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 woman flushed. “Uh, no, I didn’t. I just assumed that he would have thought it at some time. But now, eco land is growing in value, and this would bring you a tidy sum. I can offer you—”
“I am not ready to slap up the For Sale sign yet, Ms. Stanton. I’m sorry you had to come all the way up here to hear that, but my business is growing and I have no inclination to sell.”
“Not to mention that I am half owner of this land.”
Rae had wanted to deliver that tidbit later, but Hunter’s words struck where they needed to. Christine’s jaw fell.
“Half owner?” she echoed.
“That’s right,” Hunter answered. “Robert Benton, Rae’s father, willed the land to both of us, along with the buildings and the business. So whenever you feel the need to discuss business, both of us need to be present. And I agree with Rae. There’s no need to sell, especially not today.”
Rae felt Hunter’s gaze settle briefly on her. While she wanted to stand up to this real estate agent by herself, she was quite glad to hear his words.
Maybe when she got her insurance money, she’d push for him to sell to her, but for now, they stood in united opposition to this worldly agent.
Rae liked the solidarity.
But it was hypocritical to want Hunter around only while it was convenient.
“I didn’t know.” Christine’s voice had dropped, as if she’d been expecting something totally different. A second later, her bright smile returned. Swinging her camera sassily, she added, “I’m the best agent in the area and can get you a great price for this place.”
“We’re not interested,” Rae said flatly.
After a glance at Rae, Hunter studied the woman with suspicion. “Why do you think this land is so special? What did you call it? ‘Eco’ land?”
“Just like those ecotours of environmentally sensitive areas of the world, I see places like this as returning to the way they should be, so the land can be enjoyed in an ecologically minded way.”
Rae found it a strain to stay polite. She’d done nothing to this land, so how could the woman insinuate otherwise? “Well, you have no worries there. My woods are going to stay this way for a very long time. We don’t allow lumber to be harvested anymore,
