Glynna Kaye - Claiming The Single Mom's Heart

Sunshine pointed at the photo of a fox he’d taken last winter. “Like this one. I don’t imagine you conveniently shot it through your kitchen window, did you? While it’s a moment caught in time, it’s my guess you observed the comings and goings of this elusive creature, studied the angle of the sun, glare off the snow, and gave thought to composition. You knew the mood and message you wanted to convey before the shutter clicked. All three of these photos strongly reflect the artist behind the lens.”

Artist. He didn’t much care for that label. He thought of himself as more of an observer of wildlife who’d learned the tricks of capturing an image. One who made use of a camera’s technical features to produce a pleasing photo.

They talked for some time about his current preference for black-and-white, use of focal length and the considerations made in composition. About the challenges of wildlife. It was in many ways oddly affirming to speak with someone knowledgeable about those aspects of his work.

“Oh, my goodness.” Sunshine cringed as she looked at the clock on his credenza. “I barged in on your day to look for my pen, but didn’t intend to take up all your time.”

He smiled at her flustered movements, the appealing flush on her face. “I didn’t have anything scheduled for the rest of the afternoon. I enjoyed our visit.”

“I did, too.” Another wave of color rose in her cheeks. Then she abruptly turned away. “But I need to get back to the gallery.”

Halfway to the door, she glanced at the grouping of vintage photos on the wall and paused. “So are these more of your mother’s yard-sale finds?”

Curiously relieved that she hadn’t dashed off, he moved to stand beside her. “Not these. I latched on to them when my grandpa Hunter passed away when I was nineteen.”

“So this is your family?”

“Some are.” He studied the photos, then pointed to a stiffly composed group of people standing outside a cabin. “Like this one.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“These two are my great-great-grandparents. Harrison—he went by Duke—and Pearl Hunter. They came here on the cusp of the twentieth century. Acquired land in the very early 1900s. The youngster hanging on to the mangy-looking dog is my great-grandfather, Carson. And his sisters are next to him.”

“And what about these two?” Sunshine touched her finger lightly to the nonreflective glass, noting another man and a woman off to the side. “If I’m not mistaken, the woman looks to be Native American.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Those people lived on the property. Friends of the family.”

That was, if you could call a man who’d betrayed you a friend. Grady had intentionally placed this photo front and center in his office after Jasmine’s underhandedness. A reminder that, as also in the case of Aunt Char’s disloyalty, Hunters had to look out for Hunters first and foremost. Outsiders couldn’t be trusted.

“Do they have names?”

“Walter Royce and his wife, Flora.” Their monikers were emblazoned on his brain. “And yes, she’s Native American. White Mountain Apache.”

Sunshine stepped closer, her gaze more intent. Like his mom, she seemed enthralled with old-time photographs and the stories they held.

“That woven blanket draped over her arm... It’s such an interesting pattern. One I’d like to incorporate in one of my paintings.” She looked to him hopefully. “Would you mind if I took a picture of it?”

He shrugged. “Have at it.”

She eagerly slipped her cell phone from her purse and snapped a few shots. “Inspiration sometimes comes from directions you least expect, doesn’t it?”

“I guess so.” Actually, he knew so. How many times had his eyes been drawn to something because of the texture, the shadow, the sheer beauty of it and his fingers itched to reach for his camera? Like right now. With Sunshine’s dark eyes bright with excitement and natural light from the windows glinting off her glossy black hair and highlighting a soft cheek and the gentle curve of her lips.

“When do you think this photo was taken?”

“Judging from my great-grandfather’s age here, I’m guessing about 1906, 1907, maybe?”

A wistful look flickered in her eyes. “It must be wonderful to trace your family back this far. To know that these pine trees on the property shaded them as they do your family now. That every single day you’re walking where they walked.”

“Yeah, I guess it is remarkable.” Her enthusiasm was almost contagious, and he found himself smiling. “In fact, the original cabin in this picture and the one the Royces lived in are still on the property.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding. I’d love to see them sometime.”

While they weren’t rotting or anything like that—his family had seen to it that they were well maintained—they hadn’t been modernized. “They’re nothing fancy, you understand.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to be. But I’d love to see buildings that hold such history.”

“Well, then, sometime when you don’t have to rush off, I can arrange that.”

From the indecisive flicker in her eyes, for a moment he thought she might claim that getting back to the gallery was of minor importance and insist that now was as good a time as any for a tour. But when she merely uttered a thank-you, he determined the perceived wavering on her part must have been in his imagination.

Wishful thinking?

Unfortunately, that could only get him into trouble. He’d heard grumblings at a family breakfast meeting that morning about Sunshine’s earlier visit to the Hideaway. Uncle Doug warned that she might be snooping around for something to use against Grady’s mother in the upcoming election—although neither he nor Uncle “Mac” McCrae could come up with exactly what that might be. Aunt Suzy—Dad’s sister and Uncle Mac’s wife—reiterated that until more was known about her sister-in-law’s health status, everyone should keep silent about it with those outside the family. As political opponents, Sunshine Carston and Irvin Baydlin didn’t need to be alerted just yet.

Grandma Jo, fortunately, had put in a good word as to his “proactive” endeavors to soothe the ruffled feathers of the Artists’ Co-op members regarding the new Hunter business. But how would he explain escorting Sunshine around the property to see old family cabins?

“Grady?” Sunshine’s curious eyes met his, no doubt wondering where he’d mentally wandered off.

“Let me know when you’re available to take a look at the cabins, and I’ll check my schedule.” Maybe he could put her off for a while. With all there was to do at the Hideaway with the influx of hunters and with details of the new wild game supply store demanding his attention, he’d have an excuse to beg off if he needed one.

She moved to the door, then paused, a thoughtful look on her face. “Your mother wouldn’t happen to be around this afternoon, would she? I wanted to ask her about—”

“No, I’m afraid not. She’s out of town this week.”

“Oh? I’ll get in touch with her later, then.”

As Sunshine disappeared into the hallway, Grady again studied the old photograph of the original Hunter’s Hideaway. Remembered the deceit that had severed a friendship.

Was Sunshine’s request to talk to his mother an innocent one? Or had she somehow gotten wind of her opponent’s possible Achilles’ heel and today’s visit was nothing more than a fishing expedition to learn more?

Chapter Five

“I think I may have confirmed it, Tori.” Sunshine glanced at her friend Saturday morning. “Not only is ‘the ridge of the hunter’ likely the same as Hunter Ridge, but I may now have proof that my ancestors knew the Hunter family just as in the family legend.”