Hunter
Chapter Sixteen
Hunter
T he early morning light filtered through Pine Haven’s historic windows, casting long shadows across Mrs. Wheeler’s statement. Agent Blake had arranged the pages neatly on my desk, each one detailing years of careful deception—helping my mother gather evidence while playing both sides. The complexity of it made my head spin—memories of casual conversations with Mrs. Wheeler at town events taking on new, darker meanings.
“Are you okay?” Amelia touched my arm gently, her fingers warm against my sleeve. The familiar scent of her coffee—hazelnut with a hint of cinnamon—wrapped around me, grounding me as she had so many times lately.
Before I could answer, baby Chad’s happy gurgle echoed through the lobby’s pine-paneled walls. Taylor had him in a carrier while she helped Claire with social media responses, her fingers flying across her laptop keyboard. The sight of my sister and nephew, bathed in morning light, stirred a profound sense of gratitude—family drawing close when we needed it most.
“Need a break?” Van appeared beside us, reading my expression like he had since we were kids playing baseball in his backyard. “I’m heading to check out the baseball field for the youth clinic. Walk with me?”
I glanced at Amelia, who smiled encouragingly, the morning sun catching the gold in her hair. “Go. Claire and I have the morning coverage handled.”
The kiss she pressed to my cheek was quick but tender, her lips soft against my skin, making Van grin knowingly as we headed out.
The morning air was crisp with the promise of fall as we walked the familiar path to the old baseball field. Pine needles crunched under our feet, the scent of mountain sage mixing with morning dew. Van’s presence beside me was familiar and comforting—the same steady friendship that had seen us through high school championships, college dreams, his rise to MLB stardom, and the dark days after my father’s and his parents’ death.
“So,” he said, pausing at the weathered dugout where we’d spent countless summer afternoons, “you and Amelia.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t help smiling, remembering how she’d looked in the early light. “Me and Amelia.”
“About time.” He picked up a stray baseball someone had left on the pitcher’s mound, its leather worn smooth by practice and dreams. “Remember when you helped me set up Catch the Dream? You said something I never forgot.”
“What’s that?” The morning sun warmed my face as memories of that day flooded back—Van’s excitement about giving kids a chance at baseball, my growing realization that I could make a difference.
“That sometimes the best dreams aren’t the ones we plan.” He tossed me the ball, its familiar weight landing in my palm like coming home. “You were talking about helping kids find their path to baseball, but man, you should see your face when you look at her.”
I caught the ball, running my thumb over the stitches the way Dad had taught me. “That obvious, huh?”
“To everyone except you two, for the longest time.” He grinned, leaning against the dugout’s faded blue paint. “Reminds me of me and Taylor. Sometimes the best things are right in front of us.”
“Speaking of Taylor...” I threw the ball back, watching it arc against the mountain backdrop. “How did you know? That she was the one?”
Van’s expression softened in the morning light, his usual confident demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. “Because she made me want to be better. Not just as a baseball player or a philanthropist, but as a person.” He paused, catching the ball with practiced ease. “The way Amelia does for you.”
“She does.” I sat on the old bleachers, the metal cool through my jeans. Van joined me, the familiar creak of the stands bringing back memories of countless games. “Even with everything—Mom being alive, Wheeler’s threats, all of it—she makes me feel...”
“Home,” Van finished. “Yeah, I get that.”
A hawk circled overhead, its cry echoing across the empty field. “The foundation’s youth clinic next month,” I changed subjects slightly, though my heart was full. “We’re still on for hosting it here, right?”
“Try and stop me.” Van’s eyes lit up with the same passion that had made him a baseball legend. “Assuming Pine Haven’s still standing.”
“It will be.” The certainty in my voice surprised me, as solid as the mountains rising behind us. “We’re not losing this place. Not with everyone fighting for it.”
“You know,” Van said thoughtfully, rolling the baseball between his palms, “when I first told you about helping set up my foundation, I thought you were just doing it as a favor to your best friend. But watching you with those kids, seeing how much you cared... I should’ve known you’d find your path to making a difference.”
“Saving Pine Haven isn’t just about property,” I admitted, watching shadows stretch across the field where generations of local kids had played. “It’s about community. Family. Future.”
“Speaking of the future,” Van’s smile turned knowing, reminding me of all the secrets we’d shared over the years. “Any plans there?”
Heat crept up my neck as I thought of the ring websites I’d been browsing. “One crisis at a time.”
“Right.” He laughed, the sound echoing off the dugout walls. “Because you haven’t been looking at engagement rings online.”
“How did you—”
“Taylor saw your browser’s history when she borrowed your laptop earlier.” He clapped my shoulder, his grip warm and steady. “Your secret’s safe with us. But for what it’s worth? She’ll say yes.”
“You think?”
“I know.” His expression turned serious, years of friendship in his eyes. “The way she looks at you... it’s real, Hunter. Don’t let Wheeler or anyone else make you doubt that.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed with a text from Amelia: Need you back here. Wheeler’s lawyers just arrived with paperwork.
My stomach clenched at the words.
Van read the message over my shoulder, his jaw tightening. “Want a backup?”
“Always.”
The lawyers waiting in the lobby looked smug as winter wolves, their expensive suits at odds with Pine Haven’s rustic warmth. With Van beside me and Amelia’s hand slipping into mine, her touch steady and sure, I felt ready for anything.
I was wrong.
The lawyers’ paperwork landed on the conference room table with a heavy thud that seemed to echo off the pine walls. Amelia stood beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as we read the filing, her familiar scent of vanilla and coffee grounding me. Taylor sat across from us, while Van kept Chad occupied in the corner. The baby’s innocent gurgles were a stark contrast to the tension filling the room.
“They’re challenging Mom’s original ownership transfer,” Taylor said, her voice tight as she scanned the documents. “Claiming she wasn’t mentally competent after her accident.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Amelia’s voice was sharp, protective anger coloring her words. “Mrs. Horton ran this place successfully for years after—” She paused, realizing what she’d said as afternoon light caught the worry in her eyes.
I squeezed her hand, feeling her mother’s bracelet between our palms. “It’s okay. We need to talk about both our mothers now.”
The lead lawyer, Paula Hale, smiled thinly, her red lipstick perfect and predatory. “Yes, let’s talk about mothers. Particularly Mrs. Miller’s convenient reappearance.”
“Careful,” Van warned, his MLB star presence filling the room. Even Chad seemed to sense the tension, falling quiet in his father’s arms.
“We have evidence,” Hale continued, each word precise as a knife, “suggesting collusion between Margaret Horton and Katherine Miller. A conspiracy to defraud legitimate developers—”
“You mean Crystal Ridge?” Taylor interrupted, her voice carrying the same steel I remembered from childhood arguments. “The same developers currently under federal investigation?”
Hale’s smile didn’t waver, though something flickered in her eyes. “We’re prepared to offer a generous settlement. Given the... complicated family dynamics at play.”
The way she said it made my blood boil, but Amelia’s hand on my shoulder anchored me, her touch carrying quiet strength. Early afternoon light slanted through the windows, casting shadow patterns across the conference table like bars.
“What family dynamics?” I asked carefully, though dread pooled in my stomach.
“Well,” Hale’s voice dripped false sympathy, “a son whose mother abandoned him, now romantically involved with the daughter of her supposed co-conspirator? It raises questions about... motivations.”
“Get out.” Amelia’s voice was quiet but steel, reminding me of her mother’s strength. “Any communication goes through our lawyers now.”
“Ms. Horton—”
“She said get out.” Van stood, Chad secure in one arm, his professional athlete’s presence suddenly intimidating. Even Hale’s perfect composure cracked slightly.
After they left, their expensive perfume lingering like poison, Amelia turned to me. “They’re trying to use us against each other.”
“I know.” I touched her cheek, feeling her slight tremor. “It won’t work.”
“But they have a point,” she whispered, vulnerability showing in her eyes. “About how it looks...”
“Hey.” I tilted her chin, making her meet my gaze. “Look at me. What we have? It’s real. No amount of legal maneuvering changes that.”
Taylor cleared her throat, though her eyes were soft watching us. “As touching as this is, we should focus on their actual filing. These ownership claims...”
“Could shut us down within days,” Amelia finished, professional concern warring with personal worry. “The festival season is about to start. If we lose control of operations now—”
“You won’t.” Van’s voice was firm, Chad sleeping peacefully against his shoulder. “The Catch the Dream Foundation has contracts with Pine Haven for our summer programs. We’ll file as an interested party.”
“And I know some people at the Historic Preservation Society,” Taylor added, already pulling out her phone. “Let me make some calls.”
I watched my sister and best friend jump into action, their support wrapping around us like a shield. Amelia leaned into me slightly, her warmth steady against my side.
“I had forgotten how amazing your family is,” she murmured.
“Our family,” I corrected softly. “All of us.”
Her smile made my heart flip, but Claire burst in before I could kiss her, her usually composed demeanor shaken.
“You need to see this,” she said, tablet extended. “Mrs. Wheeler just finished her formal statement to the FBI.”
The video showed Wheeler’s wife looking years older than yesterday, fear etched in every line of her face.
“Katherine Miller didn’t just survive the accident,” Mrs. Wheeler said quietly, her voice trembling. “She saw everything. And she wasn’t the only one there that night. Ask Arthur Horton about the missing evidence. Ask him about December 15th.”
The room fell silent except for Chad’s soft babbling, the sound emphasizing the weight of her words.
“December 15th?” Taylor frowned, her face paling. “What’s significant about—”
“That’s the day Mom died,” Amelia whispered, her hand finding mine instinctively. “The day Michael says he saw someone...”
My phone buzzed—a text from an unknown number that made my heart stop:
The truth isn’t always what we think, son. Sometimes the people closest to us keep secrets to protect us. Or themselves.
Look in our old ski lodge safe. Your father left something there the night before he died.
I’m so sorry for what comes next.
-Mom
The old ski lodge stood dark against the afternoon sky, its weathered timber telling stories of happier days. Amelia’s hand was steady in mine as our small group approached—Van and Taylor insisting on coming with us, Chad secure in his carrier, sleeping peacefully despite the tension.
“I can’t believe we never checked the safe here,” Amelia said, her voice barely above a whisper in the mountain quiet.
“Nobody’s used this building in years,” I replied, unlocking the door with keys that felt heavy in my hand. The metal was cold against my palm, like memories frozen in time. “After Dad died, our grandma closed it. Said it wasn’t safe.”
“Now we know why,” Taylor murmured, staying close to Van.
The interior smelled of dust and memories—pine boards, old wax, the ghost of hot chocolate from countless winter days. I’d learned to ski here, taught by my father while Mom watched from the window, her proud smile as warm as the cocoa she’d have waiting. A faded trail map behind the old rental counter hid the safe, its edges curling like fall leaves.
“Hunter.” Van’s voice was gentle, Chad stirring slightly in his sleep. “Whatever’s in there...”
“We face it together,” Amelia finished, squeezing my hand. The afternoon light through dusty windows caught her mother’s bracelet, making it shine like hope.
The combination came easily—Dad’s birthday, one he’d used for everything despite Mom’s teasing about security. Inside lay a single envelope, my name written in his familiar scrawl, the sight of it making my throat tight.
“Read it,” Taylor encouraged softly, moving closer.
My hands shook as I opened it, the paper carrying a faint trace of Dad’s aftershave:
“Hunter,
If you’re reading this, something’s happened. The evidence Katherine and I found about Crystal Ridge goes deeper than property fraud. There’s a list of names—people who’ve been silenced, bought off, or worse.
Margaret Horton has been helping us gather proof. But someone in her family is working with them. Someone close.
Be careful who you trust. Some battles are worth fighting, no matter the cost.
Dad”
“He knew,” I whispered, the paper trembling. Winter light through dirty windows cast long shadows across the floor. “He knew how dangerous this would be.”
Amelia touched my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized had fallen. Her fingers were warm against my skin, grounding me in the present. “He was trying to protect you. He’d be proud of you now.”
“Someone in your mom’s family,” Taylor said, bouncing a fussy Chad whose small sounds echoed in the dusty space. “Working with Crystal Ridge?”
“Michael already admitted he was there that night,” Van pointed out, his arm protective around Taylor.
“But he was just a kid,” Amelia protested, though doubt crept into her voice. “He wouldn’t—”
Claire’s arrival cut her off, her boots leaving prints in the dust as she hurried in. “Sorry to interrupt, but Wheeler’s lawyer just filed an emergency injunction. They’re shutting down the resort. Today.”
“What?” Amelia straightened her mother’s strength showing in her spine. “They can’t—”
“They can.” Claire handed her the paperwork, its official seal gleaming dully. “They’re citing safety violations that were reported by... by your father.”
The silence was deafening, broken only by Chad’s soft whimpers.
“No,” Amelia shook her head, paper crinkling in her grip. “Dad wouldn’t...”
“Call Agent Blake,” I said to Claire. “Now.”
But before she could, all our phones chimed simultaneously. A group text from an unknown number cut through the mountain quiet:
Some betrayals run in the family. Arthur Horton made a deal fifteen years ago—his silence for his children’s safety. Ask him about the real estate commission. Ask him about Richard Miller’s brakes.
Time to decide, princess. Sign over Pine Haven, or learn how deep family loyalty really goes.
PS - Check your father’s hospital security footage from last night. Particularly his midnight visitor.
Attached was a single photo: Arthur Horton shaking hands with Crystal Ridge’s CEO, time-stamped four hours ago. The image was clear despite the hospital’s dim lighting, no denying the truth it revealed.
“Dad...” Amelia’s voice broke, the sound echoing off the wooden walls that had witnessed generations of joy and betrayal.
I pulled her close as Taylor gasped, feeling her tremble against me. The scent of her shampoo mixed with mountain air and old memories.
“Guys?” Van’s voice was urgent, Chad now fully awake and crying. “The resort’s power just went out.”
We watched through the lodge’s grimy windows as Pine Haven went dark, section by section, like hope being extinguished. The afternoon shadows seemed to deepen with each failing light.
The last text came as darkness crept across the valley, our phones’ screens casting an eerie glow in the dimness:
Some secrets are worth killing for. Just ask your mothers.
The message hung in the dusty air of the old lodge, where my father had once taught me about trust, where family bonds had once seemed unbreakable. Now, surrounded by those I loved most, I felt the weight of our mothers’ secrets and the price of truth settling around us like fresh snow—beautiful, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.