Barbara Phinney - Keeping Her Safe

Hunter strode across the shop, gently pried the phone from her grasp and spoke into it. “When did you need the first shipment by?” he asked after a brief conversation. Rae’s head jerked up, her eyes wide. Shortly after, he ended the call.

“I can’t fill that order, you realize,” she said.

“Yes, you can,” he answered.

She looked tired and worn. “How? I need Dad’s skill, and he had all the paperwork, made all the arrangements—”

“Your father had the information. That guy said it’s all in a file here. I know exactly what he needs.”

Rising, she shook her head. “Dad promised a type of rare wood for the guy’s banister spindles that I can’t get!”

Hunter frowned. Benton had promised rare wood? Was it possible he was still involved with illegally harvesting timber? Hunter darted a glance at Rae, but she didn’t seem to notice his hesitation.

“Besides, it’s too much work for one carpenter. Who’s going to help me?”

He would have to. If Benton had been still stealing trees, which was becoming dangerously lucrative, that could be the reason for the danger to Rae. Hunter looked at her again. “I’ll help.”

“You? What do you know about woodworking?”

“I was your dad’s apprentice for three years.”

She blinked. “Ten years ago!”

He answered coolly, “I got plenty of on-the-job training.”

She folded her arms. Irritated, he yanked the phone from its cradle and thrust it toward her. “Go ahead, call that guy back. Tell him you can’t fill his order. And don’t forget to add that you’ll be lining up at the food bank for groceries by the end of the year, because if you don’t fill this contract, you’ll starve this winter.”

She looked shocked. “How do you know I need money?”

“If you had any money or credit, you’d have offered to buy me out right there in the lawyer’s office.” He tilted his head, his expression quickly turning sympathetic. “Rae, we can do this. Give me a chance.”

The set of her mouth revealed doubt. “There’s some intricate detail work in this order, Hunter.”

He hung up the phone, drawing on his reserves of patience. “I haven’t been making pine coffins, Rae. I can help you. If we run into a snag, we can subcontract.”

With her thumb and forefinger, she rubbed her forehead. “Dad knew where to get the rare wood, but I don’t. There are too many details to work out. I can’t do it.”

And, Hunter added silently, seeing the turmoil in her face, there are way too many emotions and memories tangled up in this workshop for you to tackle a contract right now.

But Benton Woodworking had made a commitment.

He walked closer, then pressed his hand on the desk, inches from hers. His voice dropped to a soft murmur. “Let me help you, Rae. This is half my business now, and I want it to succeed as much as you do.”

He had to help. If Benton had been doing something that might endanger his daughter, Hunter needed to be here.

Finally, she nodded. “It’s not going to be easy.”

He didn’t back away, but rather, leaned forward. “I’ve lived for the last decade on the meanest streets in Canada.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been in prison for the last ten years.”

He smiled grimly. “That’s what some guards call them. Cops patrol the regular streets, but guards have to patrol the meanest streets. I survived them and I’ll survive this. Besides, I have the greatest Ally a sinner could ever hope for.”

She shot him a confused frown, obviously doubting his sincerity. It didn’t matter to him. Hunter knew the truth in his heart, and he’d faced disbelief before.

Still, it wasn’t hard to figure out the argument roiling within her. Hunter was an ex-con, and he’d told her that everyone in prison lies.

He cleared his throat. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now, but that’s what I’m asking. Will you?”

She paused. “If you think you can do it…” Pushing away from the desk, and him, Rae stood. “But if you don’t mind, it’s late. And too much has gone on today. Can we start again in the morning?”

He straightened. As soon as the words left her mouth, he knew what they meant. She wanted him to leave.

Except he had nowhere to go.

As if just realizing that, she turned. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t have a place to stay.” She cleared her throat. “Out back is a small annex. Over the years, Dad puttered at fixing it up. It has a bed and bathroom and a kitchenette. Dad said if I ever got married, he’d move in there and give me the house. You can stay there. But I’m warning you, it’s small.”

Was she implying it was too small for a newly released prisoner? Was she letting him stay there until he figured he deserved a bigger place, now that he was free?

“Thank you.” He peered out the small workshop window. Already, the sun had slipped below the horizon, the world preparing for another long night. “Go to bed, Rae. Get a good night’s sleep.”

As he swung around to head out the door, she stopped him and handed him her house key. “Wait! Take some of the food from the refrigerator in the house. I won’t be able to eat it all, and I know you haven’t eaten much all day. Just leave the key on the kitchen table. I’ll be right in.”

He nodded and walked out of the workshop. In the kitchen, he carefully took only enough to hold him until he got groceries. The rest of the food was meant for Rae. And she’d need it.

He shut the fridge. Then, on an afterthought, he cruised through the house, checking locks and windows, anything that might threaten her. Satisfied, and not wanting to intercept Rae, he quickly left. She’d had enough of him for one day.

Inside the annex, Hunter set the food on the bed. While being infinitely better than a cell, the annex was small. A man could get claustrophobic if he didn’t have experience dealing with small spaces.

Before the evening air could chill the room, Hunter shut the door. To his left, under the window, stood a small fridge and a two-burner propane cooktop, with a tiny sink and cupboard. Between all that and the bathroom was a chest of drawers. On top sat a small television.

He opened the tiny fridge to set the food inside, and spied a thick T-bone steak through the plastic door to the freezer. Catching sight of his name, he grabbed the note taped to it.

Hunter, welcome home. Take care of Rae. Remember what we talked about. Don’t let them trick her.

The note was signed “R.B.”

Hunter sank onto the bed. If Benton had collapsed at the doctor’s office the day he’d visited Hunter in prison, he must have bought this before, hoping to explain everything on the way home.

Too late now. The flimsy clues penned here weren’t much help. What were the threats? Who were the people hoping to trick Rae?

Still frowning, Hunter looked around. This small room had been built for him, and having been backed into a corner by her father’s will, Rae had let him use it.

With gritted teeth, he unpacked the few things he owned. Then, with a silent prayer of thanks, he grabbed the steak, plus a pan he found in the cupboard, and fired up the stovetop.

He didn’t remember ever eating a decent steak like this one. While it cooked, he reached for a date square, thankful that Rae had noticed he was hungry. But it just hadn’t seemed right to eat the food delivered to her by well-meaning mourners.

Still, the snacks and the steak were long gone by the time he crashed on the bed.

He was still asleep, Rae noted. He hadn’t heard her soft knock, or the door open when she twisted the knob a minute later. The draft of cool morning air that rolled in hadn’t disturbed him, either.

“Hunter!” she whispered as she peeked in.