Claiming The Single Mom's Heart. Glynna Kaye
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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.
“It’s Grady, Sunshine. Remember?”
His blue eyes skimmed appreciatively over her as he approached and, to her irritation, her heart beat faster. Oh, yes, he was as engaging as the rumors had suggested. That disarming grin and unexpected cooperative spirit at their last two meetings had caught her off guard. But she was ready for him tonight. Armor in place.
Nevertheless, she offered a smile, finding it difficult to suppress. But she’d make him ask her for the printouts, if only to see what excuse he’d make for coming to collect them. “How may I help you...Grady?”
He nodded toward the north wall of the gallery. “I’m giving you a heads-up that there will be increased activity next door for the next couple of days.”
He couldn’t have phoned the gallery and left a message? “Activity, as in noise?”
“Bingo. I’ve discussed it with Ted and we think we can work things out to meet our deadline with only weekday disturbance.”
“Thank you.” Cooperative and considerate. And although Candy was right—he did have dreamy eyes and a yummy voice—she couldn’t let that distract her.
“So...” He tilted his head. “How did the meeting go tonight?”
Uneasy about that, was he? He didn’t look uneasy, though. In fact, as usual, he appeared as relaxed and self-assured as she’d expect a privileged Hunter to be. But hadn’t there been a fleeting uncertainty in his eyes when he’d turned over the printouts to her yesterday?
“I can’t say there was celebrating in the streets, but the drawings you provided set the minds of the majority at rest. At least for now.”
“Glad to hear it.” But a crease formed on his forehead. “No concerns I need to be made aware of?”
How much should she tell him? Certainly not the details of a sometimes heated discussion. As expected, Gideon had pointed out that they wouldn’t be stuck in this position if she hadn’t negotiated the lease renewal for three years. Also, that by now advising them not to take any action at this point, she was cozying up to the opposition in the upcoming election. But, fortunately, most members saw the reasonableness of her counsel.
She moved away to straighten a sculpture on its pedestal, then glanced at Grady. “There were some concerns, yes. That occasional game processing taking place right next door might be off-putting to the clientele the gallery is attempting to attract. A few members were, shall we say, disturbed. There was...talk of a petition.”
*