Keeping Her Safe

“Get off my land!”

Rae yelled. “I don’t care why you’ve come, Hunter. You’re not welcome here. You destroyed our lives ten years ago, and drove my father to illness he couldn’t fight.”

Gordon swallowed. Rae had grown into a beautiful woman. “There isn’t anything I can say that would make you feel better, Rae. Still, I…” He faltered. “I just want you to know how much your dad meant to me. He was a good man.”

Her expression wavered. He took a step toward her, wanting to haul her close and comfort them both.

She backed away. “Leave.”

He didn’t move. “I have nowhere else to go. You know this place was my only home.” He’d been crazy to come. To keep a woman who hated him safe from an unknown danger?

Guide me, Lord. Do You want me to help her?

His heart lurched in answer and he knew he couldn’t leave Green Valley.

BARBARA PHINNEY

Barbara Phinney was born in England and raised in Canada. She has traveled throughout her life, loving to explore the various countries and cultures of the world. After she retired from the Canadian Armed Forces, Barbara turned her hand to romance writing. The thrill of adventure and the love of happy endings, coupled with a too-active imagination, have merged to help her create this and other wonderful stories. Barbara spends her days writing, building her dream home with her husband and enjoying their fast-growing children.

Keeping Her Safe

Barbara Phinney

MILLS & BOON

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Therefore, there is now no condemnation

for those who are in Christ Jesus.

—Romans 8:1

To my family and friends and church, who put up

with my weird writing moments and risk getting

put into a book. All of you are the greatest!

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Rae Benton could not believe who had just walked into the mortuary chapel. The man who’d killed her father had the gall to attend his victim’s funeral.

With hands clenched as tightly as her jaw, she lifted her gaze from the inexpensive casket, up Hunter Gordon’s lean frame to meet his eyes. In the muted light, she couldn’t see the vivid blue, just the intensity that carried both empathy and wariness. She could buy the wariness; after all, he couldn’t expect to be welcomed here. But empathy? Hunter might not have pulled a trigger, but he was responsible for her father’s untimely death. He had no right to show any compassion.

He came to stand near her. “I’m sorry, Rae.” His voice had deepened during his years in prison, yet she could barely hear it in the quiet chapel. His words were obviously meant for her alone. “I wish I could have been here sooner.”

“Because you’ve just been released?” she muttered. “How did you get here so fast? Dorchester Penitentiary is a two-hour drive from here. They don’t release inmates at dawn.”

“I hitched a ride with a guard coming off duty.”

“Who told you Dad had died?”

His compassionate expression faltered slightly, but his voice stayed calm. “We stopped for gas up the road. The clerk told me. I came straight here.”

Edith Waterbrook owned the only gas station in the small New Brunswick village of Green Valley. Which meant if she’d recognized Hunter after ten years, everyone would soon know he’d been released. And had headed straight to the funeral.

Rae found herself fighting back the conflicting urges to smack him, and to feel again the comforting embrace he’d given her that day a decade ago when her family’s shop had burned to the ground.

Correction. The day Hunter had burned the workshop to the ground and destroyed Benton Woodworking, a livelihood the family had relied on for nearly a century. The day the police had arrested him for arson.

She recalled the savage blaze, how she’d come home to find the family business overcome by heat so intense that all the firefighters could do was hose down her nearby home so it, too, wouldn’t catch fire.

After all these years, the memory of those burning joists and beams still devastated her. A knot formed in her throat. Dad, why didn’t you have the strength to fight the cancer? I need you. I have no one now.

A scene from three days ago flooded back. Rae hated the memory. Her dad, in the hospital, weakened and bone thin, had grabbed her hand with surprising strength and forced her to agree to the unthinkable. He’d asked her to forgive Hunter and let…

Robert Benton had collapsed, unable to finish his sentence.

To placate her father, she’d agreed. But forgive Hunter? Never.

All she wanted was to be left alone to mourn her dad’s death, and to continue to build the business. And forget she ever knew Hunter Gordon.

The organist started playing some soft, sad music. Rae felt the touch of the funeral director’s white-gloved hand and allowed him to direct her to her seat.

Sitting, she watched Hunter scan the crowd, his suspicious eyes probing each face. When he reached hers, he swung around to find a chair as far away as possible.

His presence, however, filled the chapel, overpowering the somber mood with an emotion Rae refused to analyze.

“Who’s that?”

Rae looked into her cousin’s red-rimmed eyes. Annie Dobson had spent the last three days crying. Rae appreciated the sentiment; after all, Dad had been Annie’s favorite uncle. But with her own emotions roiling like oil and water, Rae could barely answer.

She finally forced the words through gritted teeth. “Hunter Gordon.”

Annie’s jaw dropped. On her other side, her husband swore. With his thick, dark brows knitted together, Kirk tried to locate Hunter in the crowd.

“Never mind him,” Rae stated quietly.

“We can ask him to leave,” Annie suggested.

“Or kick him out,” Kirk muttered.

The ideas tempted her, but Rae shook her head. There had been no collective gasp of recognition, and she didn’t want to make a scene. “Let him be. I don’t care if he’s here or not.” Despite her words, she stole another glance around. Andy Morrison had just slipped in and was making his way to the only available chair—beside Hunter.

Quickly, Rae faced the front, not wanting Andy to catch her eye. Of course he’d come. Thinking himself her suitor, he’d find any excuse to be near her.

Hot tears stung her eyes during the service. Battling them turned her body into a tight bundle of quivering nerves. And the whole time, she felt Hunter’s heated gaze fixed on her.

Perhaps she should ask the director to remove him. But she really didn’t want to cause a scene at her father’s funeral. Dad deserved better.

Rae dared another short glance over her shoulder. Hunter had matured in prison, into a handsome man who wore wariness as easily as she wore the loose navy suit Annie had loaned her for the funeral.

His nose looked as if it had been broken a few years back. On one side a scar ran from his nostril to the dark blond hair at his temple. His closed eyes and bowed head added a secrecy to his demeanor. Was he praying?

She snapped her attention to the front, where the pastor was finishing his short message.

What was Hunter praying for? Dad was dead, and Hunter had better not be praying for her to find peace. He had no right! she thought with outrage.

A moment later, she felt contrition swooping in. That wasn’t fair to Hunter.

After the casket was wheeled past, Rae let her cousin guide her out, keeping her head down to avoid the eyes of the crowd, and especially Hunter.

The interment half an hour later was pure torture. Autumn had provided a clear day with a warm wind, enticing well-meaning mourners to linger.

Relief washed over Rae when she and Annie entered the church hall, where refreshments waited. Hunter was nowhere in sight. If God had any mercy at all, she’d never see Hunter Gordon again.

“I believe Rae’s in danger. We both are. You’ve got to help us, Hunter.”

Recalling Robert Benton’s last visit, just over a week ago, Hunter stopped at the edge of Rae’s driveway. His mentor had shown him pictures of the new building.

Being here now felt so unreal. Hunter had been barely an adult when he’d gone to prison. Now he was nearly thirty.

One time, early on, when Benton had visited, he’d chided Hunter for fighting, saying it would lessen his chances at an early parole. Hunter hadn’t wanted to see him that day, let alone listen to a lecture.

Things had changed.

Today, Hunter smiled humorlessly into the thick woods beside the driveway. He’d ended up serving the full sentence. He’d survived the “range,” a place where cells faced each other across what was dubbed one of the meanest streets in Canada.

More than survived. After establishing a mean reputation, he’d done a 180, and given his life to Christ.

The warm breeze snaking through Green Valley waned in this sheltered corner near the top of the hill, but it still carried dampness from the nearby Bay of Fundy. Why was he really here? He owed Benton nothing, a part of Hunter argued. He’d kept Benton’s secrets, even when Benton wanted to ease his conscience and tell Rae everything.

Again, that last visit returned to him. “You have to keep Rae safe, Hunter. She’s in danger. I don’t trust anyone else.”

He’d straightened. “Why? What’s going on?”

“I don’t have all the proof yet.” The old man had swiped a shaking hand across his gaunt face. “It’s complicated. I tried to tell you in a letter once, but it was too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than what we’d been doing?”

Benton had nodded. Hunter had folded his arms, then unfolded them. Help me forgive him, Lord. “What’s going on?”

“Someone’s lurking around the shop. I found gas-soaked rags there. I burned them in the woodstove before I told Rae. She didn’t believe me. We need to figure out what to do when I come get you. It’s only a week away.” The man had coughed violently, drawing the attention of other visitors in the room.

Hunter knew then that the cancer was really bad. His chest had tightened. “You should go back to your doctor.”

“After I’m done here. But first, listen. I talked to God last night. I know He’s forgiven me, but I feel I should tell Rae about the fire.”

Hunter had shaken his head. “Do you think that’s wise?” He’d leaned closer as clarity slammed into him with shocking force. “You’d have to tell her everything. It’d be too hard on her.”

“She deserves the truth. I only just told her about the cancer.”

“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.