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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.
The guy slept like the dead. Rae didn’t want to step into the small room, but they had work to do. A quick glance around showed he’d settled it. Her father had taken her grandmother’s quilt for the bed, plus warm fleece sheets. Her inspection returned to Hunter’s face. This was his first full day of freedom. She shouldn’t deny him one sleep-in.
With a feeling of guilt, she noted the small garbage can holding the remains of a steak and its wrapper and tray.
Plus a note with Hunter’s name on it, in her father’s handwriting, though the words were smeared.
Dad had bought Hunter a steak? They could barely afford groceries right now, and her father had purchased a top quality, twenty-dollar steak?
Irritation rolled over her. Here she’d risen early, eaten leftovers and prepared for a day that would begin her healing and earn some much-needed money, while Hunter, full of steak, slept in….
Louder than before, she called his name for a third time.
When he still didn’t move, she knew something was dangerously wrong.
FOUR
“Hunter!”
His eyes shot open. “What’s wrong?”
Rae blew out a sigh. “I couldn’t wake you. It’s time to get up. We have work to do.”
He closed his eyes, looking pained. “In a minute.”
Sympathy washed over her as he lay there. He wasn’t sick. He was just tired, something she felt herself.
Embarrassed by the sudden intimacy, she backed away, bumping into the door.
He opened his eyes again, giving her a full measure of the cobalt blue of his irises. “Wait! What’s that scent you wear? You had it on yesterday.”
She hesitated, surprised by his question. “There’s no point wearing perfume when I spend all day in a workshop. It’s just a lotion.”
“What’s it scented with?”
“Roses.” She shrugged self-consciously. “I…I like it.”
“I can see why. It’s soft. A good choice for you.”
She cleared her throat. This conversation was becoming a little too personal. She reached behind her to grab the knob of the still-open door. “Why do you ask?”
The pained frown returned. “I once knew someone who wore a scent like that.”
“Your mother?”
“Hardly. She smelled like cigarette smoke. No, it was my first foster mother.”
“First?” Rae knew Hunter had spent time in a foster home, but more than one? “Why didn’t you stay with her?”
“She and her husband were killed in a domestic dispute with another foster kid’s parents.” He shifted, as if hoping to terminate the conversation.
Rae bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you to get up, then. Meet me in the workshop.” She made a hasty exit, finding herself pulling the cool morning air into her lungs as she headed into the shop. Then she straightened. Her father had bought Hunter a steak. He’d built that annex with him in mind, even written him a welcome note, hoping Hunter would help him find a threat, as if only he could do that. Why?
For that matter, why had Dad given him half of the estate? As incentive for him to stay? Walking toward her desk, Rae thrust aside her questions. She didn’t have the time or the energy to waste on them. Dad was gone—oh, how it hurt to admit that—and she had things to do. She sat down and stared at the paperwork in front of her.
Then she remembered the call she’d made early this morning. Dad’s insurance broker had been kind enough to squeeze her in today at noon, promising he’d have everything ready for her. She’d settle the life insurance policy and hopefully, in a few days, be able to offer Hunter a fair price for his half. Her disquieting feelings would leave with him.
Encouraged by that thought, she picked up a note her father had put in the contracts file. The door to the workshop opened and she stiffened her spine. On the threshold stood Hunter, silhouetted against the bright morning light. He’d grown into a husky, powerful man, but today he looked tired, his shoulders hunched and his head lowered as he reached to rub his right temple.
She stood, unable to deny her growing sympathy. “You want some coffee? Dad keeps—kept—a pot and a small fridge here.” Without waiting, she walked behind the desk to the pint-size refrigerator, upon which stood a coffee machine and some cups. She quickly set about brewing a pot, finding she needed a strong cup herself. When Hunter approached, she threw him a glance over her shoulder.
He looked worse close up. What had he indulged in last night, besides the steak, on his first night of freedom?
“You look awful. What’d you have? A one-man party last evening?”
He shot her a cool look. “The only thing I did was eat a steak, which was very good, then those desserts you gave me. I don’t drink, smoke or do any sort of drugs.”
“So all you did was eat and sleep?”
“And read my Bible. The prison chaplain gave me a study guide to Job, and I was doing that before I was released, so I continued.”
The memory of the funeral, and of seeing Hunter offer up a prayer, returned. She didn’t want to hear how he had found God, asked for forgiveness, and—as much as she didn’t like the truth right now—been forgiven.
He grabbed a mug and poured coffee from the pot before it had even stopped dripping. The steaming liquid sizzled onto the burner underneath. He took a sip from his mug and winced slightly.
Rae blew out a sigh. “You’ve picked up a bug.”
“I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“Maybe it was too much steak.” As she spoke, she wondered if maybe she did resent her father giving him that steak.
Forget it. She bustled back to the desk. “Are you ready to work? Because I need you to find some things.”
Her words were clipped, reminding him of the way he’d been treated in prison. No one really cared about him….
Hunter drained his coffee and ignored the headache stabbing at him. “What’s first?”
He took the short list of supplies she handed him. “I assume that the shed out back holds a bunch of stuff.”
“Yes, but Dad had supplies everywhere. I need to make a few phone calls before we go into the city. Hopefully by then you’ll know what we need to pick up.” She pulled out the phone book from under a messy stack of papers. The resulting draft wafted that soft scent of roses over to him.
Hunter automatically inhaled, then stopped himself. He was here to protect Rae. From what, he didn’t know yet, but he’d never find out sucking in rose-scented air.
He stifled a yawn. In the middle of the night, he’d awoken, and unable to sleep, he rose. He’d searched the workshop for several hours, looking for some clue as to who would want to harm Rae. By four o’clock, he’d found nothing.
He pivoted on the heel of his boot now and strode outside. He’d just have to keep his eyes open.
The hours ticked by and the headache eased only slightly. He spent the morning assembling the lumber needed for the job, and finding to his irritation that Benton had become disorganized over the years.
Living in a small cell had taught Hunter to be rigid with his own sense of order. More than once, his discipline came in conflict with other prisoners, and he had needed to defend himself….
Enough. He wasn’t there anymore. He was here, trying to rebuild his life, and help Rae. Keep her safe.
Lifting a pile of short boards and a drop cloth near the desk, he peered down at a large leather punching bag. Beside it, sealed in clear plastic, were a pair of boxing gloves.
His hand stilled as he reached for them. The medium-size box that held them was made from bird’s-eye maple, cut and joined in Benton’s unique grooved style.
