Keeping Her Safe. Barbara Phinney

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,