Keeping Her Safe. Barbara Phinney
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.
TWO
Again, Mr. LeBlanc asked, “Do you want to contest the will?”
Hunter watched Rae. Guessing her thoughts was easy: If only she had the money to buy him out.
Her eyes lingered on her father’s signature. Was she thinking of Benton’s life insurance? There should be enough remaining after the funeral expenses to buy out Hunter’s share of the estate. Then she would own it all.
The thought caused something to lurch within him. He’d have money and freedom. He could leave, go somewhere to start again.
What about Benton’s warning?
She stood. “No, I won’t contest it. Do all the necessary paperwork, please. There’s no hurry. I know there will be things like income tax, and any liens to be sorted out.”
Hunter rose in turn as she reached across the table to shake Mr. LeBlanc’s hand.
“Call us when you have the papers ready,” she said, and walked past them both, out of the office and into the brilliant fall sunshine. Hunter shook the lawyer’s hand, then followed her out.
She said nothing all the way home. As soon as she’d parked the truck, she hurried into the workshop. A few minutes later, Hunter found her scribbling notes on a pad at the desk there. He hesitated. It had been nearly an hour since the lawyer had dropped his bomb, and Hunter still hadn’t absorbed it all.
Rae looked up as he walked toward her desk. “I guess I can’t tell you what to do, now that you own half of everything.”
Stolen from Rae, a voice inside him whispered, because you and Benton dabbled on the wrong side of the law before Benton panicked when another man—what was his name?—began to threaten him.
Was that the danger Benton had mentioned? Hunter pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the desk. “Rae,” he began, “we need to talk. I wasn’t completely truthful with you earlier.”
“How so?” She looked up from her writing.
“You asked when your father talked to me about violence, and I let you believe it was before I went to prison. I’m sorry. He did talk to me in prison, about violence and about something else. He visited with me in jail.”
She set down her pen and seemed to freeze there, waiting for him to continue. He went on. “Your father told me that you’re in danger.”
Her gaze pinned him. “In danger? How so?”
Here came the difficult part. How was he supposed to warn her, yet not tell her everything? Though Benton had wanted to confess his crime to his daughter, Hunter had no desire