Chapter Two

      “Hunter Ridge Wild Game Supply.”

      “When you say wild game,” Sunshine ventured without much hope, “I don’t suppose you mean a place that sells video games?”

      Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of Grady’s deep blue eyes and she steeled herself against the engaging grin. This was Grady Hunter, ladies’ man, and she’d do well to keep that in mind. He’d been unexpectedly accommodating about the renovation next door. What was he up to?

      “No, I mean a store that sells equipment and supplies for processing wild game. You know, stuff for making elk sausage and venison steaks.”

      Okay. Deep breath. She could handle this. Her great-great-grandfather had, according to her grandmother, been a marksman who’d put food on the table with his hunting skills. She herself wasn’t any more squeamish about wild game than she was about buying chicken or a pound of hamburger at the grocery store. But some Co-op members might disagree.

      “Not solely in-store sales, but online, as well,” Grady continued, a note of pride in his voice. “Once we pass inspection, we’ll also be officially licensed to do processing demonstrations as well as process game donated for regional food pantry programs. That’s what the ongoing renovation is about—to put in a commercial kitchen, freezers, the works.”

      She stiffened. Processing on the premises? Services that meant hunters hauling their field-dressed trophies through the front door? On the other hand, how could she object to feeding the hungry?

      She must have hesitated a moment too long, for Grady’s eyes narrowed.

      “You have a problem with that?”

      Not wanting to give the impression she was opposed to the idea, she offered what she hoped was a convincing smile. As a candidate for town council, she had to weigh her words carefully. It wouldn’t be wise, two months before an election, to give the majority of those living in a town catering to outdoorsmen the impression she had issues with that.

      She glanced toward the parking lot where Tori was no doubt watching and wondering what was taking her so long. “I personally have no problem with it, but some gallery customers and Co-op members may.”

      “That’s unfortunate.” He didn’t look concerned. “But your worries are unfounded. We won’t hang carcasses in the window or mount a deer head over the front door. It will be low-key. Discreet.”

      “You do understand my problem, though, don’t you?” She looked to him in appeal. “Our members are trying to create a welcoming atmosphere for shoppers of the fine arts. The gulf between the two worlds might be disconcerting for some.”

      “I know a number of hunters who appreciate the fine arts and who, in fact, are award-winning painters and sculptors of wildlife. Maybe the Co-op should expand its horizons and find a way to better serve the foundation that Hunter Ridge was built on.”

      “Taxidermy?” She flashed a smile. “I don’t think that would go over well with local artists who call this town home.”

      “Then, it sounds as if folks should have researched Hunter Ridge more closely before coming here, doesn’t it?” He quirked a persuasive smile of his own. “You could move the gallery, you know. If not to another town, there are empty buildings that I imagine would be suitable.”

      “Unfortunately...” Sunshine drew in a resigned breath “...the Co-op recently signed a three-year lease.”

      Which had been her doing. She’d been proud of convincing their out-of-town landlord, Charlotte Gyles, to give the Co-op a lower monthly rental rate in exchange for committing to a three-year contract. But look where it had landed them now. Member Gideon Edlow, who’d give anything to unseat her as manager of the Co-op, would gleefully cry, “I told you so.” Being booted out of the position would mean losing the apartment above the gallery and being forced out of town before she’d had a chance to verify her grandmother’s story.

      She couldn’t allow that to happen.

      “Even if relocation isn’t an option, you don’t have anything to worry about.” Grady tugged at his loosened tie, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d looked in the full regalia at that morning’s nuptials. “This is to be an unobtrusive, word-of-mouth and online operation. We have a good-size customer base of hunters who have been asking for this type of service for years. Word will get around without fanfare.”

      She couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Mr. Hunter. Word getting around.”

      “Grady, remember?” Twinkling eyes held her gaze a bit too long. “There’s no cause for worry.”

      Easy enough for him to say. She’d taken a huge risk coming to Hunter Ridge in pursuit of the truth of her grandmother’s tale and in accepting the nomination to run for town council on behalf of the artist community.

      “Everything will be fine,” he concluded. “Trust me.”

      Trust a Hunter? Like her great-great-grandfather had? Like she’d trusted her ex-husband to stick around after Tessa’s birth? “I guess we don’t have a choice, do we? That is, unless you’re willing to relocate?”

      Startled brows raised, then his eyes warmed as if charmed by her impertinence. “Not a chance, Sunshine. But if it would put your mind at rest, why don’t you come out to the Hideaway this week and take a look at the architectural drawings. I think you’ll be satisfied with what you see.”

      He was inviting her to Hunter’s Hideaway?

      It wasn’t likely that he’d spread the blueprints out on a picnic table under the trees or on the porch, was it? Surely she’d be welcomed beyond the public areas and into the more private ones?

      A ripple of excitement danced through her. Right when she’d almost given up hope of a closer look at the property, Grady had unknowingly opened the door to an answered prayer.

      She nodded, hoping a carefully casual response wouldn’t betray her eagerness. “If I can find the time, I might do that.”

      * * *

      “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of making more changes to those plans, Grady.”

      With a grin, he looked up from where he’d spread the blueprints across the heavy oak table he used as an office desk. Her silver-gray hair upswept and secured with decorative combs, eighty-year-old Grandma Jo stepped into his office. It wouldn’t be long before her signature summertime attire of jeans and a collared shirt gave way to wool slacks and a turtleneck.

      “No, no more changes. Sunshine Carston went into a tailspin when she found out we’re opening a wild game supply next to the Artists’ Co-op.” She’d have probably freaked out had he