“Not everyone is meant to be in your life forever, I guess.”
Taken aback by the unexpected, too-close-to-home observation, Luke Hunter placed a work-booted foot on the bottom step of the empty storefront’s covered concrete porch, doing his best not to frown at the attractive blonde perched on the railing.
“But that’s why,” she concluded with a dazzling smile that made his breath catch, “we need to make the most of every moment, don’t you think? Enjoy life to the full with a thankful heart. That’s what’s bringing me to Hunter Ridge—mountain country Arizona—for the summer.”
Until her red Ford Focus had pulled up in front of the rental property fifteen minutes late, a Beach Boys tune belting out of the stereo and her long, sun-streaked hair tumbling around her shoulders, he’d never before laid eyes on Delaney Marks. Although attempting to listen closely, he didn’t quite grasp the entirety of the convoluted tale of what brought her into his world that afternoon. But, as near as he could piece together, it had something to do with the departure of a boyfriend, an aunt in poor health, and following her heart.
“Then I hope—” he managed something he trusted was akin to a smile “—that this property is what you’re looking for.”
“Oh, it is.” She turned to gaze down the ponderosa pine-lined road that curved through the little town’s business district, then back at him. “I looked at it online before I made this appointment. It’s ideal.”
Why were all these artsy types continuing to flock here anyway? Why not Sedona? Jerome? Someplace where they’d fit in and wouldn’t annoy the locals.
Without a doubt, this young woman fit the stereotype, with denim-look leggings, an embroidered turquoise tunic and dainty leather sandals. Silver hoop earrings glinted when she tilted her head, and a bracelet shimmered around her ankle. Was there a finger on either hand not encircled with a ring?
Yesterday, the second day of June, Grandma Jo—Josephine Davis Hunter—told the extended family that a woman had called about renting a property along Hunter Ridge Road. No doubt another outsider determined to further change the character of their town.
Unfortunately, he’d drawn the short straw and had to deal with her today when he’d much rather be balancing the Hunter Enterprise books or—better yet—solidifying long overdue relocation plans. It was more than time he took his future into his own hands—despite what family members thought. Opportunity had knocked in the form of a potential job offer from two ex-army buddies in Kansas. He had only to wait for the door to swing open. Or give it a push.
“I assume, Ms. Marks,” he said, “that you want to take a look inside?”
“I’d love to.”
Her too-appealing mouth widened as she caught his eye with a startlingly flirtatious glance. An uncomfortable warmth crept up his neck. This wasn’t the first time she’d openly looked at him that way, as if fancying what she saw.
Yeah, right. Like he was buying that.
Who could blame him for suspecting her motives? He was at least a decade older than her own fresh-faced mid-twenties. A military vet. A widower for the past six years. The single father of three. Barely keeping it all together. Even though she couldn’t have known any of that when she breezed into town, he held no illusions that he came even close to what some pretty young babe was dreaming of.
But an hourglass figure and eyes sparkling with admiration wouldn’t gain her a hoped-for advantage in any rental contract negotiations. He had a houseful of hungry mouths to feed and every dime counted.
Her gaze still holding his, she hopped off the railing to stand before him, close enough that he could see the sprinkling of freckles across her nose.
“And please, call me Delaney.”
With a brisk nod, he unlocked the door of the two-story natural stone building. Nestled between a pottery shop and Hunter Ridge’s version of a deli, the first floor housed an open space ideal for commercial use, with a studio apartment above. He motioned for her to precede him inside and caught her fresh, citrusy fragrance as she glided by.
Midafternoon sunlight slanted in from the open door and unshuttered windows, filling the high-ceilinged, wooden-floored space with an inviting glow. A faint scent of cinnamon lingered in the air, no doubt the persuasive touch of his aunt Jessi.
Spreading her arms wide as if embracing the interior, Ms. Marks—Delaney—gave a soft cry of delight that echoed through the spacious room. “I knew I’d love it.”
“You understand, don’t you,” he said, feeling obligated to offer caution, “that leasing for three months rather than for an entire year means a higher monthly rental rate?” It was during the summer when Hunter Ridge—and the high elevation mountain country at large—made up for the economically slower months.
She shrugged. “No worries. I’m originally from Canyon Springs, so I totally get it.”
Canyon Springs? That wasn’t much over thirty minutes away, so why—
“I could hardly believe it,” she continued, “when I saw this place on the property rental website. I’d been afraid I’d get stuck in an ugly, generic apartment complex.”
“I don’t think Hunter Ridge has too many of those.”
She laughed and his heart beat faster at the sound of it, as refreshing as a cool drink of water on a hot day.
“No, probably not.” She looked happily around her. “Your town has done an admirable job of retaining its rustic character, its backcountry ambience.”
“We do our best to safeguard our heritage.” Unfortunately, not as well as they should have in recent years.
Delaney strolled across the space, empty except for a massive iron woodstove on the far side of the main room. Then she spun toward him. “I can’t believe this place hasn’t already been snatched up. Is there something you’re not telling me? Like the roof leaks or there’s no indoor plumbing?”
He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “A couple from Flagstaff signed a lease, but unforeseen circumstances dictated that they break their contract a few days ago.”
She closed her eyes momentarily and drew in a slow breath, almost as if communing with an unseen person. God? Then with a contented sigh she took a confident step toward him. “Meet your new tenant.”
Had he heard right? “You haven’t even seen all of it yet.”
She didn’t so much as slant him a sheepish look to indicate she recognized the impulsiveness of her decision. Clearly, she wasn’t a stranger to spur-of-the-moment leaps.
“There’s an apartment, too, right?”
“A studio in the loft.” He motioned upward to a low wall that concealed a portion of the raftered space above. “Full bath. Kitchenette. There’s
