“A family legend is worthless unless you have proof.”
“I’m going to get proof.” With more confidence than she felt, Sunshine Carston gave her longtime friend Tori a reassuring nod. “It’s just taking longer than expected.”
Much longer.
She shifted restlessly in the passenger seat of Victoria Janner’s steel-blue Kia compact as they searched for a parking spot in the crowded graveled lot of Hunter’s Hideaway. Her own ancient SUV was in the shop—again—and out-of-town visitor Tori had agreed to take a detour while running errands Saturday morning. But Tori’s willingness had swiftly evaporated when on the way to their destination Sunshine had divulged her true intention for this next stop.
Big mistake.
She rolled down her window, breathing in the soothing scent of sun-warmed ponderosa pines. An aroma deliciously indigenous to the rugged mountain country surrounding Hunter Ridge, Arizona, it was one her great-great-grandparents would have been familiar with. One she herself would have likely grown up with had life not dealt her ancestors an unfair blow.
She stared across the parking lot at the connecting log, stone and frame structures that made up the main building of Hunter’s Hideaway. The vast wooded acreage had been a home away from home for hunters, horsemen, hikers and other outdoorsmen since Harrison “Duke” Hunter had—allegedly—rooted it to that exact spot early in the past century.
“They seem to be doing a good business this Labor Day weekend.” Resentment welled up within her. “No noisy remodeling like they’re inflicting on the Artists’ Cooperative gallery this morning.”
A cute blonde with a pixie haircut, Tori and her usual dazzling smile was nowhere to be seen as they slipped into an empty spot. “If you go in there with a chip on your shoulder,” she cautioned, “you can’t expect a positive outcome.”
What response had Sunshine hoped to get from her friend when she’d confessed her true motive for relocating to Hunter Ridge two years ago? A cry of outrage at the unfairness of it all? Reinforcement of her plans? Encouragement to face her fear of the influential family who the town was named for?
“And don’t forget,” Tori added as she cut off the engine, “what the good Lord says about revenge.”
“I’m seeking justice. Not revenge. There’s a difference.”
A big difference. Revenge involved retaliation. Inflicting injury. Justice had to do with revealing truth and righting wrongs. And yes, restoring of at least some of what by rights belonged to her family. To her. And to her five-year-old daughter, Tessa.
Tori cast her a disbelieving look. “Surely you don’t think anyone is going to fork over restitution for something your great-great-grandfather was supposedly cheated out of. Even if you could prove it—which I doubt you can—you don’t have the money to back up your claim with legal action.”
“No, but I’m counting on the seemingly impeccable reputation of the Hunters to apply its own brand of pressure. That they’ll be compelled, for the sake of their standing in the community, to make things right once the facts are brought to their attention.”
Tori slumped down in the bucket seat. “I wish you hadn’t told me any of this. It sounds too much like blackmail.”
Sunshine made a face. “Not blackmail. I look at it as an opportunity for them to live up to their good name. I don’t hold it against later generations that Duke Hunter didn’t play well with others.”
“You could get hauled into court if one of them thinks it smacks of extortion.” Tori gave her a sharp glance. “Especially now that you’ve decided to run for a town council seat against one of the family members.”
Against Elaine Hunter, who was trying for a second term.
“Everything will be aboveboard. Trust me, okay?”
If only her maternal grandmother, Alice Heywood, were still alive. She’d recall the details of the account Sunshine remembered hearing as a kid. The vague references to “the ridge of the hunter.” A betrayal by someone considered a friend. It was a story, though, which over time she’d dismissed as nothing but a fairy tale that once captured her childish imagination. That was, until her world turned upside down not long after her daughter’s birth and she began pondering the possibilities.
“The din from their renovation of the property next to the Artists’ Co-op,” she continued, “offers a perfect excuse for a visit. You heard the racket this morning. That less-than-sympathetic contractor overseeing the project told me to take it up with the Hunters. So here I am.”
Squaring her shoulders, she’d just exited the vehicle when someone stepped out on the covered porch that stretched across the front of the adjoined buildings. A muscle in her midsection involuntarily tightened.
“Oh, no, not him,” she whispered. Wouldn’t you know it? That too-handsome-for-his-own-good Grady Hunter, cell phone pressed to his ear, now paced the length of the porch like a lion guarding the entrance to his lair.
Although she’d only seen him around town, she’d heard plenty of starry-eyed feminine gossip surrounding the popular ladies’ man. Having once had a personal, close-up view of what it was like to be married to a male with that reputation, she wasn’t impressed.
“I wanted to get invited inside to talk to his mom or his grandma so I could look around. You know, for clues. But I don’t want to deal with this guy.”
“Maybe God doesn’t think snooping is a good idea,” Tori said.
“I have to start somewhere, don’t I?” She focused again on the broad-shouldered man striding across the porch. Black trousers. Snow-white shirt. Gray vest. Black bow tie.
“Why’s he dressed like that?” Tori echoed the question forming in Sunshine’s mind.
Then realization dawned and any remaining courage to take on the Hunters drained out of her. “I forgot. It’s his older brother’s wedding day.”
How had she lost track of such a high-profile event? Widower and single dad Luke Hunter was marrying Delaney Marks, a young woman who Sunshine had become acquainted with over the past summer. Obviously she’d been way too busy and much too preoccupied if she’d forgotten. So what was new?
“Maybe you’d better come back in a few days.” Tori sounded relieved that her mission might be aborted.
“But by then the holiday weekend will be over, the last of the summer customers come and gone.” There might soon be leaf-peepers searching for a burst of aspen gold—and hunters, of course—but the prime season to market the talents of local artists would be over until late next spring. “I have a responsibility to represent the best interests of our artists’ community. And that constant din next door isn’t one of them.”
Torn, she again looked to where Grady had finished his conversation and pocketed his cell phone. She found big, self-confident men intimidating, but she’d have no choice but to deal with him if she ventured forth now.
Intruding
