Keeping Her Safe. Barbara Phinney

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ