Keeping Her Safe. Barbara Phinney
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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