Hunter
Chapter Twelve
Hunter
M orning sunlight gilded Pine Haven’s century-old timber beams, casting long shadows across freshly swept pathways as the first festival guests arrived. I watched Amelia welcome each family from my position on the wraparound deck. Despite only catching a few hours of sleep after our discovery at the wishing well, her natural warmth drew people in. The way she kneeled to meet children at eye level, remembered returning guests’ names, and pointed out the best spots for photos. It all seemed effortless.
A light breeze carried the scent of Marie’s fresh-baked pastries and early blooming mountain wildflowers. Agent Blake appeared beside me, her casual tourist attire carefully chosen to blend with the growing crowd.
“Area secure?” she asked quietly, sunglasses concealing her watchful gaze.
“Perimeter teams in place. Undercover agents dispersed through the festival grounds. Local deputies are covering all access roads,” I confirmed, noting the positions of each security member I could spot. They moved naturally through the crowd, indistinguishable from excited tourists.
“And the evidence from the well?”
My hand instinctively touched my jacket pocket, where the safe deposit box key rested. The weight of it reminded me of everything at stake. “Safe. The documents we found...” I paused, still processing their implications. “They’re devastating. Your team has copies?”
She nodded, tracking Wheeler’s arrival with subtle precision. His expensive shoes seemed out of place on Pine Haven’s rustic paths, his smile too sharp for the festive atmosphere. “Analysis running now. But today—“
“Act normal,” I finished. “Give them rope.”
“Exactly.” Something hardened in her expression. “We’ve got eyes on him. Take care of her.”
I watched Amelia laugh with a young family, helping their children trace festival routes on colorful maps. Her hair caught the morning light, and a wave of emotion swept over me. “Always.”
The morning flowed into afternoon, Pine Haven’s familiar sounds filling me with an overwhelming tenderness—children’s laughter echoing off ancient beams, the gentle strum of local musicians by the fountain, vendors calling greetings in familiar mountain accents. The aroma of Marie’s famous bear claws mingled with pine needles warmed by the sun, creating a scent uniquely Pine Haven.
“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Claire appeared beside me, tablet tucked under her arm. Her eyes constantly scanned the crowd —a new habit since taking on festival security coordination. I’d noticed how personally she’d taken each threat, staying late into the night to triple-check protocols.
“Just thinking she was right,” I nodded toward Amelia, now leading a historical tour. Her voice carried across the courtyard as she shared stories of Pine Haven’s early days, her passion evident in every word. “About what this place means to people.”
“Gross, you’re getting mushy.” But Claire’s smile held genuine warmth. “Security updates. Wheeler has made three calls since arriving. Our team’s monitoring.”
“And the other matter?”
“Dinner arrangements confirmed. Secret service level security in place.” She winked, but I caught the concern beneath her teasing. “Romance, with a side of responsible protection. Just...” She hesitated. “Be careful up there, okay? Some of us are invested in this whole thing working out.”
I’d been planning this all day, a proper date to make up for the one Wheeler interrupted. My certainty grew as I watched Amelia work her magic through the festival. She knew every returning guest by name, greeting the Wilsons—their fortieth year visiting Pine Haven—with genuine hugs. She helped Mrs. Patel find the perfect viewing spot for the artists’ demonstration, remembering the elderly woman’s preference for shade and quiet.
“The place hasn’t felt this alive in years,” Marie beamed from her pastry stall, already half-sold out of her famous bear claws. A line of tourists and locals alike waited eagerly for her mountain berry tarts.
The old ski lodge buzzed with life, transformed into an artisan marketplace. Tom Parker’s wife, Pat, demonstrated traditional mountain quilting patterns while sharing stories of pieces made for generations of Pine Haven guests. Local photographers’ work lined the walls, stunning shots capturing the property through seasons and years. Some featured Amelia’s mother at various events, her smile so like her daughter’s it stirred a deep ache within me.
“Hunter!” Amelia caught my eye across the crowd, sunlight catching the auburn highlights in her hair. “Tell them about the environmental education center plans.”
Pride warmed my chest as we outlined our vision together, her hand occasionally brushing mine as we talked. Each brief touch sent awareness shimmering through me, but I maintained a professional focus. The reporters seemed genuinely impressed, especially when Claire shared community response statistics.
“Social media’s exploding,” Claire announced later, her excitement clear as she showed us her phone. “The hashtag #PineHavenCommunity is trending locally. Look at these photos people are sharing!”
Through the afternoon, I caught glimpses of Wheeler skulking around the edges of celebrations, his expensive suit out of place among festival wear. His face darkened with each positive media interaction, each successful event. When the local news crew arrived to cover the traditional sunset ceremony, barely concealed fury radiated from him.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered as he passed, but I barely heard him. I was watching Amelia lead a group of children in making traditional pine cone bird feeders, her laugh carrying across the grounds. She looked so much like the photo of her mother doing the same activity fifteen years ago—the one hanging in her office—that my heart squeezed.
The festival wound down as Golden Hour painted Pine Haven in warm amber tones. Guests lingered, reluctant to let the magical day end. When Amelia finally handed off closing duties to Claire, I was waiting.
“Got plans tonight?” I asked casually, though my heart hammered.
She smiled tiredly, a smudge of glitter from the children’s craft station sparkling on her cheek. “Sleep?”
“Counter offer.” I took her hand, savoring the way her fingers naturally intertwined with mine. “Let me take you to dinner. Somewhere special.”
“Hunter...” She glanced around at the lingering security teams, concern creasing her brow.
“All arranged.” I squeezed her fingers. “Agent Blake approved the location herself.” I watched hope battle exhaustion in her eyes. “Let me give you this. Please?”
Her expression softened. “How can I say no when you ask like that?”
An hour later, I led her onto Pine Haven’s highest trail. The path was lined with tiny solar lights, their gentle glow matching the emerging stars overhead. She gasped when she saw what waited in the clearing—a table for two draped in cream linen, twinkling lights strung in the surrounding pines, and a view of the sunset painting her beloved mountains in shades of rose and gold.
“Hunter...” Her voice caught.
“Too much?” I watched her face anxiously.
“It’s perfect.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she took in the setup. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“You deserve perfect things,” I said simply, leading her to the table.
Dinner was intimate and relaxed, security teams maintaining a discrete distance. The gentle breeze carried the scent of wildflowers from Claire’s arranged centerpiece, mixing with the pine-scented mountain air. Amelia’s laugh, her real one that crinkled her nose, came more freely with each passing moment.
“Tell me something,” she said as we lingered over dessert, the candles casting a warm glow across her features. “When did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That this—“ she gestured between us ”—was more than just helping save Pine Haven?”
I considered carefully, remembering mornings watching her work. “Remember that morning you were helping Fernando with breakfast? You had flour in your hair, you were exhausted, but you still made time to learn every guest’s name, just like your mom used to do. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”
Her blush was beautiful in the candlelight. “That long ago?”
“Probably before,” I admitted. “I just couldn’t admit it to myself. My father would have liked you, you know. Your determination, your heart...”
She reached across the table, taking my hand. “I have a confession, too.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve always felt something for you,” she said softly. “But watching you these past weeks, seeing how much you care about Pine Haven, the people here... made those feelings so much deeper. Real.”
“And here I thought you were just tolerating me,” I teased gently.
Her smile was warm in the candlelight. “Thank you. For this. For everything.”
“Amelia—“ My phone buzzed. Then hers.
Claire’s text made my blood run cold: GET BACK NOW.
We raced down the trail, security converging around us. The sight that greeted us at Pine Haven stole my breath.
Red paint dripped down the front entrance like blood. Windows were shattered. And carved into the wooden doors was a message:
Found your mother’s evidence. Recheck the safe deposit box, princess. Some secrets should stay buried.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was the pile of ashes in front of the door—the remains of what looked like documents. And on top, a familiar key.
The same key we’d found in the wishing well.
Which meant someone on our team had betrayed us.
Agent Blake materialized from the darkness, and her team was already processing the scene. “Perimeter security cameras were looped. Inside job.”
“Found your mother’s evidence,” I murmured, reading the message again. “Recheck the safe deposit box, princess. Some secrets should stay buried.”
“The key’s a fake,” I said quietly, drawing her close. Her subtle trembling betrayed her exhaustion. “We switched them.”
Her head snapped up. “What?”
“After the well.” I glanced at Agent Blake, who nodded. “We made duplicates. The actual key and documents are in FBI custody.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Plausible reactions,” Agent Blake answered. “We needed whoever’s working with Wheeler to believe you had the originals.”
Understanding dawned in Amelia’s eyes. “You knew there was a mole?”
“Suspected,” I corrected, brushing ash from her sleeve. “After Wheeler knew too many details about our movements.”
Claire joined us, her usual energy subdued. “Security footage before the loop shows four people entering: two groundskeepers and...” She paused, a real pain in her expression.
“Who?” Amelia pressed.
“Deputy Roberts and Sophie.”
My arms tightened around Amelia as she swayed. The deputy who’d been so helpful, taken our statements and knew every detail of our protection plan. Sophie, who’d brought cookies to staff meetings. Who’d decorated the front desk for every holiday? Who knew every regular guest’s preferences and anniversary dates?
Claire’s revelation about Sophie hit me like a physical blow. Sophie, who’d teared up when I shared stories about my father’s time here. Every interrupted moment, every conveniently timed appearance, all calculated, all betrayal.
“Both been on Crystal Ridge’s payroll,” Agent Blake confirmed grimly. “Sophie’s been feeding them information for months, and Roberts has been on their books for years.”
“So every time Sophie interrupted us...” Amelia’s voice trailed off as the pieces clicked into place.
“She was gathering intel,” I finished grimly. “All those convenient interruptions...”
“The festival,” Amelia straightened. “All those people coming tomorrow...”
“Will be perfectly safe,” I assured her. “This?” I gestured to the vandalism. “Are desperate people making mistakes.”
Agent Blake nodded. “We’ve got both Roberts and Sophie under surveillance. They’ll lead us to Wheeler.”
“In the meantime,” Claire added, “we’ve got cleanup crews coming. The festival opens in eight hours.”
I expected Amelia to crumble. Instead, she squared her shoulders.
“Then we better get to work.” She turned to me. “Still have those marketing contacts who owe you favors?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Call them. We’re not just cleaning this up; we’re turning it into a statement.”
The vandalism transformed through the night as the community rallied. Fiona Jones from the flower shop arrived with her teenage art students, armed with brushes and inspiration.
“We’ll make it beautiful,” Fiona promised, sketching flowing designs to incorporate the red paint streaks into rising phoenixes.
Tom Parker and his sons worked on the windows, their truck loaded with salvaged stained glass from the old church renovation. His hands moved with practiced skill as they turned broken windows into canvases.
“See these patterns?” Tom traced the aged glass. “By morning, those broken windows will tell Pine Haven’s story in colored light.”
Marie arrived with thermoses of coffee and fresh pastries for the volunteers. “Can’t work on empty stomachs,” she insisted, passing out still-warm cinnamon rolls—the familiar scent wrapped around us like a hug, fighting back the night’s chill.
Claire coordinated it all, but her tablet was forgotten as she helped direct artists and organize supplies. Her usual snark gave way to fierce protectiveness. I caught her wiping tears when the Wilsons showed up with their grandchildren, everyone carrying cleaning supplies.
“Forty years of memories here,” Mrs. Wilson said firmly. “Not letting some bully ruin it for the next generation.”
Amelia moved through it all with grace, though I saw the tension in her shoulders. She stopped to hug Fiona, admire Tom’s designs, and thank each volunteer.
“You’re amazing,” I told her as we took a brief break. We sat on our deck, watching the transformation below.
“I’m terrified,” she admitted quietly. “But I keep thinking about Mom, about your father. They didn’t back down. Neither will I.”
I took her hand, marveling at her strength. “Have I told you today that I’m falling in love with you?”
She turned to me, surprised and something softer in her eyes. “Actually, you haven’t.”
“Well, I am.” I brought her hand to my lips. “More every minute.”
“Even with all this chaos?”
“Especially with all this chaos.” I smiled against her fingers. “You’re extraordinary, Amelia Horton.”
Amelia moved to the railing, watching the transformation below. Artists worked by floodlight, turning Crystal Ridge’s vandalism into a story of resilience. The sight of her there, backlit by warmth and hope, filled me with a rush of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Even exhausted, even worried, she was the strongest person I knew.
“Hey,” I said softly, joining her. “Talk to me.”
“I was just thinking about our date,” she said, surprising me. “How perfect it was, before...”
“We can do it again,” I promised, meaning every word. “As many times as you want.”
She turned to me, moonlight catching the gold in her hair. “You meant what you said? About falling in love?”
“With all my heart.”
“Even with all this?” She gestured to the concerned faces below, the evidence team working quietly, the fresh paint barely dry.
“Amelia.” I took her hands in mine, feeling their slight tremor. “Everything that’s happened—the threats, the vandalism, all of it—has only shown me more reasons to love you. Your strength, your determination, how you care for everyone around you...”
“Hunter,” she whispered, and my name on her lips gave me courage.
“I know the timing is crazy,” I continued. “I know we’re in the middle of a crisis. But I need you to know that I’m in this. Not just the fight for Pine Haven but for us. Whatever comes next, I’m by your side.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she was smiling. “I’m falling in love with you, too,” she whispered. “Maybe I always have been.”
When our lips met, the kiss was gentle yet full of promise. She curled her fingers into my shirt as I cradled her face, and for a perfect moment, nothing existed but us.
Claire cleared her throat, but her usual snark was replaced by genuine regret at interrupting.
“Sorry to interrupt the moment,” she said, “but you need to see this.”
She held out her tablet. An email had just arrived:
To the Board of Tourism,
Evidence has emerged of serious safety violations at Pine Haven Resort. The attached documentation proves years of covered-up accidents, unauthorized repairs, and potential dangers to guests. Given tomorrow’s festival, immediate action is required.
Sincerely,
A Concerned Citizen
“They’re doing all they can to shut down the festival,” Amelia realized.
“No,” Agent Blake said sharply, reading over Claire’s shoulder. “They’re setting up an excuse for something to go wrong tomorrow.”
An icy dread swept over me as I pulled Amelia closer. “What are you saying?”
“They’re not planning to stop the festival,” Claire whispered, her fingers tight on her tablet. “They’re planning to sabotage it.”
Amelia’s hand found mine, squeezing tight. The moonlight caught the determination in her profile, like her mother’s portrait in the main hall. “Then we’ll be ready.”
“We will,” I promised, pressing a kiss to her temple. The scent of her shampoo mingled with traces of woodsmoke from the cleanup efforts, grounding me in the present.
Around us, Pine Haven hummed with renewed energy. A flash of movement caught my eye—someone in the shadows near the old trail. Before I could react, Agent Blake’s team moved silently into position. But they found only a camera, its timer still blinking.
A new message glowed on the preview screen: Smile for the camera, lovebirds. Tomorrow’s show will be unforgettable.
“That’s it.” Urgency gripped me as I pulled out my phone, a need to shield and act taking over. “We’re canceling the festival.”
“No.” Amelia caught my arm, her touch sending warmth through me despite everything. “That’s exactly what they want.”
Agent Blake approached with the seized camera in an evidence bag. “She’s right. They’re escalating because the festival threatens them. Today’s success, the positive press, community support—it’s all working against their plans.”
The night wind carried the scent of pine, mingled now with fresh paint and Marie’s cinnamon rolls. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called—nature’s watchman keeping vigil as we prepared for whatever dawn might bring.
Above it all, Pine Haven stood proud, its windows beginning to glow with Tom’s stained glass art, telling its story in jeweled light against the darkness.
Tomorrow would change everything.
I just prayed we were ready.