Rekindling The Widower's Heart. Glynna Kaye
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“Why suspicion?”
Sunshine’s smile faltered. “We’re called ‘outsiders’ by many and ‘aliens’ by some, as if oil paint, pottery kilns and other artistic tools might pollute the macho, outdoorsy atmosphere. It’s been an uphill battle all the way.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you settle in Hunter Ridge? Why not someplace more welcoming?”
Something Delaney couldn’t read flickered through the other woman’s eyes, then quickly shuttered. Sunshine motioned to the shady street before them. “Cool summers are inviting to shoppers from the Phoenix area. That can be a big business draw if we had the opportunity to develop it more. The town’s floundered for quite a few years. Its focus on one aspect for their economy—outdoorsmen—has left it vulnerable.”
“There’s the overall economic hit this country has taken, too,” Delaney added. Canyon Springs had been impacted as well.
“Right. Over time the population here has dropped to under two thousand. Businesses have closed.” Sunshine surveyed the buildings along the street. “The plus side is there’s now more commercial space available. But even with prices jacked up—to keep us out, I suspect—property is less expensive than in more flourishing towns like Sedona or even Canyon Springs.”
“It sounds as if Hunter Ridge is the perfect spot for potential artistic projects.”
“It is. If you’re interested in learning more, come by tonight for our first town council campaign meeting. Seven o’clock. Here.”
“Thanks.” It sounded like a worthwhile cause. But Delaney wasn’t making any commitments. Not only had Luke Hunter warned her about getting involved in local politics but, with her artistic self-confidence shot to smithereens, she wasn’t up to hobnobbing with the established artisans of Hunter Ridge.
No, tonight would find her packing up her silversmithing supplies and stuffing them in a dark corner of the closet—and trying to come up with a way to convince Luke Hunter that the project she’d selected was the best choice for the youth group.
“So this is it?”
Delaney cringed inwardly as Luke, hands placed on his slim, jeans-clad hips, raised a questioning brow at the matted layers of pine needles and pinecones littering the front yard of the house that was to be the youth group’s summer project. His skeptical eyes took in the broken-down fence and crumbling concrete walkway. A cracked window.
If only she’d had the opportunity to see the place the first time by herself, not under the scrutiny of an already dubious parent, albeit a handsome one. Just before noon that Tuesday morning, following a trip to see Aunt Jen, she’d picked up the keys from High Country Hope Ministries, only to be intercepted by Luke who’d invited himself along for a preview of the place.
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