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Garrett offered a grin. “He’s one of those involved parents I mentioned to you earlier.”
Involved.
As in engaged. Committed. On board.
In other words, in the way and messing up the youth group vibe.
How could she draw out the teens and get them to open up and share with her and each other if he conducted surveillance from the sidelines as he’d done this evening? When she’d hinted that tonight’s less-than-satisfactory level of participation wasn’t due solely to Travis, he’d had the gall to urge her not to blame herself.
And to think only a short while ago she’d hoped to see him more often. Be careful what you wish for?
“Travis didn’t seem too thrilled to have him here.”
“When you were seventeen, would you have wanted your father keeping watch over you and your pals, listening in on every word you said?”
Actually, she’d have given almost anything if it meant her father would still be alive. But she could see there was a problem here. If her most recent encounter with Luke was indicative of what she could expect from him, he had an opinion on everything. And, like her ex-boyfriend and Aunt Jen, felt called upon to offer unsolicited advice.
“Have you talked to Luke about this?” Maybe she could enlist Garrett’s support. “Explained that he needs to back off and give his teenagers breathing space?”
“Only a hundred times.”
She placed her hands on her hips. Some people were clueless and it aggravated her that Luke was one of them. “Doesn’t he realize being a helicopter dad, hovering over them all the time, isn’t healthy for the kids—or for him?”
And it made her nervous.
“I think he’s aware it causes friction at times, but it’s hard for him to let go. He takes being a dad seriously.”
Delaney snorted.
“Too seriously, if you ask me. Like, hello?” She didn’t care for Luke disrupting the youth group project dynamics. That is, if the project got off the ground. “I’m sure his kids think ‘Get a life, Dad.’”
“Probably. But don’t be too hard on him. He’s had a rough time of it.”
“How so?” Is this where she’d hear about the nightmare of an ex-wife? There had to be a story behind that sadness she sometimes glimpsed in his eyes, something beneath this overinvolved, overprotective dad stuff.
Garrett glanced away as if unwilling to say anything further.
“I assume,” she prompted, not wanting to be left hanging, her questions unanswered, “you’re alluding to a nasty divorce?”
For a long moment he remained silent. Then he shook his head.
“A divorce would be bad enough, but no. Not a divorce.” He massaged the back of his neck with his hand, obviously reluctant to continue.
A knot formed in her stomach. Had the children’s mother died as had hers? An accident? Health issues?
“If I’m going to spend my summer with these kids—and apparently their father, too—don’t you think I should have a clear understanding of the situation?”
Garrett let out a pent-up breath. “Yeah, I suppose that’s only fair. But if I tell you, you can’t say anything to Luke, okay? He doesn’t like to talk about it and he wouldn’t like me or anyone else talking about it, either.”
“I won’t say anything.” She mimed zipping her lips. “I promise.”
“Then it’s like this, Delaney...” Garrett’s bleak gaze held hers. “Luke’s wife—the mother of his kids—killed herself six years ago.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_f7fb2d9d-af7c-543a-b44a-afc9a8afc613)
Looking out the window where he was seated at the rustic Log Cabin Café, Luke paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips.
Where was Delaney Marks off to this Monday morning, her head held high and a portfolio tucked under one arm? Her hair, swept into a low ponytail, bounced between her shoulder blades and a print skirt matching a solid sage-green top swirled around her ankles.
Oh, right. She’d said something about wanting to get her jewelry sold through the Hunter Ridge Artists’ Co-op. Maybe that’s where she was going? He didn’t know a whole lot about that kind of thing, but he’d been honest when he’d said he liked her work. His younger sister Rio would likely pounce on one of those rings.
Now immediately across the road from the café, Delaney jerked to a halt. She started to turn away as if to return from where she’d come, then halted again. Opening the portfolio, she reached inside to check its contents. Then seemingly satisfied that all was as it should be, she closed it up and tucked it under her arm once again. And away she went.
He couldn’t help but smile—and utter a silent prayer that she’d find a home for her jewelry. He wasn’t particularly thrilled with the influx of artisans into town, but what could one more hurt?
“Enjoying the scenery, are you, Luke?”
Yanked from his reverie, he downed the remainder of his coffee and faced the café’s owner. A big bruiser of a guy in his early sixties, he sported a shiny shaved head and close-cropped beard. A former Marine, he wasn’t someone you’d care to meet in a dark alley if he didn’t call you friend.
“Looks to be a nice day, Packy.”
“I figured you might think that.” His friend chuckled as Luke lifted a hand to stop a coffee refill. “Pretty gal, isn’t she? I heard she’s helping with the Christ’s Church youth program this summer. Better keep an eye on Travis.”
Packy winked, and Luke’s fingers involuntarily tightened on the cup. “Travis already has a girlfriend.”
What was he saying? Girlfriend or no girlfriend, Delaney was way too old to be potential sweetheart material for his son. Just as she was way too young for him.
“Maybe so. But boys will be boys and that little lady is a sure-enough eye catcher.” Packy chuckled again, handed him his bill, and moved on to the next table.
Thanks a lot, buddy, for giving me another thing to worry about. He and Travis had talked before he’d left for school and it was mutually agreed that he owed Delaney an apology. He was proud of that boy—most of the time. Had he given his own dad so much grief as a teen?
Probably, if their current relationship was any indication. Please, Lord, don’t let me and Travis end up in the same place as I am with Dad.
He glanced at the slip of paper Packy had given him, pulled cash from his wallet, then tucked the bills under his coffee cup. He needed to get going. He had more important things to do today than gawk at Delaney Marks. At any woman for that matter. But when he stepped outside, he couldn’t help but scan the street for some sign of her.
She’d already disappeared.
He called to Rags, who’d been basking in the sun outside the café, then held open the door to his Chevy crew cab for the pup to make a running leap inside. While they kept office space here in town for the sake of convenience, Hunter’s Hideaway was the heart and soul of Hunter Enterprises and he needed to get on back to home base.
The Hideaway, as most called the extensive, wooded property, had been in the family for six generations. In fact, it was the first business on the ridge, one started by his great-great-grandparents to accommodate the needs of hunters and back-country explorers in the early 1900’s. Originally only a handful of cabins and a corral, it set the tone for a town that would soon follow. What would his ancestors think of it now? Boasting dozens of cabins, an inn with dining facilities, a general store, horse boarding, trail rides and more, it kept Luke’s extended family busy around the clock.
He had a lot to get done today, but business with a potential hay supplier had required a breakfast meeting in town. It was already past nine now and he had more than enough to do to fill the coming hours.
“The day’s getting away from us, Rags.”
The dog sitting on the seat next to him perked his ears, tail wagging, and Luke gave him a hearty pat just as his cell phone rang.
“How goes it, Luke?” The voice of his old army comrade, Josh, echoed warmly across the miles.
About eight hundred miles, to be exact. If all went as hoped, he’d be able to drive the kids from Kansas back to Hunter Ridge for most major holidays and a few weeks each summer. But he wasn’t ready to break that news to them just yet.
He inserted the key in the ignition and rolled down the window on the driver’s side. “I guess congratulations are in order for that diploma a few weeks ago. Assuming you didn’t get kicked out the door before graduation day, that is.”
“Yeah, I finally got that university sheepskin. Feels good.”
Both of his Kansas friends, a handful of years younger than Luke, had taken advantage of the GI Bill to further their education. That’s something he’d intended to do. Where had time gotten to? But that lack of a degree was something he could remedy once he relocated to the Sunflower State.
“So what’s up?” Luke’s gaze roamed the street. Then, disgusted to realize he was looking for Delaney again, he turned away from the window.
“Vinnie thought we should touch base since we haven’t talked in a while. See if you’re on board to join up when that loan comes through.”
“I am.” Vinnie and Josh had a solid business plan—thanks to help from him—as well as a need for someone computer and numbers savvy to oversee the accounting of their growing enterprise. Several banks had turned them down on the expansion loan, but they had high hopes for this latest application. “Say the word.”
“That’s what we wanted to hear. I’ll relay this to Vinnie, so have a good rest of your day, buddy.”
“That’s it?” He’d always teased Josh for his reticence, so unlike Vinnie, who’d talk your ear off. “You don’t want to know what the weather is like here today or how my kids are doing?”
Josh laughed. “Report that in an email, okay? A short one.”
Still smiling, Luke shut off the phone and started up the truck. Those guys were top-notch. Definitely men he’d wanted watching his back in a combat zone. It would be great working with them again. Before school started, if all went well.
Not too far down the street he slowed to take the first of several curves snaking up the ridge through town and glanced toward the Artists’ Co-op gallery. A natural stone building, it bumped up against a quilt shop on one side and an empty Hunter-owned storefront on the other.
No sign of Delaney.
He pressed his foot to the gas pedal and continued on, noting again how art-related studios and shops were filling in the empty properties more and more. He shook his head.
Luke rolled down the window on the passenger side, letting the cool air swirl in to hit him full in the face. Yeah, Uncle Doug’s ex-wife, Charlotte, had started it all. That divorce had caused his uncle—the whole family—a heap of trouble.
“And you know what, buddy?” He glanced at Rags. “She not only had the gall to sell and lease to outsiders the properties her lawyers wrested away from Uncle Doug, she made sure she got them into the hands of those she knew would most stick in the craw of the community.”
His grip tightened on the wheel. One artist soon became two. Then three. And four... What if by a freak turn of events Sunshine Carston beat his mother during the town council elections? While the council had cautiously addressed the demands of that growing community, they’d never before had one of them in their midst.
What if Delaney Marks got involved in the campaign? He’d tried to warn her off that first day when he’d caught a glimpse of Sunshine’s flier in her possession. But with her committing the kids to that Mason house deal, he didn’t put a whole lot of confidence in her personal judgment.
“Don’t borrow trouble,” he said aloud, slowing to drive down a graveled, tree-lined stretch of road that led to home. Sun dappled through the needled branches of the towering pines, a jay called out, and the familiar scent of the forest wafted through the open windows. He relaxed his hands on the steering wheel, determined not to dwell on the consequences of Aunt Char’s vindictive betrayal of the family she’d married into. There was nothing he could do about that. Water under the bridge.
But he might yet be able to steer Ms. Marks away from local politics. And possibly even get her to recognize that another project would be more suitable than bending over backward to assist the Masons.
* * *
“Your workmanship shows much promise. But it’s not quite there yet.”
A wave of icy cold washed through Delaney as she stared into the keen black-brown eyes of Sunshine Carston, manager of the Hunter Ridge Artists’ Cooperative.
They were seated across from each other at a small oak table, the wood-trimmed display cases around them glinting invitingly in the soft light. Oil, acrylic, pastels and watercolor paintings, as well as wood and hammered copper designs, adorned walls or free-standing easels. Pottery and sculpted pieces joined a wide array of ceramic tiles, blown glass, and handmade leather handbags and belts. But, as always, it had been the jewelry in the glass cases that drew her the moment she’d stepped through the gallery’s doors.
Swallowing back the lump forming in her throat, she prayed Ms. Carston—Sunshine, she’d told Delaney to call her—wouldn’t perceive the wrenching impact of her point-blank pronouncement.
“I... I understand.”
But she didn’t. Her friends loved her rings and bracelets. Earrings. Charms. They said she should try to sell them, that maybe she could eventually earn a living doing what she loved most. Hadn’t Luke Hunter, a total stranger, even said her work was nice? No, not merely nice. Very nice.
Luke. A knot twisted in her stomach at the thought of the handsome widower. While an unexpected negative response to her artistic efforts was a kick in the gut, this wasn’t a tragedy like he and his children had suffered. Still suffered, for how could you ever recover from such a blow? With considerable effort, she refocused her thoughts on Sunshine, attempting to keep things in perspective.
But, to her shame, she failed miserably. How sure she’d been that her efforts would be welcomed, that she’d soon have a foot in the door to a future she could get excited about.
Studying Delaney’s sampling of jewelry displayed against a sweep of dark velvet fabric, Sunshine brushed back her raven-black hair. Cut at an angle, shoulder-length in front and slightly shorter in back, it emphasized her high cheekbones, straight nose and a smooth, warm-toned complexion. Native American ancestry? She didn’t look much older than Delaney, but there was something about the self-assured way she carried herself and looked at you, as if she could see right into your soul, that made Delaney feel about ten years old.
“How long did you say you’ve been working with silver? Since high school?” Obviously Sunshine doubted that anyone could have been making jewelry since a teen and have their work riddled with the flaws her experienced eyes must see.
Delaney clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “We made silver rings in high school art class. I loved it and have been making silver, beaded, and other kinds of jewelry ever since.”
A kitchen table hobbyist. That’s what Dwayne had dismissively called her.
A slight crease formed between Sunshine’s brows as she again picked up one of the rings and tilted it in the lamplight. She tapped a blunt, unpolished fingernail on the inside of the ring. “See this seam? The bump?”
Delaney nodded. She’d worked hard on that one, trying to smooth out the solder without weakening the joint. Only an expert eye would have seen it as a flaw.
“And this?” Sunshine pointed to the setting. “This is too prominent, too fragile. Not organically incorporated into the design. It could easily catch on something, break off and the wearer would lose the stone.”
Numb, Delaney nodded.
“Which is another thing...” Sunshine set the ring back on the velvet. “You need to upgrade the quality of your gemstones. I would also suggest something other than the turquoise you’ve used here if you want to stand out from the Native American artists.”
Delaney was familiar with the work of those appearing in Arizona park and roadside stands, in shops and in exclusive galleries throughout the Southwest. The latter were award-winning, highly collectible artists. While awed by their talent, she’d never considered herself to be a competitor and had deliberately not imitated traditional native designs.
“I don’t make jewelry full-time, of course.” How pathetic her pieces now looked lying there under the illuminating brilliance of a gooseneck lamp. “I work it in around my job when I can.”
Shut up, Delaney. Stop sounding as though you’re making excuses for inferior work. Why hadn’t she listened to Aunt Jen and Dwayne and not put herself through this embarrassment? But oh, no, she’d been certain they were wrong.
After what seemed an excruciatingly long moment, Sunshine again looked up from where she’d continued to study the jewelry. “What do you do for a living?”
Delaney lifted her chin slightly. “Computer programming.”
The corners of Sunshine’s lips lifted, her eyes warming. “No wonder you need a creative outlet.”
“I enjoy the challenge.” And she did. Most of the time. Not like Dwayne did, though, who lived and breathed programming and couldn’t understand her need for anything else. But Aunt Jen had urged her on her career path, and since her aunt had been the one paying the bills... “But my heart has always been with the fine arts.”
The other woman met her gaze in sympathy. “Which can be a rocky road if you hope to support yourself at it.”
“No immediate plans to.” Delaney forced a laugh, as if to prove to Sunshine that she hadn’t expected anything like that. But she had. Drawing comfort from the faint scent of oil paints and leather, she reluctantly glanced toward the glass cases where two women were excitedly examining the jewelry. Nothing of her own would be joining those beautifully arranged displays this summer.
“I don’t want to take up any more of your time. You have customers.” With a quick, apologetic smile, she rose to her feet. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
Surprise lit Sunshine’s eyes. Did people who were turned down for the co-op argue with her? Plead their case? But too clearly there was jewelry like she was making...and then there was fine jewelry that this gallery featured.
Sunshine stood as well, watching as Delaney carefully returned her silver pieces to a velvet-lined box which she then slipped into her portfolio.
