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“You only just told her? How is that possible? I mean, you knew before I was arrested.”
Benton looked contrite. “I went into remission, and I didn’t want to worry her. She’d fuss, and with the business not so good, we couldn’t afford for me to start taking time off.”
Was that all? Hunter could tell his old mentor was holding something back. Something about the business, or maybe something about their little scheme?
“I know I’m not doing things your way, Hunter. But she deserves the truth, whether or not I told her about the cancer.”
Dread trickled through Hunter. “At least wait until I’m out. I’ll go with you.”
Benton’s lip had quivered, and remorse ripped through Hunter. The old man was dying. For all of his faults, and his late coming to faith, did he need to die now?
At that very moment, the buzzer had sounded throughout the cafeteria, ending the visiting hour. Benton rose wearily, and Hunter caught his arm. “Wait! What about this danger? You should tell Rae that. Or at least tell the police.”
The old man had shrugged off his hand. “Believe me, the police can’t be trusted. I think I’m being followed. Look, you’ll be home soon. We’ll figure something out.” He threw a hasty glance toward the door.
“You have to tell the police now!”
Benton hesitated. Finally, he nodded. “I will.”
With that, he’d shuffled out, and Hunter hadn’t seen him alive again. According to the gas station clerk, Robert Benton had collapsed at his doctor’s office, and four days later, semiconscious and delirious, he’d died in hospital.
Now, staring at Rae’s house, with the graceful birch trees behind it, Hunter felt a sense of loss. He had nowhere else to go. With no family, no job, only an old man’s confused warning, he’d come here.
The growl of an engine caught his attention. He stepped from the driveway to the grass, in time to see Rae’s truck screech to a stop in a cloud of dust. The driver’s door swung open and she alighted swiftly. “Get off my land.”
The welcome he’d expected. Hunter dropped the duffel bag he’d purchased from the prison stores in anticipation of his release, saving the pittance an inmate earned for that one item. In it was a change of clothes, a charity toiletries kit, his Bible and a small amount of cash.
“It’s okay. I just came—”
He shut his mouth. She was mad at him. And if he were to try to warn her that her life was in danger, she wouldn’t even listen to him. Besides, what would he say when she’d invariably ask why her father had visited him? Hunter would have to tell her everything.
Forget it. It wasn’t his job to speak ill of the dead. And she sure wouldn’t want him of all people, to talk to her. In her mind, he’d burned down her family’s livelihood.
In front of him, Rae had planted her feet shoulder width apart and settled her hands on her hips. “You’re not welcome here. You destroyed our lives ten years ago, and drove my father to an illness he couldn’t fight. Now get off my land!”
He swallowed. Even in her anger and grief, Rae was a beautiful woman, though she’d look better in a softer color to compliment the sun in her hair, he decided, rather than the harsh navy of her ill-fitting suit. “There isn’t anything that would make you feel better, Rae. Still…” He faltered. “I just want to say how much your dad meant to me.”
Her expression wavered. She blinked and the chin that had shown determination a moment ago now wobbled in a telltale way.
His heart wrenched. He took a step toward her, wanting to haul her close and comfort them both.
She jerked back. Then, snatching a Tupperware container from the bench seat, she slammed the truck door and stalked toward the house. “Leave. I don’t want to see anyone, not for a long time.”
He shrugged. “I’ve got nowhere to go. This was my only home.”
When she bit her lip, he hated the guilt he was heaping on her. “The prison system doesn’t turn people out into the cold, Hunter,” she protested.
“True. There’s a group home in Moncton, but that’s seventy kilometers away.” He was crazy to come here. To keep a woman who hated him safe from an unknown danger? Maybe Benton’s mind had begun to deteriorate from the cancer, and he’d only imagined a threat.
Rae’s eyes glistened in the late afternoon sun.
Guide me, Lord. Do You want me to help her?
She bit her lip, obviously grieving.
She had no one. Right then, he knew he couldn’t leave Green Valley.
Some time ago, Rae’s father had offhandedly told her that unless released inmates had family and friends, they were on their own.
Guilt flooded her, and she knew this was what her pastor called the touch of the Holy Spirit. Her father’s voice seemed to reach through the confusion. “You must forgive him, Rae.”
The words added to the ache behind her eyes. Breaking her last promise to her father was something she wanted to do, yet couldn’t.
With a halfhearted step toward Hunter, she heard herself say, “Why don’t you come in? I’ve had a ton of food dropped off the last few days. You must want a home-cooked meal.”
He had the most intense gaze, something she hadn’t noticed a decade ago. And if she correctly judged the flare of interest there, he was hungry.
“Thanks.”
Once inside, he glanced around curiously.
“Yes, it’s all the same,” she said, noticing his hesitance. “We didn’t have time to remodel after you…” She stopped, slipping the plain black pumps off her hot, tired feet. “We put all the insurance money into the new workshop.”
Hunter peered out the back window. “It looks good.”
Well, that was one thing they agreed upon. The new workshop, sturdy and welcoming, stood as a monument to Robert Benton’s hard work, despite the cancer.
He’d had that horrible disease for ages. She knew it had started its ravaging years before, despite him blaming various colds for his symptoms. Fresh tears stung her eyes. Lord, why all this suffering? Dad loved You. Yes, it took him all this time to give his life to You, but…
She grabbed the coffee tin. Thrusting it at Hunter, she muttered, “Can you make a pot? I have to change.” She plucked at the navy skirt she wore. “I borrowed this from my cousin Annie. Do you remember her?”
“I met her when she came for your father’s birthday party that time, and her husband sneaked beer into the house.”
Rae walked into the hall. “Yes. Dad sent him home in a taxi.”
Hunter’s deep voice rolled across the kitchen. “No. I drove Kirk home.”
“But Dad said…” Stopping in her tracks, she frowned. Ten and a half years was a long time ago. And shortly after that night, Hunter had lit a pile of gas-soaked rags in the shop. She’d forgotten all about the party until this very minute.
Wait. Hadn’t Dad said something recently about gas-soaked rags? He’d looked deeply concerned, but she hadn’t believed him.
With pursed lips, she stared across the quiet kitchen at Hunter. He didn’t move, not even to start the coffee she could really use. His eyes remained fixed on her, making heat rush to her face.
“No, your father didn’t call a taxi, Rae. I drove Kirk home that day.”
Indignation flared. Hunter had no right to correct her about her father, not on the day she’d laid him in the ground. Not when the very stress of what Hunter had done had killed him.
“Forget it, Rae. Go get changed.” He turned his attention to the coffeepot, leaving her torn between the urge to tell him off or flee.
She pivoted and strode up to her bedroom.
Hot, restorative coffee bubbled and dripped, the soothing sounds and scents dancing up the stairs when she emerged from her bedroom a few minutes later. She found Hunter setting cream and sugar on the table beside the triangle sandwiches and sweet squares she’d brought home from the church hall. A pot on the stove told her he was warming the chicken soup a neighbor had dropped off yesterday.
“Did you have anything to eat after the funeral?”
“Yes,” she lied.
He slanted her a look, taking in her jeans and cotton shirt. “The first thing a person learns in prison is that everyone lies. You get a lot of practice recognizing it.”
This was ridiculous. There was nothing shameful in being hungry. She sank into a chair. Feeling like a starving animal lured out of its hole by food, she reached over to snatch a sandwich.
Hunter poured the coffee and then slid the cream and sugar her way. He took his black and hot, she noticed. Well, if he could, she could.
But after one sip of the strong, scalding brew, she reached for the cream. Then the sugar.
“The woodworking business is still good?” he asked.
“Good enough.” She bit her lip at yet another lie.
His eyebrows shot up. Her grip on her mug tightened. “Why is that a surprise? Dad wasn’t the only person who worked here. I liked carpentry before you…”
Then, seeing his tight jaw, she questioned the wisdom of letting him into her house. He was, after all, a felon.
“You did a good job,” he said mildly. “Your father—”
Anger rose, unbidden. “What about my father? What could you possibly say about him?”
“Nothing. That’s why I shut up.”
She couldn’t stop, not after the day she’d had. “You have no right to say anything. I let you come in for a coffee and a bite to eat because you have nowhere to go.”
She shut her eyes, wanting to grieve alone. Hunter’s appearance had forced to the surface a deathbed promise she hadn’t expected to fulfil, and wasn’t sure she could.
“Being angry all the time will eat away at you, Rae. It’s like violence. It solves nothing.”
She peered at him. “And you with the broken nose should know this?”
“Along with the dislocated shoulder, twisted knee and a nasty scar from my chest to my neck. Yes, I know. Benton told me plenty of times I wouldn’t get anywhere with violence or anger.”
Rae felt her jaw sag slightly. Abruptly, Hunter stood. He helped himself to some soup. She twisted around. “When did my father tell you that?”
He didn’t look at her. At least not right away. When he did, his expression was hooded. “From the moment he met me in Moncton, until the day…” Hunter drew in a long breath “…the day I set fire to the workshop. Your father told me violence doesn’t solve problems. It creates them.”
Rae frowned. Hadn’t he just told her everyone lies in prison? Surely that included him? Had Dad really said that to him, or was Hunter fabricating a story to prove she was wrong to accuse him?
Her heart tightened. She was wrong. Scriptural words echoed in her head. Vengeance is mine. I will repay. With as much dignity as she could muster, she took the mugs and dumped the lukewarm coffee down the sink. Then dared another glimpse at him. Hunter seemed unusually awkward.
She did not want to analyze why, especially when the phone on the wall beside her rang.
Five minutes later and quite bewildered, Rae hung up. Her father’s lawyer, Mr. LeBlanc, wanted to see her now, if possible.
Not just her. Mr. LeBlanc had requested Hunter come, too. Her stomach tightened with concern. Why? Because of Dad’s will?
This was making for a long day. She’d seen Mr. LeBlanc briefly at the funeral, but he’d only had a chance to offer his condolences. While she could have begged off, she also knew she wouldn’t be working today. She may as well get this necessary reading of the will over and done with.
She turned to Hunter. “That was Dad’s lawyer. He wants to see us as soon as possible.”
Hunter’s brows shot up. “Me, too?”
“Yes, you, too.”
Rising, he covered the food. She tried to swallow to soothe her dry throat, but an uneasy feeling persisted. Something wasn’t right.
“Rae! Come in!”
Rae looked up to see Mr. LeBlanc standing by an inner office in his house. She crossed the low-pile carpet toward him. Over her head, she heard the lawyer address Hunter.
“Mr. Gordon, I presume. It’s good to get a hold of you two so quickly. Come in and sit down.”
They followed him in. Hunter’s expression turned wary as he accepted one of the leather chairs tucked around a table. A heavy man with more hair on his face than his head, the lawyer took a seat across from them and slipped on his reading glasses.
Rae fidgeted. Her father had mentioned briefly his will once, years ago. She’d heard nothing more. So why was Hunter needed? To be the executor?
“I appreciate you seeing me on short notice. Your father wanted his estate tidied up as quickly as possible after his death. Though I’m sure he wasn’t expecting it so soon.” The lawyer wore a look of shared sorrow. She nodded, and the lawyer continued. “Your father came to see me about seven years ago, and we made up a rough draft of a will. He didn’t sign it until a month ago.”
A month ago? Around the time of the alleged gas-soaked rags? Rae frowned.
“Your father asked me to be the executor of his will. It’s quite unusual, but I agreed, given the circumstances.”
“Which were?” Rae asked.
Mr. LeBlanc looked uncomfortable. “My conversation with your father was private, Rae. I’m sorry.” With that, he began to read a series of preliminary paragraphs, legal jargon about certificates and debts and the Family Law Act.
“Mr. LeBlanc,” she interrupted, touching the table between them. “This legal stuff is over my head. Just read the part that affects us, please.”
He set the papers down and peered at her over his reading glasses. “Basically, your father has left you all his personal belongings, listed here.” He freed a sheet from the portfolio and turned it around to face them. “But the real estate, that being the house, workshop and all the land around it, is to be shared jointly between you two.”
You two? Had she heard right? Rae’s mouth fell open as she blinked. “Shared? That’s impossible! Hunter hasn’t seen my father in years. It doesn’t make any sense!”
Mr. LeBlanc lifted his brows and shifted his cool stare to Hunter. Their gazes locked for a tense moment, until the lawyer turned to Rae again. “Your father wanted this, Rae. I know it’s hard to believe, but these are his last wishes. If you like, you can contest this will. But it could take years to resolve, and the court could order you to sell the land and split the money.”
Gripping the edge of the table, she pushed back her chair and stood. “Sell? Benton Woodworking has been in my family for a hundred years. Dad wanted it to stay in the family, no matter what.” To sell off Dad’s pride and joy would be heartless, as if she was…well, somehow killing him herself.
She sagged back in her seat. The very fact that her father had willed half of all he owned to Hunter Gordon proved he couldn’t have cared that much for Benton Woodworking. Should she contest it? Could she even afford to?
Mr. LeBlanc spoke. “Rae, do you want to contest this will?”
Finally, she shook her head. With the stroke of a pen, her father had condemned her to share everything she valued with the man who’d destroyed her life.
