Claiming the Single Mom's Heart (17 page)

“You like it?”

“Oh, I love it.” She leaned in closer, acutely aware of his proximity. “You didn't tell me you were doing this.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” He slipped his arm around her waist. “See what an inspiration you are?”

“Your photos are for sale?”

“They are. Or at least they will be when the website goes live.” He clicked on one of the links and guided her through an impressive gallery of elk shots, leaving the other links to be explored. “I've been working with the guy who did the website for the wild game supply store. He's an outdoorsman himself and I think it shows in his design.”

“Oh, it does.” She lightly touched Grady's shoulder. “I'm so excited that you're doing this.”

“I thought you'd be pleased.”

“This is why you didn't have as much time as you'd hoped to review what I'd put together for your photography proposal, isn't it?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“How's it feel to step out of your comfort zone?” She was proud of him.

He squinted one eye. “Scary?”

Laughing, she leaned in for a hug but, when she straightened, her elbow somehow brushed the folder on the table, pushing it over the edge and strewing its contents onto Grady's lap and the floor.

Heart racing, she knelt to gather the loose papers. But when she stood, breathless, a frowning Grady was examining one of the documents that she'd knocked into his lap. A slightly crumpled one that she'd earlier carefully smoothed out.

Then he looked up at her, confusion in his eyes.

Chapter Seventeen

G
rady's stomach lurched as he again stared down at the handwritten name on the photocopied receipt.
Walter Royce.
The ungrateful scoundrel who'd taken advantage of Duke Hunter's generosity. “Where'd you get this?”

“I—” Sunshine's gaze locked with his, her eyes wide.

“Did you get interested in the people in the photograph or something?” He motioned to the laptop. “You do know, don't you, that the guy listed on this receipt is one of the men in the picture?”

She nodded.

He looked down at the wrinkled photocopy again. A tax receipt for land right here in this county. But Walter Royce, to his knowledge, had never owned land around here. Maybe not anywhere. So was this—? It had to be. The infamous receipt for taxes Royce had been sent to pay on behalf of Duke Hunter, who'd been too ill to make the journey himself. A receipt that was written out to the name of Walter Royce.

“Where'd you get this?”

“Tori's been helping me research.” She glanced at the folder in her hands.

His gaze held hers, curious. “What were you researching?”

“My great-great-grandparents.”

That didn't make sense. She wasn't from around here. “What did your great-greats have to do with Walter Royce? No, wait. Don't tell me. He cheated them, too?”

“What do you mean?”

He flicked the paper with the back of his hand.

“This character. He almost cost my great-great-grandparents their land. Fraudulently took out a loan on it, then defaulted.” A document like the one he held in his hands would no doubt have been the evidence of ownership Royce had used to acquire that private loan and purchase a business in a neighboring county. “Did he do your family dirty, too?”

A troubled look wavered in her eyes.

“Sunshine?”

“No, he didn't cheat my family.” She swallowed, her eyes riveted on his. “He was—is, actually—family.”

“What do you mean?”

“Walter and Flora Royce,” she said, her grip tightening on the folder in her hands, “are my great-great-grandparents.”

It was his turn to stare. “Are you kidding me?”

She shook her head.

“I didn't think you were from around here. Why didn't you say something?”

For a fleeting moment he thought she might not answer. Or might bolt. But she stood her ground.

“I didn't have proof of ties to Hunter Ridge, not until you showed me that photograph and told me the names of the people in the picture so I could backtrack to them.” The expression in her eyes remained as cautious as the delivery of her words. “I merely had a story to go on that my grandmother shared with me. A story handed down to her about her grandparents who'd lived in an area referred to as the ridge of the hunter.”

He'd heard that phrase before. The founders of the town had adapted it when they'd named the fledgling community of Hunter Ridge in the 1920s.

He sat back in his chair. “This blows me away.”

In fact, he couldn't get his head around it. The woman he was falling in love with was the great-great-granddaughter of someone who'd almost cost the Hunters their property? Did God have a sense of humor or what?

“Flora,” he said softly, studying her. “She was White Mountain Apache. Or at least that's what I was told growing up. That's why you bear traces of Native American ancestry?”

“Considerably diluted, but yes.”

“And why you volunteer at that church on the rez? Why Native images play a role in your art?”

She nodded as she placed the folder on the table. “I'm proud of that lineage and want Tessa to be proud of it, too. Working at the church alongside others who share that blood bond gives me a sense of belonging. A sense of my own history, which I knew little of until recently.”

“Wow.” He shook his head. “I have to admit, this comes as a shock. Not your Apache connection, but your connection to Walter Royce. He's not well thought of in the annals of my own family history.”

Her chin lifted. “Wrongly so.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You're holding the evidence in your hand.” Her words came softly, the look in her eyes a disquieting mix of apology and determination. “It's a tax receipt for the land on which Hunter's Hideaway now stands. Walter Royce owned it, but somehow Duke Hunter managed to disenfranchise Walter and Flora.”

That was nuts. She'd gotten the story wrong. “You think old Duke cheated the Royces out of
their
land?”

“My grandmother told me about it when I was growing up, how they'd been swindled. I didn't know what to believe.” Her gaze flickered uneasily. “Not until I came to Hunter Ridge to—”

“To what?” He gave a half laugh, trying to make sense of this. “Prove my family cheated your family out of the Hideaway?”

Surely he was misunderstanding. She'd been asked to manage the Artists' Cooperative, right? That was what had brought her here. Brought her into his life. But she didn't laugh, and something deep in his gut twisted at the guilt stamped on her pretty face.

“That's why you came here?” he said softly, an uncomfortable pressure weighing in his chest. “To prove the Hideaway belongs to
your
family?”

Under her startled gaze, he reached for the paper-stuffed folder. Flipped through its contents. Birth certificates. Census and land records. Correspondence. He looked up in disbelief. “Please tell me this isn't what it looks like.”

She stood rigidly at his side, her gaze pleading, but she didn't respond.

“All this is an attempt to prove my family stole land from your family?” Having the story wrong didn't excuse the fact that she'd come to Hunter Ridge with an agenda to—what? Hold his family legally liable? To try to wrest the Hideaway from them in court like Aunt Char had attempted when she'd divorced Uncle Doug? To use him and his vulnerable heart to obtain evidence she intended to bring before a judge?

He pushed back in the chair and stood, gripping the folder. Then tossed the paperwork to the table. Hadn't she once admitted that with a child to support, the almighty dollar won out every time? He had to get out of here.

She placed a restraining hand on his arm, finally finding her voice. “Grady, please, I can explain.”

“I seriously doubt it.” He looked at her, as if into the face of a stranger.

Her grip tightened. “You have to listen to me.”

“You're telling me you didn't come to Hunter Ridge with the express purpose of claiming your fair share of the Hideaway?”

“I didn't. Not like that. Yes, I wanted to find out the truth of the family legend, had even hoped that perhaps—”

“Your family never owned a single inch of Hunter property. I can assure you of that.”

“But the tax receipt shows—”

“Duke Hunter was seriously ill, Sunshine. He sent a
trusted friend
to pay his taxes. A friend who used that receipt to fraudulently acquire a loan and buy a business. A business that subsequently failed, resulting in a default that brought the authorities and an irate lender to Duke Hunter's doorstep in an attempted foreclosure.”

“I don't—”

“Believe it, Sunshine. When your friend continues her research, she's bound to find records documenting the whole thing. Of course, by the time the mess was sorted out, Walter Royce had conveniently gotten himself put six feet under.”

She gasped at his insensitive remark, but he continued, “You know what's most sad about that? Duke had plans to deed over to his friend the portion of his property that he'd allowed him and his wife to settle on.”

He moved toward the door.

“Grady. Please. You have to believe me when I say I would never have used any of this documentation against your family, even if it was true.”

“Never crossed your mind, did it?” His voice sounded harsh in his own ears, but from the look on her face and the absence of a denial, he had no regrets. He reached for the doorknob. “That's what I thought.”

“Grady, please. This isn't how it looks. I would never intentionally hurt you or your family. Never try to take Hunter's Hideaway from you. You have no idea how much I—”

“Love me?” He quirked a smile. “Nice try, Sunshine, but that's a bit more than I can swallow right now.”

* * *

“Grady,” she whispered as the door closed behind him with a finality that shattered her heart. Rooted to the floor, an icy cold enveloped her, leaving her shaking.

Once she'd decided not to pursue that avenue with the Hunters, why hadn't she destroyed those papers? Hadn't Tori said it would take more research to confirm what the papers appeared to reveal? She'd told Tori not to do more research. She was done. So why had she given in to looking through the information one last time—and this night of all nights?

If what Grady said was true, that he could prove her great-great-grandfather had never owned so much as a thimbleful of Hunter's Hideaway, that made this even worse.

Sunshine woodenly moved to the table and looked down at her laptop, at the solemn faces on the desktop screen of her great-great-grandparents—and Grady's. Could it be true that Walter—a trusted friend, Grady had called him—had falsely used the Hunter property to acquire a loan? Why would he do that? And how had the story Grandma told gotten so twisted over time?

How long she stood staring down at the vintage photo, she had no idea. A few minutes? Thirty? An hour? But abruptly she was brought back to the present by the sound of feet running up the stairs.

“We're home!” Tessa sounded elated as she burst into the room, but a past-her-bedtime weariness reflected in her eyes. Tori's, too, for that matter, although it wasn't late.

“Let's get you ready for bed and you can tell me all about it.”

“What's this?” Tessa, peeling out of her coat, had spotted the brightly colored gift bag on the kitchen counter.

Sunshine handed it to her. “Grady brought you something.”

“I missed him?” Tessa's face puckered with disappointment.

“Grady was here, hmm?” Tori gave her a teasing look. “While the kitties are away, the mice—”

“Not exactly.”

Her friend's gaze sharpened. “What's up?”

“Later.”

“Look, Mommy!” Tessa lifted a stuffed goldfish from the bag, then clasped it to her chest in a hug. “Just like Goldie!”

Still numb, Sunshine knelt to take a closer look at the soft, brightly colored animal. “How cute.”

“Grady thinks I'm a good girl, Mommy. Can we call him so Goldie and I can tell him thank-you?”

“Of course he thinks you're a good girl, but it's getting late.” She exchanged a glance with Tori. “Let's save that for tomorrow, okay?”

“'Kay.” Tessa gave her a hug, then dashed for her bedroom, the stuffed fish tight in her arms.

“That was nice of him,” Tori ventured, then tilted her head toward the flowers on the coffee table. “From him, too?”

Sunshine nodded.

“But I get the impression something's not right.”

Sunshine drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Could she talk about this right now? Even with Tori? “I guess you'd say we broke up.”

Tori's eyes widened.
“What happened?”

“He found the documentation of our research.” She motioned to the kitchen table. “So he knows everything. About why I came to Hunter Ridge, I mean.”

“Oh, Sunshine.” Her friend stepped forward to place a comforting hand on her arm. “After you decided to leave the past in the past?”

Sunshine nodded again. “Doesn't hardly seem fair, does it? But he reacted as I thought he might—seeing it as a betrayal. That I was attempting to use him for financial gain like a former girlfriend had.”

“You told him, though, didn't you, that you weren't going to use the documentation against his family?”

“I did. But the original intent was there. It couldn't be denied.” Sunshine wandered into the living room to look down at the festive flowers. Had it been such a short time ago that Grady had swept her into his arms and playfully kissed her?

“You know what the worst part is?” She cast a bleak look in Tori's direction. “The story that's been passed down in his family is much different than the one in mine. He maintains it was the Hunters who'd been done wrong, not the Royces. That my great-great-grandfather had deliberately made poor decisions that had almost cost them their land. He says he can prove it.”

“I did say that additional research was needed.” Sadness filled Tori's eyes. “But I'm so sorry. I feel as if this is partly my fault.”

“It's not. Don't think that. You were researching what I asked you to research. This was my own doing.” All her own doing. “I should have shredded every scrap of paper the minute I decided my relationship with Grady was more important than righting a past wrong.”

“You're in love with him?”

“It sure feels like it.”

“Mommy! I'm in my jammies!”

“Coming, sweetheart.” The ache in Sunshine's chest deepened. Not only had her foolishness driven Grady away, broken her own heart and his, but Tessa would never have the father she deserved and so desperately needed.

“I'll be praying,” Tori whispered as Sunshine moved in the direction of Tessa's bedroom. “Praying that once he thinks over what you said, that he'll recognize you hadn't set out to use him.”

Inside the cozy bedroom, Tessa cuddled under the flannel sheets, the plush fish secure in her arms.

“Goldie is happy to have a new friend.” She lifted one of the toy's soft fins to wave at the fishbowl sitting on the dresser. Then giggled. “I wish Grady could be here to see.”

Grady, who only two weeks ago had sat here on the edge of her daughter's bed and prayed with her. Who had encouraged her to say “stop” in Jesus's name to the fears that plagued her. Gradually, ever so gradually, the bedtime anxiety had lessened. Now he'd given her a furry friend to keep her company.