although I did see Gideon eyeing a molded concrete owl used as a doorstop in the public library’s conference room.”

More than once, though, she’d wished for the calming presence of Co-op member Benton Mason, her loyal supporter on about any stance she took. But he was working at his part-time maintenance job at Hunter’s Hideaway tonight.

Tori set aside the book she’d been reading, her gaze sympathetic. “How was the turnout?”

“Good. About seventeen. Eighteen, maybe.” She moved into the open area that served as a dining/living room to put a folder of meeting notes and Grady’s printouts on a flat-topped trunk. Then she dropped into a chair opposite where Tori was seated on the sofa and proceeded to rummage through her fringed leather purse. “You haven’t seen a sparkly turquoise pen wandering around here have you? I went to pull it out tonight and it was gone.”

“No. That’s the one your father gave you for high school graduation, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Graduation had been one of the few milestones in her life that Gordon Haynes had remembered to acknowledge. Her wedding and the birth of Tessa had escaped his radar. She sighed and set aside her purse, determined to look for the sentimental item later. Then she glanced at the closed door leading to Tessa’s bedroom. “Did you have any trouble getting her to bed?”

“Not too much, although at first she insisted on waiting for you to get home. She wanted to make sure you didn’t get locked out. I told her I’d make sure.”

“I don’t know what’s made her so anxious these past few weeks. It started shortly before school started.”

“Even kindergarten can be demanding. Schools expect a lot out of kids these days.”

“I suppose. But at least this district seems to focus on the basics, on getting the kids grounded academically. I guess we’ll wait and see how many times she comes to get me tonight.” With a sigh, Sunshine scooted forward to adjust a throw pillow behind her back, then settled in once again.

“Thanks again, Tori, for helping out with her. With the gallery and all the behind-the-scenes business that goes with it, I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to meet with potential voters outside the arts community. You know, to find out what their vision is for Hunter Ridge. Although I might edge out Irvin Baydlin, I know the likelihood of beating Elaine Hunter is slim. But I don’t stand a chance with either of them if I can’t convince others that I can adequately represent them, too.”

“I’m more than happy to be here. With things up in the air between Heath and me...” She gazed down at the diamond engagement ring on her left hand.

“He’ll come around.”

But for reasons that weren’t yet clear, Tori’s fiancé had decided they needed space. So at Sunshine’s invitation, she’d loaded her car with clothes and the tools of her artistic trade and come to Hunter Ridge.

“I appreciate, too, that you’re willing to help me with family research while you’re here. I haven’t had any free time to explore the truth of anything I remember Grandma saying. Honestly, I don’t know where to start.”

With little time to call her own, she hadn’t so much as confirmed that her great-great-grandparents had been in this region at the same time as the Hunters whose descendants now called this area home. She had no idea if “the ridge of the hunter” her Apache great-great-grandmother had purportedly referred to was truly a reference to Hunter Ridge—or just a coincidence.

Tori drew in a breath, her expression doubtful. “About that research, Sunshine. I’m not sure that—”

Her words were halted by a knock at the door that led to small studios, storage space, a fire escape and stairs to the gallery below.

“Hold that thought, Tori. I think Candy’s here to let me know she’s locking up for the night.” The gallery hours were ten to six, but two nights a week—Wednesday and Saturday, mid-May through mid-September—they remained open until nine. Candy had covered for her while Sunshine met with the Co-op members.

“Hey, Sunshine.” Ever perky, the early-twenties brunette standing in the hall was nevertheless smiling more than usual. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a man downstairs who’d like to speak with you.”

“Does he have a name?”

Her fair cheeks flushed and she lowered her voice. “He didn’t say and I forgot to ask. I guess I got flustered. He’s one of those ruggedly handsome types with dreamy eyes, a yummy voice and a killer smile.”

The description fit blond-haired, blue-eyed Sawyer Banks, owner of the Echo Ridge Outpost down the street. Sunshine had run into him at the grocery store that day and they’d chatted a few minutes. But as a newcomer to town, Candy hadn’t yet met many of the locals and certainly not one who didn’t hang out with the artsy set. But Sawyer was hardly the type to come calling to borrow a cup of sugar, so he must have something else on his mind.

“I’ll be right back, Tori.” She followed Candy down the stairs.

At the bottom of the steps, she didn’t immediately see him as her gaze swept the open space, its hardwood floors glinting under soft, strategically placed lighting. Breathing in the faint, familiar scent of oil paints and leather, she noted with satisfaction the pleasing arrangement of the Co-op’s offerings. Oils, watercolors and acrylics. Pottery. Ceramic tiles. Leather handbags. Jewelry. Embroidered pillows and clothing. As the daughter of artists, albeit one of them a mostly absentee father, Sunshine felt right at home.

Candy having hurried on her way home through the front door, Sunshine called out to the seemingly empty space, “Hello?”

“Over here,” a low male voice returned and, as she looked toward the rear of the gallery, her heart lurched.

Not Sawyer. Grady Hunter.

Dressed in jeans, work boots and a gray long-sleeved chamois shirt, the big man looked out of place surrounded by clear glass shelving and spotlighted by canister lights. Or was it that the gallery appeared incompatible in the presence of the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man?

“What brings you here this evening, Mr. Hunter?” Surely he hadn’t expected her to drive out to his place tonight to return the printouts immediately after the meeting? But she’d have to turn them over to him now—so there’d be no follow-up visit to the hallowed halls of Hunter’s Hideaway. She should have snapped a picture of those old photos on his walls when she’d had a chance.

His expression intent, Grady gently placed a delicate piece of hand-blown glass back on the shelf in front of him. Then he looked up at her with a proud smile, as if relieved that his big hands had successfully accomplished the feat.