By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense
Publication Date: June 2006
ISBN #
0-373-87371-9
Copyright: 2006
Chapter One
On the path Detective Becca Hilliard paused for a second, taking in
her surroundings at the Garden of the Gods Park. As she approached a crime
scene, she liked to get her bearings, especially when it was outside.
The metallic stench of blood laced the cool morning air. A pale blue
sky with a few streaks of white stretched out above her. The soaring red
rock formations in the park and Pikes Peak jutting upward in the
background vied for her attention. The day was beautiful. Too beautiful
for a murder, but since being transferred to homicide, she had learned a
murder could happen anywhere, anytime.
A few uniforms stationed around the perimeter of the crime scene and,
off to the side, a young couple with her partner, Sam Vance, were the only
people in this more isolated area of the park. The man had his arm around
the woman, trying to comfort her. Sam spoke to the blond lady whose pale,
tear-streaked face brought forth all the churning emotions Becca
experienced when viewing a violent crime. She wasn't sure she would ever
be able to anesthetize herself completely when seeing a dead body as some
of her fellow police officers managed to do.
Sam gave her a nod and headed toward her. "We gotta stop meeting like
this."
"I wish."
"It's Dahlia Sainsbury, the curator at the Colorado Springs
Impressionist Museum. With all that has happened lately, I can't say that
I'm surprised by this murder."
"Especially since she's suspected of a connection to the drugs that
were being distributed from the tunnels under the museum. Alessandro was
sure she knew what was going on. He believes that she'd tried to poison
Colleen. It would have only been a matter of time before we had a enough
evidence to formally charge her."
"Yeah, she was playing with the big boys, and they don't play fair."
"Do you think Escalante killed her because of what happened in the
tunnels with Alessandro? If so, why?" Becca gestured toward the face down
body of Dahlia, a bullet hole in her back, red fanning out from it.
Becca's gaze riveted to the dead woman's left arm stretched out above her
head. "It certainly wasn't robbery. That diamond bracelet on her arm has
to be worth a small fortune. And her purse is next to her."
"With everything in it as far as we can tell, it clearly wasn't
robbery. She was shot at very close range."
"Which means she was either surprised or knew the person who shot her
and was running away. How long has she been dead?"
"With lividity and rigor mortis, the medical examiner says between
6-10 hours. He'll know more after he examines the body at the morgue."
"So what was Dahlia Sainsbury doing in the park after hours?"
"Meeting someone? We found a set of footprints near the body. A
man's, from the size."
Becca stepped closer to the body and examined it, making sure not to
disturb any evidence since the Crime Scene Unit hadn't arrived yet. "It
doesn't look like there was much of a struggle.
Who found her? That couple?"
"Yeah, I've got some uniforms canvassing the area to see if anyone
else heard something, but I doubt it with this place's isolation."
"Let's separate our couple. You take the man. I'll take the woman."
Becca made her way toward the pair.
The blonde raised her head, her teary gaze taking in Becca's
approach.
"Hello, I'm Detective Becca Hilliard. May I have a word with you?"
She placed her hand on the woman's arm and directed her to the side away
from the young man. Reaching into her jacket pocket of her navy blue pant
suit, she retrieved her pad and pen then continued, "I'm so sorry you had
to find this. It's never easy, Ms...?"
"Carrie Young," the woman said with a sniffle, brushing her hand
across her cheek.
"Is that your boyfriend? Husband?"
Carrie glanced at the man talking to Sam. "Just a good friend. We
like to hike together. This was our favorite trail until--" She hugged
her arms to her, her eyelids sliding close for a few seconds while sucking
gulps of air into her lungs.
"Tell me what happened." Even after eight years on the force, Becca
had a hard time dealing with the effects that a death caused with the
people left behind. Interviewing the person who found a body or a loved
one of the victim drained her emotionally.
"There isn't much to tell. We were walking along the trail. She isn't
hard to see. She's--she's--" Carrie swallowed several times "--right
there two feet from the path." She waved her hand in the direction of the
body but didn't look at it, her mouth compressed into a frown.
"Did you touch her or anything?"
Carrie's eyes grew round. "Me? No! I couldn't. Bud did, though. He
checked for a pulse to see if she was alive."
"Where?"
"On her neck. He said she was cold." Carrie shuddered, clasping her
arms even tighter to her. "I had my cell phone. I called the police. We
waited for them at the trail head. I couldn't wait here." Another tremor
shook the woman.
"Can you think of anything else?"
"She wasn't dressed for hiking or the outdoors. She looks like she
was dressed for a date."
Becca remembered the spiked blue heels and matching silk dress that
Dahlia wore and had to agree with Carrie. Who had she been dating? Becca
jotted a note to herself to check into that. Maybe this wasn't connected
to the drug gang, Escalante and everything else that had happened in the
past few months, starting with the attempted murder of the mayor. First
rule of police work: don't assume anything.
The ring on Becca's cell phone blared "Old McDonald Had a Farm." She
unhooked it from her waist and flipped it open. "Hilliard here."
"A man's threatening to jump off the new building going up at Carson
and Quincy."
"I can be there in fifteen." She clipped the phone back on her belt
and said to Carrie, "I have to leave. My partner will take the rest of
your statement." She quickly moved to Sam. "Can you finish? That was Sarge.
I've got a jumper."
"Sure," Sam said as she started down the trail at a jog.
Two minutes later as the Crime Scene Unit pulled into the parking
lot, Becca peeled out, siren on, and raced toward the construction site,
hoping she made it before the person carried through with his threat. As a
member of the negotiation team for the police department, she responded to
hostage, suicide or barricade situations when the need arose. Her heart
raced with adrenaline pumping into her system as fast as her car sped
toward her destination.
Becca drove to the cordoned off area where the team leader had set up
his command post. Beyond the barricade a crowd gathered with their
attention glued to the top of the unfinished building. Leaping from her
car, she went to her trunk and removed her body armor. The man threatening
suicide stood on the top ledge ten stories up. Most likely he didn't have
a gun, but she never knew so she always wore protection.
"What do we have, Sarge?" Becca asked the team leader, Carl Johnson,
as she slipped on her body armor.
"I just got here myself a few minutes ago. Quinn Montgomery called
911 and is talking to the man right now. He's the man's boss, owns the
company putting up this building. The first person on the scene was a
uniform. He's up there now with Montgomery."
"Who's the jumper?"
"David James. Don't know much yet. Here, put this transmitter on."
Sarge handed her a beeper-like device for her to clip at her waist. "And
use this earpiece. I'll feed you information on the jumper as I get it."
She rode the elevator to the top floor and hurried toward the stairs
that led to the roof, nodding toward the uniformed officer standing guard
at the door. Wind played with stray strands of her ponytail. The sun beat
down, heating the concrete. She'd prefer to wear her sunglasses, but it
was important for David James to see her eyes and connect with her.
Instead, she squinted against the glare and headed toward a large man
standing a few feet from the jumper who was poised on the ledge. One step
the wrong way and David would go down ten stories.
"David, I'll help you anyway I can. Just come down from there."
Montgomery's deep, baritone voice held a calm, soothing tone. Becca
was impressed that even his stance didn't convey any irritation or anger.
She placed her hand on Montgomery's arm to indicate she was present since
his full attention was on his employee. He gave her a slight nod but kept
his gaze trained on the jumper.
David glanced her way. His eyes widened. He took a small step to the
side away from her and Montgomery, but didn't say anything.
"Hello, David. I'm Becca Hilliard. I'm a negotiator with the police.
I'd like to help you."
"Help me? No one can!"
Becca moved next to Montgomery, aware that his gaze was now on her.
The air sizzled with tension. "You don't think anyone can help you?"
David's attention darted to Montgomery then back to her. "My wife
left me and took the kids. Can you bring her back and make everything like
it was before--" He worked his mouth but no more words came out. Peering
away, he clenched his hands at his sides.
Montgomery started to take a step toward David. Becca stopped him and
shook her head. She mouthed the words, "Too dangerous."
David looked at her again. "I want things back the way they were."
"You sound frustrated."
"I am! There was no warning. I came home yesterday and she was gone."
Anger lining his face, the jumper snapped his fingers, the gesture making
him wobble.
Becca held her breath, knowing if he lost his balance neither she nor
Montgomery would be able to reach the man in time. David steadied himself,
his eyes growing round as he glimpsed the ground ten stories below. That
was a good sign. Perhaps David hadn't thought this suicide attempt
completely through. In her earpiece Sarge told her he would see what he
could discover about David's wife.
"Do you plan to commit suicide, David?" she asked, having learned it
was important to establish that up front.
He blinked. Montgomery stiffened beside her.
"I--I--don't--" David cleared his throat. "--yes, I don't have
anything to live for. My family's gone. I have bills I can't pay."
Becca started to push Montgomery back toward the stairs where it was
safer when he interjected, "I'll help you with that, David."
The jumper's gaze swung to the man next to her. Surprised by the
offer, she too wanted to look at Montgomery, but she didn't dare take her
eyes off David James. Again she acknowledged the calm power behind
Montgomery's words, as though he knew instinctively what to do in a
situation like this.
"You see, there are ways to help you, David. If you come down from
there, we can talk about it." Becca concentrated on keeping her voice
even, non threatening.
For a long moment David didn't say anything, then he shook his head
as though trying to rid his mind of some image. "Help? I've tried talking
to her. She won't listen."
"When you tried to talk to your wife, she wouldn't listen?"
David slowly turned so he could face her, but he remained on the foot
wide ledge. "Yes. I left messages at her mother's all evening and this
morning for her to call me. She didn't! I was late to work because of
her."
"Maybe she didn't get your messages."
Surprise flickered across his features. "You might be right! It
would be just like her mother not to tell her about my calls. She hates
me."
"Come down here and we can try again." Becca pulled out her cell
phone, dangling it in front of him as though it were a prize he couldn't
possibly resist.
David glanced at the ground to his left, then back at Becca. She held
her breath, hoping he would follow her gentle command. Sometimes that
worked, especially if he hadn't totally thought through committing
suicide.
David shrugged. "Okay."
Montgomery released a heavy sigh that mirrored her own feelings as
she watched David climb down from the ledge and walk toward her, holding
his hand out for the cell phone.
As he neared her, she began heading toward the stairs to the tenth
floor below, saying, "Do you want me to make the call?" She wanted to get
him as far away from the ledge as possible.
"No, I will."
David came up beside her while Montgomery took the rear. After
passing the phone to David, she threw a glance over her shoulder, wishing
Montgomery was a police officer in case they ended up in a scuffle. She
hated involving civilians. Montgomery smiled and nodded as though he could
read her mind and was reassuring her he could take care of himself. From
his muscular build no doubt he could, she decided, a connection arcing
between her and Montgomery. They were both determined to keep David from
jumping.
"Trish, pick up. This is David. I've got to talk to you. Please!"
Anger, mixed with frustration, returned to David's face. Becca slowly
retrieved her handcuffs from her pocket, prepared if he decided to dash
for the ledge again. If she had her way, he wouldn't, now that she had him
down from it.
He snapped the phone closed and cursed. "She's gonna regret not
taking my call when--"
Before David had a chance to finish his sentence, Becca grabbed his
arm and twisted first one then the other behind his back and locked the
handcuffs on his wrists. David jerked around, obviously intending to head
back up to the roof. Montgomery blocked David's path in the stairwell to
the tenth floor. From behind several uniformed officers rushed up and
whisked the jumper away, screaming his frustration.
All the emotions and tension she had held at bay during the ordeal
flooded Becca the minute she realized David wouldn't be jumping that day,
that he might get the help he needed. While the uniformed officers led him
away, she sagged against the handrail, squeezing her eyes closed and
drawing in cleansing breaths.
"Thank you."
Montgomery's deep voice penetrated the place she went in her mind
where she tried to regroup after a negotiation. When she opened her eyes,
he stood right in front of her, filling her vision, all six feet two
inches of him. Now that she had the time to examine him, he took her
breath away. Dressed in faded jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt, he
reinforced her earlier impression that he was all muscles and power. His
chocolate brown eyes twinkled as the seconds ticked into a full minute and
she hadn't said anything. A flush actually colored his cheeks.
"I'm sorry. I don't usually stare at people unless I think they're
going to commit a crime. But after a negotiation, I'm wiped out even when
they don't last long like this one."
The corner of his mouth cocked upward. "I think I know the feeling. I
was so glad when you showed up." He plowed both hands through his short
russet-colored hair, then scrubbed them down his face as though to wash
the past hour from his mind. "I don't know how you do it. Are you called
out much?"
"More than I wish. Usually a few times a month." She extended her
hand. "Thank you for your help."
He took her hand within his and shook it. "I wasn't gonna let David
jump."
His determination underscored her own in situations like this, and
the connection she had felt earlier between them crackled again.
Still grasping her hand, he said, "But you don't have to worry about
me applying for your job. One officer of the law in the family is enough
for me."
The firmness and warmth in his touch conveyed the man she had heard
about from his brother, Brendan, a former police officer who had until
recently worked with her. She'd casually known Quinn Montgomery from afar,
but suddenly there seemed nothing casual between them now.
"I miss Brendan at the CSPD, but he seems to be settling in at the
FBI," Becca said, trying to dismiss the feeling of interest hovering below
the surface.
"Yeah, he's a regular Elliot Ness."
"Not J. Edgar Hoover?" She started down the stairs, realizing that
Sarge would be waiting for her.
"Nah, Brendan's more a hands-on type of guy, like me."
"Is that why you were here? Isn't Montgomery Construction a big
operation?"
"I like to be involved in all the projects as much as possible,
especially with what has happened lately."
"That's right. Wasn't there a fire at your business a few months
back?"
"Yeah, my carpentry shop and storage barn were destroyed. A lot of
things have been happening to the Montgomery family lately. It pays to
keep an eye open. What's going to happen to David?" Quinn punched the down
button for the elevator.
"He'll get the help he needs." She slanted a glance toward Quinn
Montgomery, trying to remember all that Brendan had told her about his
older brother. "Did you mean what you said about helping him with his
bills?"
He nodded. "He'll need it."
"I've got a feeling David will appreciate it, especially when he
straightens out his life." Now she remembered what Brendan had once said
about his older brother. He was a man whose word was good as gold. She
liked that.
Stepping onto the elevator, Quinn said, "I'm in your debt for showing
up when you did. I didn't know how I was going to get him down from that
ledge. I'd run out of ideas."
"You were doing a pretty good job of keeping him calm. The important
thing was David was still there when I showed up."
That cocky smile reappeared. "I was afraid he could hear my knees
knocking and the sound would drive him over the edge."
She laughed.
He liked the sound of her laughter, light, musical as if it danced on
the air. "Seriously, if I can do anything for you, return the favor in any
way, please let me know."
"I was just doing my job, Mr. Montgomery."
"Quinn, and that doesn't mean I can't feel indebted to you for your
assistance up on the roof, Becca. David was one of my employees, part of
my family."
She turned her head toward him, her ponytail flying to one side with
the sudden movement. That drew his attention to her light brown hair,
streaked with blond coloring. Her large, hazel eyes focused on him, making
him aware of the small confines in the elevator. For a moment his gaze
connected with hers, and he became lost in her light brown depths with
green specks.
She blinked, stepping back a pace. "Thank you, but--"
The elevator doors whooshed open and the noise and activity rushed in
to remind Quinn of what had just transpired for the past sixty minutes.
What she was about to say to him was lost as a big man in a police uniform
approached them.
"Becca, you did a good job." The man looked toward Quinn. "I'm the
team leader, Carl Johnson. We'll need a statement from you, Mr.
Montgomery."
"Fine. I'll come down to the station later today." After shaking
Carl's hand, Quinn stepped to the side, seeing his younger brother coming
toward him. "Again, thank you, Becca, for your help. If you need anything,
let me know."
As Quinn walked away, he heard the man say to Becca, "We'll need your
report while it's still fresh in your mind. This one ended good."
Quinn paused to watch Becca leave with her team leader and another
police officer. Quinn still could picture her big eyes, full of life even
in the midst of such turmoil and possible death. Her look reminded him of
Maggie. The memory of the last time he'd seen Maggie pierced his heart. He
shook the reflection from his mind. He had moved on. He wouldn't go down
that path again.
From
The Book--Tidings of Joy
By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired
Publication Date: October 2006
ISBN #
0-373-81283-3
Copyright: 2006
Chapter One-Tidings of
Joy
Chance Taylor stepped off the bus and surveyed the town which was
nothing like where he'd spent the past two years. Yet for a few seconds he
fought the overwhelming urge to get back on the bus. Because no matter how
much he wanted to, he couldn't. Not until he'd paid his debt.
The bus pulled away from the curb, leaving him behind. No escape now.
The beating of his heart kicked up a notch. Chance glanced up and down the
street. Sweetwater. It was exactly as Tom Bolton had described it. Quaint
stores lined its Main Street. A row of Bradford pear trees down both sides
of the road offered shade in the heat of summer. Even though it was the
end of September, the hot air caused sweat to pop out on his forehead.
He closed his eyes to the vivid colors spread out before him--a red
sign above a door, yellow pansies about the base of the trees along the
street. He'd lived in a world he'd thought of as black and white. Now
every hue of the rainbow bombarded him from all sides. Opening his eyes to
the new world around him, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back
of his hand, then grabbed the one duffel bag with all his earthly
possessions and strode toward Alice’s Cafe.
Inside he scanned the diners, all engrossed in their food and
conversation. People doing normal, everyday things with no idea how their
life could change in a split second. But he knew.
Drawing in a deep breath, Chance took a moment to compose himself.
Again the question flashed across his mind: why had he come to Sweetwater?
Surely there was a better place, one he could get lost in. New York City.
Chicago. Even Louisville would have been better than this small town,
where according to Tom, everyone watched out for each other. He didn't
want that. Nosy neighbors had led to his destruction in the past. But
Sweetwater was the only place where he could fulfill his promise to
himself. He was stuck here for the time being, but once he had paid his
debt, he would leave as fast as a bus could take him out of town.
Chance saw Samuel Morgan in the back booth and headed toward him.
Aware of a few glances thrown his way, Chance hurried over, placed his
duffel bag on the floor, then slid in across from Samuel, his back to the
other diners.
Samuel grinned. "I didn't think you'd come."
"I said I would. About the only thing I have left is my word."
"Tom's death wasn't your fault. He made his choice."
"I have a chance to return a favor. I intend to. That's the least I
can do."
A waitress with a pencil behind her left ear paused near Samuel and
dug into her apron pocket for a pad.
"Want something to eat?" Samuel asked.
Chance shook his head, aware of the open curiosity in the older
woman's gaze. His stomach tightened. He should be used to people watching
him, having spent the past few years with no right to any privacy. But he
wasn't. All he wanted when he was through with Sweetwater was to find a
quiet corner of the world where he could put his life back together.
"Alice, I'll take another cup of coffee." Samuel pushed his mug
toward the edge of the table.
"Sure, Reverend. Be right back."
After Alice refilled Samuel's coffee and left, he said, "Your timing
couldn't be better. Tanya Bolton has just converted the space over her
garage into an apartment. She's looking for a tenant and you need a place
to stay. It's perfect."
Something in the reverend's expression alerted Chance that there was
more to it. "You didn't have anything to do with Tom's wife having an
apartment, now would you?"
Samuel's grin reached deep into his eyes. "I did mention it would be
a great way for her to make some extra money. She took the suggestion and
ran with it."
"I can't see the lady renting to an ex-con."
"You aren't an ex-con. Your conviction was overturned because you
were innocent. The police have the right guy in jail now."
The horror of the past few years threatened to deluge Chance with all
the memories he desperately needed to forget. He refused to let them
intrude, shoving them back into the dark corner of his mind. He didn't
have the emotional strength to return to the past. His wounds ran deep, to
his very soul. "It doesn't change the fact that I spent two years in
prison. When she finds that out--" He couldn't finish his sentence, the
words clogging his throat. The knot in his stomach grew.
Suddenly he pictured a man he'd thought was a good friend, and his
expression when Chance had seen him last week in Louisville. Fear had
flitted across his so-called friend's features before he could mask his
reaction to seeing Chance. Although in the eyes of the law he had been
exonerated, he had seen the doubt in the man's gaze. Did they have the
right guy this time?
Samuel leaned toward Chance and said in a low tone, "I'm not telling
Tanya anything about your recent past. I'll leave that for you to tell
when you feel ready. But I am going to vouch for you. I know you're a
good, honest man, and what you've come to Sweetwater to do is important to
you."
Chance thought about being so near Tom's wife on a daily basis. He
wasn't sure he could handle it, the constant reminder that he owed his
life to Tom. "Is there anywhere else I can rent a room?"
"Probably. But not as convenient, that is if you really want to help
Tanya. Or are you here to hide?"
Samuel's question pierced through the layers of protection Chance
used to shield himself from others. If he was smart, he would leave and do
exactly that.
"Look you don't have any way of getting around except walking, and
Tanya's house is close to downtown so you can get just about any place
you'll need to go from that apartment."
Chance held up his hand. "Okay, Reverend. You've convinced me. I'll
see the lady about it."
Samuel took a long sip of his coffee. "Good. I also have lined up the
interview with Nick Blackburn for that job I told you about when we spoke
last week on the phone. He's looking for an assistant to help him with the
part of his company he's moved to Sweetwater. Still interested?"
"I need a job while I live here, so yes, I'm still interested. What
does Mr. Blackburn know about me?"
"That you are a friend of mine, that's all."
"I'll have to tell him where I've been."
"Yeah, I know, but it needs to come from you. Nick will respect
that." Samuel sipped his coffee.
"When's the interview?"
"Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. His office is two blocks down on
Main. The brand new, seven story tall red brick building. You probably saw
it coming into town on the bus."
"Yeah. He works Saturdays?" Everything was moving so fast. Was he
ready to plunge back into the world of big business? Once that had been
his life. Once he'd worked long hours to get ahead at his job. Now he
wished he had that time back, that he'd spent it with the family he no
longer had.
"Sometimes. Usually he spends his weekends with his family, but he
knew you were arriving today and decided to do it tomorrow. He said
something about having to be in Chicago early next week."
"I've heard of Blackburn Industries. I didn't realize he'd moved his
corporate offices from Chicago to Sweetwater."
Samuel shrugged. "Love is a strong motivator. His wife is from here."
Samuel finished his cup of coffee. "I'll drive you over to Tanya's."
"No, I need to do this on my own. You can call her and give her a
reference so she'll open the door, but the rest will have to be up to me."
"Fine, but Chance, you aren't alone in this world. I told you that in
prison and I'm telling you that now."
"I know. I know, Reverend. God is with me. He stood by me while I
watched my family taken from me and while I was on trial. He was there
with me in prison when I was fighting for my life." Chance saw the
disappointment in Samuel's eyes that his sarcastic words had caused.
"I know how you feel, but you didn't give Him a chance to be with
you."
Chance slipped from the booth. He didn't want to hear it. Samuel knew
how he felt about the Lord who had abandoned him in his time of need.
They'd even had a discussion about it when Samuel had come to the prison
to minister to the inmates. "How do I get to Tanya Bolton's house?"
Samuel wrote an address on a napkin and handed it to him. "Go three
blocks north on Main to Second, then go five blocks east on Second and
that's Berryhill Road. Sure you don't want me to at least drop you off?"
"No, the exercise will be good for me." Chance turned from the booth
and headed for the door. The very act of going anywhere he wanted was
precious to him. He would never take freedom of movement for granted
again.
Outside he relished the warmth of the sun on his face, the fresh air,
laced with newly mowed grass and grilled meat from a barbecue restaurant
on the next block. A slender man dressed in a suit passed him on the
sidewalk and nodded a greeting. Automatically Chance returned it with his
own nod. The sudden realization that for the next few months he would be
thrust into the middle of life in a small town sent panic bolting through
him. He'd grown up in a small town and knew that little was a secret for
long. He didn't want to see the doubt and possibly even fear in the eyes
of the residents of Sweetwater when they learned he'd been in prison.
* * *
"I've got the sign out in front and I've advertised in the paper. Now
all I need is someone to rent the apartment over the garage," Tanya Bolton
said as she switched the cordless phone to her other ear.
"You did such a nice job fixing the place up. I don't think you'll
have any trouble finding a tenant."
"I hope you're right, Zoey, because I need the money. Having a
teenage daughter who's growing out of all her clothes is expensive."
"Will I see you at Alice's Cafe tomorrow?"
"Of course. I wouldn't miss our Saturday get together." Tanya lowered
her voice, cupping the mouthpiece closer to her. "I don't know if I would
have made it without you, Darcy, Beth and Jesse. You know I'll be there."
"See you tomorrow," Zoey Witherspoon said as a beep sounded,
indicating another call on the line.
Tanya pushed a button. "Hello?"
"This is Samuel. I'm glad you're home, Tanya. I've got a friend
coming over right now to see your apartment. He's going to be here for a
while and needs a place to stay."
"A tenant! I was just talking to Zoey about not having shown the
apartment to anyone yet."
"Then this is your lucky day. He'll be a great tenant. His name is
Chance Taylor."
The sound of the doorbell ringing drew Tanya's attention. She walked
toward the front door with the cordless phone still in her hand and
noticed through the frosted glass a large man on her porch. "Looks like
he's here. Thanks, Samuel. I really appreciate the referral." She laid the
phone on the table in the small foyer, then hurriedly opened the door.
Before her stood a man several inches over six feet tall with broad
shoulders, a narrow waist and muscular arms. His large presence dwarfed
her small porch and blocked her doorway. Her gaze flew to his face, taking
in his hard, square jaw, his nose that had been broken once, his vivid
blue eyes and his short black hair. All his features came together in a
pleasing countenance with just a hint of sadness in it. Surprised by that
thought, Tanya wasn't sure where the impression came from.
His neutral expression evolved into a half grin. "Tanya Bolton?"
His presence filled her vision. "Yes," she managed to say, stunned by
how overpowering Samuel's friend was.
"I'm Chance Taylor. Samuel was supposed to call you about me. I'd
like to rent your apartment."
The deep, baritone of his voice flowed over her, smooth like a river
of honey. Slowly his dark blue eyes lit with a gleam like periwinkles
basking in the sunlight. Then his mouth lifted in a full grin, causing
dimples to appear in both cheeks.
"Is it still for rent?"
She nodded, for some reason her voice still unable to work properly.
"How much?"
She mentally shook herself out of her daze. This was business. "Three
hundred a month plus utilities."
He dug into the front pocket of his black jeans and withdrew a wad of
cash. After peeling off three one hundred dollars, crisp and new, he
handed them to her.
She peered at the money, thinking of all the bills she needed to pay.
Then common sense prevailed. "I don't want to take your money until you've
seen the apartment."
"I'm not choosy about where I stay."
"The apartment is open. It's above the detached garage at the side of
the house. Why don't you go and take a look at it? I wouldn't feel right
if you didn't do that. I'll be along in a moment."
After repocketing his money, he tipped his head toward her. "I'll do
that, Mrs. Bolton."
She watched him descend the steps with duffel bag in hand, then head
for the garage. When he disappeared from view, she went into the kitchen
and grabbed the lease that Beth had insisted she needed a tenant to sign
and left the house by the back door.
Her daughter would be home from school in half an hour, and she hoped
to have this all settled by then. After she crossed the driveway, she
climbed the stairs to the apartment over the garage at the side of the
house. The door stood ajar.
Inside Chance slowly turned in a full circle, surveying the place, no
expression on his face. When he saw her, he stopped, one corner of his
mouth hitched in a half grin, dimpling one cheek. She was beginning to
wonder if that was his trademark.
"This is nice."
His compliment caused a catch in her throat. She'd worked hard on the
apartment with some help from her friends and was proud of what she'd
accomplished on a limited budget. "Thanks."
He faced her, his large presence filling the small two room
apartment--much like her porch--his shoulders set in a taut line, his arms
straight at his sides. His gaze lit upon the paper she held in her hand.
"Do you want me to sign a lease?"
"Yes. This is for six months."
"I don't know how long I'll be here. I've got an interview with Nick
Blackburn about a job, but nothing's definite."
Tanya glanced at the standard lease and folded it several times.
"Then we won't use the lease. Where did you come from?"
"Louisville."
"Why did you come to Sweetwater? Because of the possibility of a job
with Nick?"
"No, actually Samuel has always talked so highly of Sweetwater that I
decided to come pay him and the town a visit. He knew I was looking for
a job and mentioned the one with Blackburn Industries." Again Chance
withdrew the wad of money from his pocket and unrolled it. Covering the
short distance between them, he thrust the rent toward her. "Three
hundred. Do you require a deposit?"
Deposit? Tanya bit her lower lip. She hadn't thought about that.
Having never been a landlord before, she realized how new this all was to
her. "I guess a hundred. That should cover minor damages if there are
any."
"There won't be."
"Not from what Samuel says. He basically told me I couldn't go wrong
with you being my tenant."
Chance glanced away for a few seconds as if embarrassed by what
Samuel had said. Clearing his throat, he returned his attention to her.
"Samuel does have a way about him." He gave her the money for the deposit,
then immediately stepped back as though he was uncomfortable getting too
near her. He looked toward the kitchen area in one corner with a two
burner stove, a sink and a small refrigerator. "Can you give me directions
to the nearest grocery store?"
Tanya thought of the bare kitchen and blurted out, "Why don't you
have dinner with me and my daughter tonight? That's the least I can do
for someone new to Sweetwater and a friend of Samuel's."
Chance plunged his fingers through his black hair, then massaged the
back of his neck. "I don't want you to go to any trouble, Mrs. Bolton."
"My name is Tanya and it isn't any trouble. I have to warn you,
though, it won't be anything fancy."
"I'm not used to fancy."
The tight edge to his words made her blink in surprise. "Well, then
you'll fit right in. Sweetwater's pretty laid back. We only have one
expensive restaurant that I've never seen the inside of."
"What time is dinner?"
Tanya checked her watch and realized that Crystal would be home from
school soon. "Give me a couple of hours. Say six." She backed toward the
door, a sudden, awkward silence electrifying the air. "See you then."
Out on the landing she breathed deeply. Chance Taylor wasn't a chatty
person. She would have to quiz Samuel about him. For some reason she
didn't think her new tenant would tell her much about himself. The click
of the door closing behind her penetrated her thoughts. She couldn't shake
the feeling his life hadn't been easy. The sight of the school bus coming
down the street sent Tanya hurrying down the stairs.
Even though Crystal was fifteen now and a freshman in high school,
when her job allowed her, Tanya liked to be there when her daughter came
home from school, especially lately. Something was bothering Crystal and
her daughter wouldn't talk to her about it. Maybe today Crystal would say
something that would reveal what was going on. She rounded the side of the
garage when the bus stopped and the driver descended the steps to man the
lift.
While Crystal powered her wheelchair up the driveway, the small
school bus drove away. If the frown on her daughter's face was any
indication, today had not been a good one. Tanya sighed and met Crystal
halfway.
"We have a tenant for the apartment," Tanya said, forcing a light
tone into her voice to cover the apprehension her child's expression
raised.
Her daughter didn't say a word. She maneuvered the wheelchair around
Tanya and kept going toward the ramp at the back of the house. Tanya
followed, trying to decide how to approach Crystal about what was
happening at school. This year when she had begun at Sweetwater High,
she'd quickly started trying to get out of going, even to the point of
making up things that were wrong with her. Tanya had talked with her
teachers, but no one knew what was going on. She had seen her usually
happy, even tempered child become someone else, someone who was angry and
resentful. Was it the typical teenager angst of going through puberty? Or
was it something else? Had Crystal's father's death finally manifested
itself in her troubled behavior? Tom had died almost five months ago, and
their daughter had gone through the usual grief associated with death but
had seemed all right as her summer vacation had come to an end. Now Tanya
didn't know. Maybe Crystal had suppressed her true feelings.
In the kitchen Tanya called out to Crystal before she wheeled herself
through the doorway into the hall, "Our new tenant is joining us for
dinner."
Crystal continued to remain quiet as she disappeared from view.
Perplexed, Tanya stared at the empty doorway, wondering if Zoey, a high
school counselor, or Beth Morgan, Crystal's English teacher, knew what was
going on with her daughter at school. She made a mental note to call her
friends later to see if anything had happened today to warrant this sullen
demeanor.
* * *
Chance descended the stairs to his apartment over the garage and
headed across the yard toward the back door. He noticed the ramp off the
deck and remembered Tom talking about his teenage daughter who was in a
wheelchair. Until he had seen the ramp, however, he hadn't really thought
about the implication of having a child who was physically disabled or the
fact that he would be eating with a young girl who would only be a year or
two older than the age his own daughter would have been if she had lived.
He stopped his progress toward the deck, indecision stiffening his
body. He'd seen plenty of teenagers since his daughter's...death. Surely
he could handle an hour in the same room with Tanya's child. How difficult
could it be?
Chance discovered a few minutes later just how hard it would be when
Crystal opened the door to his knock, a smile on her thin face, a black
Lab standing beside her. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it. Staring
up at him with open interest was a young girl who had dark brown hair and
hazel eyes so very reminiscent of his daughter's. She even had a sprinkle
of freckles on her small upturned nose like Haley had.
He cleared away the huge knot in his throat and struggled against the
urge to run as far away as he could. His legs refused to move forward into
the house even though Tanya's daughter opened the door wider for him.
"Come in before all the insects do," Tanya said, approaching them.
He shook off the panic beginning to swell in his chest and shuffled
into the kitchen. Turning to shut the back door, he took a few precious
seconds to compose his reeling emotions at the sharp reminder of what he'd
lost. When he pivoted back toward the pair, his feelings were tamped down
beneath all the defensive layers he'd created over the past few years.
Under closer inspection of Tom's daughter, he saw no real similarities
between Haley and her, other than their coloring.
If he was going to repay the debt, he had no choice but to learn to
deal with the teenager--and the mother. I can do this, he told
himself and forced a smile to his lips. "I'm Chance, the new tenant," he
said to Crystal, realizing he was probably stating the obvious.
The teenager's smile grew. "I'm Crystal. Welcome to Sweetwater."
"Thanks." He inhaled the aroma of ground beef that peppered the air.
"It smells wonderful. What are we having?"
"As I told you earlier, nothing fancy. Just tacos. I hope you like
Mexican food. Crystal and I love it." Tanya gestured toward the counter.
"Everyone's going to put their own together."
"I like anything I don't have to cook." He took another few steps
further into the kitchen, committing himself to spending some time with
his landlady and her daughter.
Tanya handed him a plate with big yellow and blue flowers painted on
it. "You don't cook then?"
"Not unless you call heating up a can of spaghetti cooking."
Crystal giggled, patting her dog. "Even I can do that."
"My daughter's taking a foods and nutrition class this year.
Hopefully she'll learn more than heating up what's in a can."
Chance noticed the instant school was mentioned that Crystal's
cheerful expression vanished and the young girl dropped her head, her
attention glued to her lap. Did she struggle with school work? He made a
note to find out. Maybe he could help her with her homework, then he would
be one step closer to being able to leave Sweetwater, to appeasing his
guilt.
"You go first." Tanya swept her arm across her body, indicating he
prepare his tacos.
Chance took two large empty shells and filled them with the meat
sauce, cheese, lettuce and diced tomatoes. His mouth watered in
anticipation of his first home home cooked meal in years. After he doused
his tacos with chunky salsa, he made his way to the round oak table in the
alcove with three, large windows overlooking the deck and backyard.
He sat at one of the places already set with utensils, a blue linen
napkin and a glass with ice in it. When he noticed a pitcher on the table,
he poured himself some tea, then doctored it with several scoops of sugar.
Crystal positioned herself next to him and put her plate on her
yellow place mat. "Mom said you're from Louisville. I went there once,
when I was nine, and took a riverboat up the Ohio River."
As Tanya settled into the chair across from him, Chance said to
Crystal, "I've never ridden on a riverboat. Did you like it?"
"Yeah! I'd like to take one all the way to New Orleans. I've never
been to New Orleans. I haven't seen very many places." She glanced down
at her wheelchair, then fixed her large hazel eyes on him as though that
explained why she didn't go places.
A tightness constricted his chest. He couldn't imagine being confined
to a wheelchair, every little bump in the terrain an obstacle, not free to
move about like you wanted. He knew about that and had hated every second
of his confinement. "You'll have time," he finally said, feeling a
connection between him and Crystal that went beyond her father.
"That's what Mom says."
"I promised her a trip when she graduates from high school." Tanya
poured tea for herself and her daughter. "She'll get to pick where,
depending on my budget."
"Mom's got a saving account for the trip at the bank where she
works."
"That's a good plan." After he picked up his taco carefully so as not
to make a mess, he took a big bite, relishing the spicy meat sauce. "Mmm.
This is good."
Tanya smiled. "Thanks."
She and Crystal bowed their heads while Tanya said a prayer.
When she glanced up at Chance, he'd put his taco back on his plate, a
look of unease in his expression. "I don't have the time to cook like I
want to, but I do enjoy getting into the kitchen when I can," she said,
hoping to make him feel comfortable.
"I'm glad you invited me." Chance caught her gaze and held it for a
long moment. He realized he meant what he had just said. The warmth
emanating from both the mother and daughter spoke to a part of him that he
thought had died in prison.
Finally Tanya dropped her regard and ran her finger around the rim of
her glass. "What kind of job are you applying for with Nick?"
"As an assistant for his office in Sweetwater."
"Nick said something to me about expanding his company's presence in
Sweetwater. I guess this must be the beginning. Since he and Jesse got
married, I know he doesn't like to travel to Chicago as much as he used
to. What have you done before?"
Tension knifed through Chance. He should have expected questions
about his past. That was the last thing he wanted to discuss. "I was a
financial advisor."
"Was? Not anymore?"
"I'm looking for something different. That's why this assistant's job
interest me." That and the fact Samuel paved the way for him with Nick
Blackburn. But even with Samuel's reference, the job wasn't a sure thing.
He would have to convince Mr. Blackburn he could do the work, definitely a
step down from what he'd done in the past where he'd had his own
assistant.
"What happens if you don't get the job?"
"I'm still staying for a while. I'll just look for another one," he
quickly said to ease the worry he heard in her voice.
He needed the conversation focused on someone else. Angling around toward
Crystal, he asked, "Besides Foods and Nutrition, what else are you
taking?"
The teenager downed a swallow of tea. "I'm taking the usual--U. S.
history, English, algebra and biology. I'm also in the girls' choir."
"In high school I was in the show choir. I enjoyed it." Chance felt
Tanya's puzzled gaze on him and shifted in his chair, feeling
uncomfortable under her scrutiny as though she could see into his heart
and soul. Their emptiness wasn't something he wanted expose to the world.
He busied himself by taking another bite.
"I sing in the choir at church. We can always use another man to
sing."
He heard Tanya's words of encouragement and gritted his teeth so hard
that pain streaked down his neck. Church. Religion. God wasn't for him.
He'd believed once, and his whole life, his family, had been taken away
from him. He stuffed the rest of the taco into his mouth and occupied
himself with chewing--slowly. Averting his gaze, he stared out the window
at the backyard and hoped the woman didn't pursue the topic of
conversation.
"I thought about auditioning for the show choir, but I didn't. I
can't dance very well in this thing," Crystal slapped the arm of her
wheelchair, "and you have to be able to sing and dance to be in it.
If I can't do it right, I don't want to do it at all."
The teenager's words cut through the tension gripping Chance. He
looked back at her and managed to smile, hearing the need in the child's
voice that twisted his heart. "Besides singing, what else do you like to
do?"
"I like to draw."
"Why aren't you taking art in school?"
"I can't take everything. I'll probably take it next year." Crystal
shrugged. "Besides, Mom's teaching me. She's very good."
Chance swung his attention to Tanya who looked away when his gaze
fell on her. "What do you like to draw?"
A hint of red tinged her cheeks. "People mostly."
"Portraits?"
"Nothing formal like that."
"I'd love to see your work sometime."
Tanya started to say something when Crystal chimed in, "I'll go get
her sketchbook. It's in the dining room." She backed up her wheelchair,
made a one hundred eighty degree turn, and headed for the door with her
service dog following.
"I get the impression you don't show many people your drawings."
She shook her head, swallowing hard. "I'm not very good. I draw for
myself."
When Crystal came back into the kitchen with the sketchbook in her
lap, Chance wanted to make Tanya feel at ease so he said, "I don't want to
intrude on--"
"Mom, doesn't think she's good. I do. Here, see for yourself."
Crystal opened the book and showed Chance.
He wasn't sure what to expect after Tanya's reluctant reaction, but
what he saw was an exquisite portrait of Crystal sketching something. The
drawing captured the teenager's love for art in the detailed expression on
her face. The pen and ink picture was as good as any professional artist
would have done. "I'm impressed, Tanya. This is beautiful."
"You think so?"
All the woman's doubts were evident in her wrinkled forehead,
hesitant expression in her eyes, and the hidden hope that he might really
be telling her the truth. As before it was important to Chance to make
Tanya feel comfortable. "Yes. I'm honored to have seen this. You should
show your drawings more often."
Tanya straightened in her chair, her head cocked. "Samuel tried to
get me to have one in the Fourth of July auction this year at church. I
told him I would donate my time or something else."
Chance captured Tanya's regard. "Next year take him up on the offer."
She slid her gaze away and started gathering up her plate and
utensils. "I'll think about it."
"Which means she won't do it," Crystal interjected and put her dishes
in her lap then wheeled herself toward the sink.
Chance followed them with his place setting. "I hope you'll let me
help you clean up after being gracious enough to invite me to dinner. I
might not cook very well, but I can rinse and put them in the dishwasher."
"Yeah, Mom. Let him."
Tanya laughed. "You're agreeing because you'll get out of your part
of cleaning up."
"I've got homework to do."
"On Friday night?"
Crystal lifted her shoulders. "What else is there to do?"
"Fine." Tanya watched her frowning daughter and the black Lab
disappear into the hallway. "Something's bothering her. I wish she would
tell me."
"She's what, fifteen, sixteen?"
"Fifteen."
"Did you tell your mother what was going on with you at that age?"
"Good point. But still we've been through a lot. I..." Her voice
quavering, Tanya twisted away so her face was hidden as she stacked the
dishes into the sink and turned on the water.
Chance heard the thickness lacing each word and wished he could help
her. But he was discovering to help her was going to be harder than he'd
thought. Actually he'd had no plan in mind other than to assist Tom's
family. But how? Maybe he could reach Crystal. He had to try something or
he would never be able to get on with his life--what was left of it.
Tanya handed him the first plate to put in the dishwasher. "You
should come hear us sing in the choir at church this Sunday. As I'm sure
you're aware Samuel gives great sermons."
Chance gripped the glass she passed to him. "I'll think about it."
Title: Heart of the Amazon
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill (October 2007)
ISBN: 0373442621
Pages: 256
"Move and you're dead." Maggie Somers lifted the .22
higher, trying desperately to keep her hands from shaking. "I have a gun
pointed at you."
The large man straightened, his back to her rigid. "I had nothing to do
with this." A piece of paper in his hand fluttered to the floor.
As her gaze swept the living room of her grandfather's ranch house, alarm
snaked down her spine. Everything's destroyed. Tears stung her
eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. There was no way this man was
going to see any kind of weakness.
The intruder started to turn toward her.
"Don't move an inch." Her anger pushed aside her fear as she gripped the
rifle tighter and placed her finger on the trigger.
"May I turn around and explain why I'm here?"
A steel thread weaved through his words, striking against her raw nerves.
"Save your breath for the sheriff."
"Look, lady, this is ridiculous." Exasperation now edged his deep, husky
voice.
Maggie stepped over the broken piece of Indian pottery that had sat
on a table near the door and moved farther into the room. The crunch
beneath her shoes told her more than one priceless vessel was shattered
from her grandfather's collection. The sound, like alcohol in a festering
wound, toughened her resolve.
If only her cell worked out here on the ranch, then she would have already
called the sheriff and he would be halfway here. She glanced at the phone
across the room then at the burglar, dressed in a black turtleneck and
black jeans, and knew she had to do something with him before making the
911 call. If she let down her guard for a second, the man could easily
overpower her.
"Pick up the extension cord near your feet. Slowly." She roughened her
voice as much as possible, but to her own ears sounded shaky.
The intruder remained still.
Her arm ached from holding the rifle to her shoulder. "Let me tell you
something about myself. I'm an expert shot, and two of the things I hate
in this world are liars and thieves. You're batting a hundred."
"Where do you want me?" His movements as he bent over and snatched up the
cord conveyed his anger more than his words.
Anywhere but
here.
She searched her memory, trying to determine how this was done in the
movies. "Sit in that rocking chair and tie your feet together."
He walked to it and stopped. "May I turn around now or do you want me to
sit in it backwards?" Taut sarcasm sliced through his question.
"Slowly. Any sudden moves and I might get trigger happy." She was sure
she'd heard that in some cop movie.
"Will that make your day?"
He slowly faced her. His gaze locked with hers. The penetrating intensity
in his stare unnerved her. As his slate gray eyes--cold as a
tombstone--assessed her, she had the horrible thought that if he wanted,
he could probably disarm her before she got a shot off. This man exuded
danger. Why had she decided to come inside? Her heartbeat caught for a
second, then battered against her chest. Why hadn't she run when she had
the chance?
Because she had
been so furious that someone had dared to defile her grandfather's memory
on the day she had buried him that she hadn't been thinking straight.
She motioned with the rifle. "Sit."
The wooden rocking chair creaked as the intruder lowered himself into it.
When he dropped his gaze from hers, she released a long sigh while he tied
his ankles together.
Rugged features set in harsh lines greeted her perusal. Dark brown hair
with touches of fire brushed his nape. His full lips and high cheekbones
added to his commanding effect. Over six and a half feet tall, lean and
muscular, his frame reinforced that impression of lethal force.
"Does this meet with your approval?"
His insolent question drew her back to his face. His voice held a steely
quality that matched his look, as though he had stared down the barrel of
a rifle before and survived.
Fear tingled up her spine. She refused to answer him, but instead she
found another length of cord and walked a wide circle around the chair to
stand behind it. Once he was tied up, she would be all right. "Give me
your hands."
He complied. She quickly cradled the rifle between her legs, then looped
the cord from the blinds around his wrists. The feel of her fingers
against his flesh seared her. For a long second she fumbled the
rope, almost dropping it. Sucking in a deep, fortifying breath, she
hastened to finish the job, blocking from her mind the warmth of his skin
against hers. Relief trembled through her as she grasped the barrel of the
.22 and backed away.
With her eyes cast downward, she knelt in front of him and checked the
cord about his ankles. She felt the drill of his stare and fought the urge
to quail. As she rose, her gaze finally trekked upward. The rage she saw
in his expression took her breath away. This man wasn't accustomed to
being subdued by anyone. She hurriedly moved toward the phone and picked
it up.
"Do you seriously think I look like a thief? Would a thief drive a sports
car like the one out front?" he asked after she made the call to the
sheriff.
"You probably stole that, too."
"C'mon, lady. I did not have anything to do with this. I came
here--"
"Oh," she cut him off, "then you just make a habit of stopping by houses
that have been ransacked to have a look around? Were you looking for some
garage sale and made a wrong turn? Or perhaps, you're an insurance
adjuster getting a jump on the job?"
"No, I came to talk to you," he said through clenched teeth.
"Before or after you robbed me?" Her anger firmly held her, now that he
was tied up. She sat on the coffee table and laid the rifle across her
lap. One hand settled on her knee, the other on the .22, prepared if
somehow the intruder tried anything.
"I came in after the fact. I did not rob you." Each word was spoken
slowly, distinctively as though he were talking to a child who didn't
understand.
"That's what all the criminals say. I think you need to work on the
delivery if you're going to get a jury to believe you." She raked her gaze
down him, hoping to convey her contempt. "It lacks conviction."
He didn't say another word. His eyes said it all, boring into her with a
ferocity that warned her never to be alone with this man.
As she waited for the sheriff, she drummed her fingers on her knee and
tried to avoid his eyes, the chaos about her. Which was very hard to do,
especially the pottery that Gramps had found, each piece smashed beyond
repair. She wasn't ready to deal with the mess. One crisis at a time. As a
doctor that was how she handled a medical emergency. That was how she
would handle this.
Minutes stretched into fifteen, the tension-laden silence gnawing away at
her fragile composure. The occasional times she caught the intruder's
glare she felt as though she were a specimen under a microscope, pinned to
the paper, unable to move, laid bare for examination. The feeling left her
extremely uneasy.
"You're pretty isolated out here. It'll take the sheriff a while to ride
to your rescue." His sarcasm broke the stillness.
"Is that why you picked this place? Its isolation?"
"I picked it because it's Jake Somers's ranch."
"You scum!" She shot to her feet, the twenty-two clutched in her hands.
"You read about his funeral today and came here to rob the place while
everyone was gone. That's so low." She brought the weapon to her shoulder,
chambering a bullet. She wanted this man to squirm for what he had done to
her grandfather's memory, to his prized possessions he had lovingly
collected over the years.
Several heartbeats passed; Maggie stared into the man's cold, fearless
eyes.
"It's true. I did read this morning about Jake's death and the funeral
but--"
"Shut up! Not another word." The very thought this man would rob a dead
man renewed her anger tenfold.
Icy silence pervaded the room, heightening the strain even more.
Finally the sound of car doors slamming closed pulled her attention from
the stranger. She lowered the rifle. The sheriff and one of his deputies
entered the house and scanned the damage.
"Hello, Maggie. I see you've had some trouble." The sheriff pushed his hat
up on his forehead.
"I'm so glad you're here, Tom. I caught this man going through my
grandfather's things."
Tom's regard swung to the man in the rocking chair. "You did, did you. Is
the whole house like this?" The sheriff gestured at the wreckage.
"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to check."
"Why don't you and Rob do a walk through? Then he can take your statement
while I take care of this stranger. We'll have him out of your hair in no
time."
Glad to be out of the intruder's line of vision, Maggie led the way with
the deputy following. After checking the two bedrooms and finding
everything in disarray, she headed for the kitchen, her grandfather's
favorite room. When she saw the extent of the wreckage, she shuddered.
Every drawer was dumped, each cabinet emptied, many dishes smashed. Food
was scattered about as boxes and containers had been ripped apart.
"Dr. Somers, can you tell if anything is missing?" While the deputy
inspected the area, he withdrew his pad and pen from the front left pocket
of his tan shirt.
She pivoted, her gaze taking in the chaos about her, but her mind refusing
to register the robbery's total impact. "I don't know. I probably won't
know that for days at the very least. Gramps didn't have a lot of valuable
things, except for some Indian artifacts he'd collected. They were
destroyed." She waved her hand toward the living room, remembering the
shattered pottery underfoot. "This land was about it."
"Tell me what happened when you came to the ranch."
"When I pulled up, I saw the door wide open and that sports car out front.
I knew something was wrong. I know I shouldn't have come inside. But I was
so angry. I got Gramps's .22 from his pickup and decided to see what was
going on. All I wanted to do was catch the thief."
"You could have been hurt."
"I'd just buried my grandfather and someone was trying to steal his
things. I wasn't going to let that happen. Besides, Gramps taught me how
to shoot, take care of myself."
"You said you found that man going through your grandfather's belongings.
Is that right?"
Remembering back to the first few seconds when she had seen the intruder
in the living room made her breath come up short. She took several deep
inhalations to fill her oxygen-deprived lungs. "When I came into the
house, he was standing by a table, looking at the contents of a drawer
piled on top of it. He held a piece of paper which he dropped when he
heard me."
"We'll take him to the station and sort through this mess. I'll give you a
few days to see what's missing. You'll need to file it with us for
insurance purposes, but I suspect there's nothing missing since you
interrupted the man."
"Probably not but the damage has been done." She waved her arm at the
disarray.
Maggie trailed after the deputy into the living room. The sheriff had the
intruder handcuffed and was reading him his rights. She took great
pleasure in watching the scene. She hoped they threw the book at the thief
for trying to rob a dead man.
When Tom asked the stranger if he understood his rights, he looked
straight at her. "Yes, I understand perfectly."
"Where are your keys?" the sheriff asked the man.
"In my front right pocket."
"My deputy will follow us to the station in your car," Tom retrieved the
keys from the trespasser, "where we'll check out your story."
The intruder's stare knifed through her like an Arctic gale. Shivering,
she spun away as the officers led the thief outside.
When the cars left, Maggie picked up the rifle and walked outside. She
placed the .22 on the gun rack in her grandfather's black truck, near the
barn where she had parked her Mustang so whoever was in the house wouldn't
hear her arrival. Yes, she'd known how to shoot since she was a young
girl, but as a doctor she'd seen what people could do with a gun and she
hadn't picked up one in years.
After slamming the truck door shut and locking it, she stood and let the
silence enfold her in its comforting embrace. For days people had
surrounded her, giving her no time to think, to feel.
Now she was finally alone.
She leaned against the pickup and stared at a mesa in the distance. Stark,
sharp lines jutted upward toward the sky. Sunlight glittered off the red
and white surfaces of the rock. In this land of harsh beauty the mesa
stood alone, like her, and suddenly with all that had happened in the past
hour, she couldn't handle the solitude she had sought so desperately after
the funeral. The quiet screamed at her, declaring to the world just how
defenseless she was, miles from Santa Fe, alone with only the wind's
whisper and the rustle of an occasional animal scurrying across the yard.
She peered at the dirt road leading to the highway, the last remains of
the dust kicked up by the cars settling back into place as if nothing had
ever happened. Alone, until someone intruded, she thought. Why? What did
Gramps have that the creep would want?
Most likely nothing was gone. Anything he had taken would have been on his
person or in his car, and the sheriff would recover that. Unless someone
else had been with him and had already left. The scope of the destruction
was vast, almost too much for one man. She would never know if something
was missing unless she went inside and started the laborious task of
straightening up.
Shoving away from the truck, she scanned the ranch. Mine now. The
feelings she'd held at bay for three days inundated her all at once.
Anger, bereavement, a bone weary tiredness flooded her and made her steps
leaden as she trudged toward the house.
On the porch she paused, not wanting to go back to the chaotic mess in the
house that had once been so neat and orderly. She whirled around and
stared off into the distance at the top of the mesa near the highway. She
watched a lone hawk circle, looking for its prey. Then suddenly the bird
swooped down for the kill. Maggie closed her eyes. She couldn't take
seeing the hawk rise triumphantly with its catch in its talons. That man
today had made her feel like helpless prey, vulnerable, afraid and not in
control. She'd struggled never to feel those emotions again.
"What am I going to do, Gramps?" she whispered, needing to hear the sound
of her own voice. With his death she had no family left. She was as alone
as that bird's quarry. As alone as that time...No, she wouldn't think
about the past.
A dull throb began to pound behind her eyes. She massaged her temples,
putting off what must be done for a few more seconds.
When she went inside, the raw impact of the destruction hit her all over
again. Everything she loved and cared about strewn and ripped apart before
her. Drawers were emptied, their contents flung all around. The cushions
on the chairs and couch were sliced open to reveal the stuffing. Cherished
photos were tossed on the floor, the glass shattered.
In the midst of the disarray, pages of the old family Bible, torn and
crumpled, laid scattered about the room. She might be angry with the Lord
for taking yet another loved one, but the sight ripped through what
composure she had left. What kind of monster could do that to the Bible?
A picture of the intruder invaded her thoughts and iced her blood. Tears
pooled in her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. Her grandfather's
possessions were her last link to him. All destroyed! Bewildered, she took
a few more steps into the middle of the living room. Slowly she turned in
a full circle, feeling as though she were in a dream, none of this real.
But it was very real.
She bent down and found the Bible partially hidden beneath the couch. She
sank down onto the coffee table and fingered the black leather of the
book, minus most of its pages. Her grandfather had treasured this above
all and it was beyond repair. It had been in her family for almost a
hundred years. Through the sheen of tears she tried to gather the crushed
pages into a pile. Her vision blurred, she blinked several times. The
tears flowed even more. She gave up and allowed them to fall.
Finally when she had nothing left inside, she wiped her cheeks with the
back of her hand and started again to pick up the pages of Gramps's
beloved Bible. Once she had collected all of them, she moved to the
contents of the drawer covering part of the coffee table and tried to
bring some kind of order to it. Then she went to another disheveled pile
and did the same.
Evening shadows crept into the room, forcing Maggie to switch on a light.
Still she labored, determined to make the living room look like it had
when she had left for the funeral that morning. No one was going to come
into her life and totally disrupt it as that man had earlier. She'd had
too much of that in the past. She wasn't going to allow it. She'd finally
managed to have some control over her life, and she wasn't going to give
it up without a fight.
After hours of working nonstop, Maggie rose and stretched her cramped,
aching muscles. The pounding in her head had subsided to a dull throb, but
her eyes felt heavy, gritty. She glanced at the mess still about her. It
wasn't going anywhere, and she needed coffee.
In the kitchen she waited at the sink for the brew to percolate, staring
out the window at the darkness. The feeling of total isolation swamped her
again, suddenly making her quake in the warm, night air. The lock on the
front door was flimsy, obviously not a good deterrent. She should have
left and returned some other day with several friends to help her, to keep
her company.
She would only stay a little longer.
The scent of coffee infused the night, temporarily reviving her spent
body. Reviving her soul was a lost cause.
She poured herself a cup, took a few sips and started for the living room.
She would finish the cabinet and then call it quits. As she reentered, the
phone's jarring blare startled her, and she nearly dropped her mug.
Hurrying to it, she picked up the receiver. "Hello."
"Maggie, this is Tom. Just wanted to tell you we let the man go."
Her grip tightened. "Why?"
"Because his story checked out. He's a respected professor at the
Albuquerque City College. He had an alibi for most of the day except the
time it would have taken him to drive to the ranch. There was no way he
could have been there long enough to do the kind of damage I saw."
"Who is he?"
"Dr. Zach Collier."
The man's name renewed her seething emotions. "I want him arrested for
trespassing then."
"Now, Maggie, I know you're upset about what happened, but the man only
came inside because he thought you were there and in danger."
"A Collier would never feel that way about a Somers. He's lying." Ever
since she could remember, she had heard that from her grandfather, and
after what Red Collier had done to Gramps she believed him.
"Sleep on it. If you still feel that way tomorrow, come see me. Go home,
Maggie."
After hanging up, she lifted her mug to her lips and drank. The brew
flowed down her throat, warming her cold insides. The sheriff might have
believed Zach Collier didn't have anything to do with this destruction,
but she didn't. Somehow he was behind it. First thing tomorrow morning she
would be at the sheriff station, demanding Tom file trespassing charges
against the man.
The sound of a car approaching the house diverted her attention toward the
front door. For a second she thought of calling the sheriff back, but it
would take twenty minutes for him to get to the ranch. Besides, it could
be any number of Gramps's friends.
Maggie hurried across the room. Flipping on an outside light, she stepped
out onto the porch and saw a red sports car come to a stop. She flew back
inside and rushed to the mantel where Gramps kept his shotgun. With no
time to call the sheriff, she grabbed it as she heard a car door slam
close.
Back out of the porch, she lifted the shotgun and said,
"Come any closer and I'll shoot you."
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill (December 2007)
ISBN: 0373442621
Pages: 256
Chapter One
The child’s name on the chart held Dr. Jacob
Hartman’s gaze riveted. Andy Morgan. The eight-year-old from Stone’s
Refuge had possibly another broken bone. Flashes of the last time the boy
had been in his office, only a few weeks before, paraded across his mind.
With a sigh, Jacob entered the room to find the boy
perched on the edge of the exam table, his face contorted in pain as he
held his left arm, in a makeshift sling, close to his body. A woman Jacob
wasn’t familiar with stood to the side murmuring soothing words to Andy.
She turned toward Jacob, worry etched into her face--and something else he
couldn't decipher. Her mouth pinched into a frown that quickly evolved
into an unreadable expression.
Jacob shook off the coolness emanating from the
young woman. "Hi, Andy. Remember me? I'm Dr. Jacob," he said, using the
name the children at the refuge knew him by. "How did you hurt your arm?"
He gently removed the sling made from an old T-shirt and took the injured,
swollen limb into his hands.
When he probed the forearm, Andy winced and tried to
draw it back. "I fell." The child's lower lip trembled, and he dug his
teeth into it.
"He was climbing the elm tree next to the barn and
fell out of it." When Jacob glanced toward her, taking in the concern in
the woman’s dark blue gaze, she continued in a tense voice that had a soft
Southern lilt. "I'm the new manager at Stone's Refuge. Hannah Smith. I was
told when there was a medical problem to bring the children to you. This
is only my second day, and no one else was around. The other kids are at
school. Andy was supposed to be there, too. I--" She offered him a brief
smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I talk too much when I'm upset."
No doubt the tension he felt coming from the
refuge's new manager was due to Andy's accident. "I take care of the
children's medical needs." Jacob buzzed for his nurse. "Andy, can you do
this for me?" He demonstrated flexing and extending his wrist and fingers.
With his forehead scrunched, the boy did, but pain
flitted across his features. He tried to mask it, but Jacob knew what the
child was going through. He'd experienced a few broken bones in his own
childhood and remembered trying to put up a brave front. He learned to do
that well. Jacob unlocked a cabinet and removed a bottle of ibuprofen.
He handed the boy the pain pills and a glass of
water. "Why weren't you at school?" Children like Andy were the reason he
had become a pediatrician, but he hadn't quite conquered the feelings
generated when he was confronted with child abuse.
The boy dropped his head, cradling his arm
against his chest. "I told the other kids I was going back to the cottage
because I didn't feel good. I hid instead. I don't like school. I want to
go home."
"Just as soon as I get a picture of your arm and we
get it fixed up, you can go home."
Andy's head snapped up, his eyes bright. "I can?
Really?"
Hannah Smith stepped closer and placed a hand on the
child's shoulder. Apprehension marked her stiff actions. "Back home to the
refuge."
"No! I want to go home." Tears welled up in
Andy's brown eyes, and one slid down his thin face.
"Andy, you can't. I'm sorry." Calmness underscored
her words as tiny creases lined her forehead. Her concern and caring
attitude accentuated her beauty.
Having realized his mistake, Jacob started to
respond when the door opened and the nurse appeared. "Teresa, Andy's
visiting us again. We need an X-ray of his left arm."
"Hello, Andy. What did you do to your arm?" Teresa,
a petite older woman with a huge, reassuring smile, helped the child down
from the table. "I bet you remember where our prize box is. Once we get
the X-ray done, I'll let you check it out."
"I can?"
"Sure. If I remember correctly, you were also eying
that red car the last time. It's still there."
"It is?" Andy hurried out of the room, still holding
his arm across his chest.
The refuge's manager started to follow the pair.
Jacob blocked her path and closed the door. Frowning, she immediately
backed up against the exam table.
"I'd like a word with you, Ms. Smith. Teresa will
take care of Andy. He knows her. She spent quite a bit of time with him
several weeks ago."
Her dark blue gaze fixed on him, narrowing slightly.
"I haven't had a chance to read all the children's files yet. What
happened the last time he was here?"
Obviously she was upset that something like this
occurred on her watch. But beneath her professional demeanor, tension
vibrated that Jacob suddenly sensed went beyond what had occurred to Andy.
"His mother brought him in with a nasty head wound, and I called social
services. Her story didn't check out. Thankfully he was placed quickly at
Stone's Refuge."
"I was in the middle of reading the children's files
when the school called to find out why he wasn't there. I found Andy lying
on the ground hugging his arm and trying his best not to cry, but his face
had dry tear marks on it." She pushed her long blond hair behind her ears
and blew a breath of air out that lifted her bangs. "When I approached
him, he tried to act like nothing was wrong."
"Sadly, Andy is used to holding his pain in. I took
several X-rays last time because he was limping and discovered he'd broken
his ankle and it was never set properly. He probably will always limp
because of the way his bone healed without medical attention."
"His mother didn't seek care for him?"
He shook his head. "I think the only reason she came
in last time was because there was so much blood involved. She thought he
was dying. He'd passed out briefly. She flew into a rage when he was taken
from her." Jacob didn't know if he would ever forget the scene Andy's
mother created at the clinic that afternoon. If looks could kill, he would
be dead, but then he should be accustomed to that from an angry mother.
"Is there a father?"
"No. I don't think there ever was one in the
picture. His mother clammed up and hasn't said anything about the new or
old injuries." Jacob picked up the child's chart. "I want you to know what
you're dealing with since you haven't been on the job long. The only time
Andy cried was when he found out he wasn't going with his mother when he
left the hospital. He kept screaming he needed to go home. When he settled
down, he whimpered that his mother needed him, but I could never get him
to tell me why he thought that." He jotted his preliminary findings down
on the chart. "Have you been a social worker for long?"
A gleam glittered in her eyes. "No, I got my degree
recently.”
A newbie. No wonder she’d wanted to know if Andy’s
mother had sought help. He would hate to see that light in her eyes dim
when reality of the system sank in. But having dealt with the Department
of Human Services and the lack of funding that so often tied its hands
when it came to neglected or abused children, he knew the reality of the
situation, first as a boy who had gone through the system and now as a
pediatrician.
"I've been impressed by the setup at Stone's Refuge,
especially since it hasn't been around for long. We could use more places
like that." Hannah hiked the straps of her brown leather purse up onto her
shoulder. "I'm glad they've started building another house at the ranch.
Mr. Stone has quite a vision."
Jacob laughed. "That's Peter. When he came up with
using the students from the Cimarron Technology Center to help with the
construction of the house, it was a blessing. They're learning a trade,
and we're getting another place for kids to stay at a cheaper rate."
"I heard some of his ideas as well as his wife's
when I interviewed with them. It’s quite an ambitious project.” She
started forward. “I'd better check and see--"
The door opened, and Andy came into the room with
Teresa and a red car clutched in his hand. "It was there, Dr. Jacob. No
one took it."
The child's words, no one took it, stirred a
memory from Jacob's past. He'd been in his fourth foster home, all of his
possessions easily contained in a small backpack. Slowly his treasures had
disappeared. The first item had been stolen at the shelter after he'd been
removed from his mother's care. By the age of twelve he hadn't expected
any of his belongings to stay long, so when he had received a radio for
Christmas from a church toy drive, he hadn't thought he would keep it more
than a day or so. But when he had moved to his fifth foster home seven
months later, he still had the radio in his backpack. No one had taken it.
His body had begun to fill out by then, and he'd learned to defend himself
with the older children.
"Here's the X-ray, Dr. Hartman."
Teresa handed it to him, drawing him back to the
present.
After studying the X-ray, Jacob pointed to an area
on Andy's forearm. "That's where it's fractured. Teresa will set you up
with Dr. Filmore, an orthopedic surgeon here in the clinic, to take care
of your arm."
Andy's eyes grew round. "What will he do?"
"He'll probably put a cast on your arm."
"Can people sign it?" Andy stared at the place where
Jacob had pointed on the X-ray.
"Yep, but you won't be able to get it wet. You'll
have it on for a few months."
Andy grinned. "You mean I don't have to take a bath
for months?"
Jacob chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "I'm afraid
a few people might have something to say about that."
"But--"
"We'll rig something up to keep your arm with the
cast dry while you take a bath." Hannah moved next to Andy, her nurturing
side leaking through her professional facade. "And I'm thinking when we
get home, we'll have a cast signing and invite everyone. I've got some
neat markers we can use. We can use different colors or just one."
"My favorite color is green."
"Then green it is." Hannah glanced toward Jacob.
"Where do we go to see Dr. Filmore?"
Jacob nodded toward Teresa who slipped out of the
room. "He's on the third floor. He owes me a favor. If he isn't in
surgery, he should be able to see Andy quickly. Teresa will arrange it."
Hannah smiled, her glance straying to Andy. "Great."
It lit her whole face, transforming her plain
features into a pretty countenance. It reached deep into her eyes,
inviting others to join her in grinning. Jacob responded with his own
smile, but when her attention came back to him, her grin died. An
invisible but palpable barrier fell into place. Was she still worried
about the accident on her second day on the job? Or something else?
As Teresa showed Hannah and Andy out of the room,
Jacob watched them leave. He couldn't shake the feeling he'd done
something wrong in Hannah's eyes, that her emotional reaction went beyond
Andy's accident. Jacob was out at the refuge all the time, since he was
the resident doctor for the foster homes and on the board of the
foundation that ran Stone's Refuge. But the ice beneath her professional
facade didn't bode well for their working relationship. As he headed out
into the hall, he decided he needed to pay Peter a visit and find out what
he could about Hannah Smith.
* * *
The sun began its descent toward the line of trees
along the side of the road leading to Stone's Refuge. Tension gripped
Hannah's neck and shoulders from the hours sitting in the doctor's office,
waiting for Andy's arm to be taken care of. No, that wasn't the whole
reason. The second she'd seen Dr. Jacob Hartman she'd remembered the time
her family had been torn apart because of him. After the death of her
older brother, Kevin, everything had changed in her life, and Jacob
Hartman had been at the center of the tragedy.
But looking at him, no one could tell what he had
done. His bearing gave the impression of a proficient, caring doctor.
Concern had lined his face while interacting with Andy. Even now she could
picture that look in his chocolate brown eyes that had warmed when he'd
smiled. The two dimples in his cheeks had mocked her when he had turned
that grin on her. And for just a second his expression had taunted her to
let go of her anger. But she couldn't.
The small boy next to her in the van had been a
trooper the whole time, but now he squirmed, his bottled up energy barely
contained. "Mrs. Smith, ya ain't mad at me, are ya?" Andy stared down at
his cast, thumping his finger against it over and over.
The rhythmic sound grated on Hannah's raw nerves,
but she suppressed her irritation. Andy wasn't the source of her
conflicting emotions. "Mad? No. Disappointed, yes. I want you to feel you
can come talk to me if something is bothering you rather than playing
hooky from school."
Andy dropped his head and mumbled, "Yes, ma'am."
"Please call me Hannah. You and I are the new kids
on the block. Actually, you could probably show me the ropes. How long
have you been at the house? Two, three weeks?"
He lifted his head and nodded.
"See? This is only my second day. You've got tons
more experience at how things are done around here." Why had she
accepted this job? How was she going to work with Dr. Hartman? The
questions screamed for answers she couldn't give.
"Sure. But I don't know too much. The other kids..."
When he didn't continue his sentence, Hannah slanted
a look toward him, his chin again resting on his chest, his shoulders
curled forward as though trying to draw inward. "What about the other
kids?"
"Nothin'."
She slowed the van as she turned onto the gravel
road that led to the group of houses for the foster children at Stone's
Refuge. "Is anyone bothering you?"
His head came up, and he twisted toward her. "No.
It's not that."
In the short time she'd been around the boy, she
felt as though she was talking to a child two or three years older,
especially now after the half a day spent at the clinic and his staunch,
brave face. But after reading part of his file and hearing what the doctor
had said, she understood where the boy was coming from. He'd seen the ugly
side of life and experienced more than most kids his age. "Then what's
wrong?"
"I don't fit in."
Those words, whispered in a raw voice, poked a
dagger into old wounds. She had always been the new kid in school. After
her family had fallen apart with Kevin's death and her parents divorced,
she and her mother had moved around a lot. "Why do you say that?" she
managed to get out although her throat tightened with buried pain she'd
thought she had left behind her. But coming back to her hometown where she
had lived for the first nine years of her life had been a mistake. How had
she thought she wouldn't have to confront what had happened to Kevin? Of
course, she hadn’t discovered Dr. Jacob Hartman’s involvement with the
refuge until yesterday.
Andy averted his gaze, hanging his head again. "I
just don't. I never have."
The pain produced from his declaration intensified,
threatening her next breath. She slowly drew in a lungful of rich oxygen
and some of the tension eased. "Then maybe we could work on it together.
The staff at the refuge has been there since it opened last year. In fact,
I just moved here last week." Cimarron City had been the only place that
had resembled a home to her in her wayward life. She'd spent much more
time here than any other place. Even while attending college, she'd moved
several times. She wanted stability and had chosen the familiar town to be
where she would put down roots. Maybe that was a mistake.
"You did?"
"Yep." She parked between the two houses she
managed--still wanted to manage. This job had been a dream come true until
she realized that Jacob Hartman was involved. "Up until recently, I'd been
in school."
"Aren't you too old for that?"
Hannah grinned. "In your eyes, probably. I had to
work my way through college as a waitress, which took longer than normal."
Andy tilted his head. "How old are you?"
"Don't you know you aren't supposed to ask a woman
how old she is?" she said with a laugh, then immediately added when she
saw the distress on his thin face, "But I'll tell you how old if you
promise not to tell anyone. I'm twenty-nine."
"Oh," he murmured, as though that age really was
ancient.
She almost expected him to say, "I'm sorry," but
thankfully he didn't. Instead, he shoved open the door, slowly climbed
from the van, and walked toward the house. Seeing him limp renewed her
determination to do well in her first professional job, to help these
children have a better life.
But she couldn't help thinking: her second day at
work and a child in her care had broken a bone. Not good. She would make
sure that Andy went to school if she had to escort him every day. She
needed to let Laura and Peter Stone, the couple who ran the Henderson
Foundation that funded the refuge, know that they were back and what
happened with Andy. Hannah looked toward the main house off in the
distance, on the other side of the freshly painted red barn.
The refuge was perfect for children who needed
someone to care about them. At the moment there were two cottages, but the
foundation for a third had been poured last week. The best part of the
place was the fact it was on a ranch, not far from town. The barn housed
abandoned animals that the children helped take care of. The wounded
helping the wounded. She liked that idea.
Before she went in search of the couple, she needed
to check on Andy and the other nine children in the house where she lived.
Meg, her assistant at the cottage and the cook, should be inside since the
kids had come home from school an hour ago.
Ten minutes later, after satisfying herself that
everything was fine, Hannah trekked across the pasture toward the Stones’
place. When she passed in front of the large red double doors thrown open
to reveal the stalls inside, she heard a woman's light laugh followed by a
deeper one. She changed her direction and entered the coolness of the
barn. In the dimness, she saw both Laura and Peter kneeling inside a pen
with several puppies roughhousing on the ground in front of them.
"We're going to have a hard time not keeping these."
Peter gestured toward the animals that had to be a mix of at least three
different breeds.
Laura angled her head toward him. "What's another
puppy or two or three when we have so many? They're adorable."
"Are you going blind, woman?"
"Okay, they're so ugly they're cute." Laura caught
sight of Hannah and waved her to them. "Don't you think they're cute?"
Hannah inspected the black, brown and white puppies
with an elongated squat body of a dachshund, a thick, wiry coat of a
poodle and a curly tail and wrinkled forehead of a pug. Ugly was an
understatement. "I can see their attraction."
Peter's laughter reverberated through the cavernous
barn. "I meant that we would have a hard time finding homes for them since
they are so--unattractive."
"But that's their appeal. They're different, and you
and I love different." Laura stood, dusting off her jean clad knees.
He swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the array
of animals that had found a refuge at the ranch along with the children.
"That's for sure."
Laura stepped over the low pen and approached
Hannah. "I heard about Andy. Is he okay?"
"Yes. Broken left forearm. He told me he'd wanted to
climb to the very top of that elm tree you have outside the barn."
Laura chuckled. "I've found my twins up there more
than once." She glanced back at Peter. "Maybe we should cut it down."
"And rob the kids of a great tree to scale? No way!
We'll just have to teach Andy the art of climbing."
"There's an art to climbing trees?" Hannah watched
as Peter came up to Laura's side, draped his arm over her shoulder and
cradled her against him. Wistfulness blanketed Hannah--a desire to have
her own husband and family. She’d almost had that once when she’d married
Todd. Would she ever have that kind of love again? A home she would stay
in for more than a year?
"Of course. The first rule is to make sure you have
good footing before you reach up. I'll talk with Andy."
"He's gonna be in a cast for a few months."
"When he's ready, I'll show him how to do it
properly." Peter nuzzled closer to Laura.
"I'm sorry I didn't realize he wasn't on the school
bus. If I had, he would--"
Laura shook her head. "Don't, Hannah. Boys will be
boys. I have three, and believe me, I know firsthand there's little we can
do when they set their minds to do something. I gather you took him to see
Jacob."
The name stiffened Hannah’s spine. "Yes. He got Andy
in to see Dr. Filmore who put the cast on him."
"We don't know what we would do without Jacob to
take care of the children for free." Laura looked up at her husband, love
in her eyes. "We've taken up more and more of his time as the refuge has
grown."
"Wait until we open the third home. Before we know
it, there’ll be eight more children for Jacob to take care of." Peter
shifted his attention to Hannah. "That should be after the first of the
year. Are you going to be ready for the expansion?"
"I'm looking forward to it. The more the merrier."
By that time she would know how to deal with Jacob without her stomach
tensing into a knot. And hopefully she would become good at masking her
aversion because she could do nothing to harm the refuge.
"I knew there was a reason we hired you to run the
place. I like that enthusiasm. I've got to check on a mare." Peter kissed
his wife's cheek, then headed toward the back door.
"Don't blame yourself for Andy's accident." Laura
pinned her with a sharp, assessing regard.
"I'm that obvious?"
"Yep." Laura began walking toward the front of the
barn. "Kids do things. They get hurt. Believe me, I know with four
children. The twins get into more trouble than five kids. I'm always
bandaging a knee, cleaning out a cut."
Outside Hannah saw an old black car coming down the
road toward them, dust bellowing behind the vehicle. As it neared her,
Hannah glimpsed Jacob Hartman driving. Even with him wearing sunglasses,
she knew that face. Would never forget that face. She readied herself
mentally as the car came to a grinding stop and Jacob climbed from it.
In her last year in college she had
discovered the Lord, but she didn't think her budding faith had prepared
her to confront the man responsible for her brother's death.
Chapter One
Two months earlier
Cassie
Winters spied him across the Event Hall at the Mossy Oak Inn where the
dinner and fundraiser for the library expansion was being held. Her
heartbeat increased at the sight of him just as it had when she’d been in
his journalism class ten years ago. But instead of his usual jeans, blazer
and tie, he was dressed in a black tuxedo. She’d never seen him in formal
attire, but Dr. Jameson King had changed little over time. His dark brown
hair still looked tousled and his tall, muscular build was still on the
lean side.
“Cassie, are you
listening?” Her friend, Jennifer Pappas, moved into Cassie’s line of
vision. “Have you heard anything about the skeleton they found under the
library sidewalk?”
“Who hasn’t? Everyone has
been talking about it.” Cassie shivered.
Kate Brooks, another
friend, sidled closer and lowered her voice, “I hate to think what
happened to the woman. Do you think it was someone who attended Magnolia
College?”
“I hope not. But there
were some women who didn’t come to the reunion in June, who haven’t been
heard from in years.” Cold, Cassie hugged her arms to her. “To think a
murder happened ten years ago, not too far from here.” Murder on their
quiet campus. The very thought unnerved her.
“To someone we may have
known,” Jennifer added in her usual quiet voice.
Cassie scanned the crowd
again, hoping to get another glimpse of Jameson King. Quinn Nelson, the
assistant basketball coach, and Edgar Ortiz, the Assistant Director of
Admissions, had joined him and Dr. Cornell Rutherford, the head of the
English department. The coach patted Jameson on the back, then laughed at
something Dr. Rutherford said.
Cassie started to look
away when Jameson turned his head, and her gaze connected with his cobalt
blue eyes. For a few seconds, and she experienced all over again the lure
those eyes had for her.
He smiled at her. Heat
scored her cheeks at being caught staring at him. He said something to Dr.
Rutherford, then weaved his way through the crowd toward her.
“Excuse me,” Cassie said
to her two friends who were still discussing the recently found skeleton.
“I see someone I haven’t had a chance to talk to yet.”
Kate laughed. “I see who’s
heading this way. Although you didn’t major in journalism, I do believe he
was your favorite teacher.”
“He was a lot of students’
favorite teacher.” Cassie brushed her hair behind her ears, a nervous
habit she wished she could break.
“He still is. His classes
are always full from what I hear.” Jennifer took a sip of her punch.
Cassie walked toward him
before he had a chance to join the three of them. All she needed was an
audience when she finally talked to him after all these years. She
wondered what else he had been doing besides teaching. Her brother had
kept her informed some since Jameson had been Scott’s college advisor, but
she’d dared not ask her brother too many questions or she would have never
heard the end of it. It was bad enough her friends kidded her about her
college crush on her professor.
Jameson stopped in front
of her. “Cassie, it’s so good to see you again.”
The other people crowded
into the room faded away. Cassie offered a smile, clenching a glass of
punch in her hand. “It’s good to see you, too. I wanted to tell you how
sorry I was to hear about your wife’s death last year.”
One of his dark eyebrows
rose. “You knew? It wasn’t common knowledge in Magnolia Falls.”
“As you know, Scott works
for the Savannah paper, and he told me.” She remembered her surprise when
her younger brother had called her about the news. Although Jameson had
always worn a wedding ring, there had never been any evidence of a wife.
All the students had speculated about the mysterious woman no one had ever
seen. Some people had even wondered if a wife had really existed.
“How’s Scott doing? I
haven’t talked to him lately.”
Suddenly she wanted to share
her good news with someone who would care. She glanced around her, the
press of people making a private conversation impossible. “I could use
some fresh air. Care to join me for a walk?”
For a brief moment surprise
widened his eyes before he said, “Sure.”
Cassie put her glass cup on
a nearby table, then led the way toward the entrance. After Jameson opened
the door for her, she stepped outside into the warm August evening, but
the large live oaks dripping with Spanish moss offered a cool, private
canopy over the stone path. She paused near some gardenia bushes. Their
sweet, heavy fragrance laced the light breeze.
“Is something wrong with
Scott?” Jameson came to her side, his expression etched with worry.
“Oh, no. I didn’t want to
say anything inside, but I know you’re aware of Scott’s drinking problem.
He has been sober for the past year. We went out to dinner the other night
to celebrate his success.”
A smile lit Jameson’s face.
“That’s wonderful news.”
“He owes you so much.
Getting the job at the newspaper really helped him turn his life around
after the accident. He wouldn’t have gotten it if you hadn’t contacted
your friend there.”
“Scott landed the job on his
own merit. I just gave him a reference. Your brother’s work was, is,
excellent, and since he couldn’t play pro ball, what better job for him
since he majored in journalism.”
Cassie glimpsed a stone
bench nearby. “Do you want to sit?”
“No, let’s walk some. I’ve
been sitting at the computer way too much lately.”
“I didn’t realize you held
that many office hours.”
He started forward. “I’m
working on another novel. I recently sold one.”
“Congratulations.” Cassie
fell into step next to him on the path that led to the back of the inn.
The sun brushed the tops of a line of pine trees on the west side of the
property.
“Thanks. Since my wife’s
death, I’ve had more time on my hands, and it was something I’ve always
wanted to do.”
“Is this your first book?”
Jameson headed toward the
small pond behind the inn. “Yes, well, my first work of fiction. I’ve
written several academic books over the years.”
“Ah, yes. I remember you
discussing one of them in class.”
“That was a long time ago.”
His voice sounded tired and
matched a world-weary look in his eyes, prompting Cassie to peer at him as
she stopped at the edge of the pond. “Twelve years. I was a sophomore the
first time I took one of your classes. I believe that was your first year
at the school.”
The blue of his eyes
darkened, revealing a hint of vulnerability in his expression. He shifted
away from her and stared at the ducks swimming on the water. A subtle
tension hummed in the air.
“Dr. King?”
He blinked and focused on
her face. “Sorry. I was just thinking about the past. And please call me
Jameson. We’re no longer teacher and student.”
Weariness coated each of his
words. She had a strong urge to comfort him but didn’t know how. He had
always been such a private person.
Determined to interject some
lightness into the conversation, Cassie said, “I was surprised you were
here this evening. I’ve been back several times for functions at the
college, but you’ve always been in hiding.” She would know because she’d
always looked for him. “I guess now I know you’ve been madly composing the
next American bestseller. Hemingway and Faulkner will have to move over
for you.”
He chuckled, the dullness in
his gaze vanishing. “Hardly. It’s a murder mystery. I hope a quick,
entertaining read, but not a book anyone would proclaim a literary
masterpiece. The truth is I don’t usually come to many events at the
college.”
“What made you this time?”
He looked long and deep into
her eyes, his head tilted to the side. “You know, I’m not sure. I hadn’t
planned on it this morning, but I sold my book and wanted to celebrate.
This seemed like as good a place as any.” The corners of his mouth formed
a grin. “I’ve seen quite a few former students at this fundraiser. I have
fond memories of your graduating class. Some of my best students were in
it.”
Her pulse quickened. His
gaze seared straight into her heart. “So our class was better than my
brother’s?”
He laughed. “You can’t draw
me into a family rivalry. I plead the fifth.”
His husky laughter wrapped
around her, its sound wonderful to hear. She suspected he hadn’t laughed
much lately, since his wife’s death. She fixed an impish smile on her face
and widened her eyes in mock innocence. “Oh, I’d never do that to my baby
brother.”
“Yeah, sure. I have an older
sister. I know a few things about sibling rivalry.”
That was one of the few
personal pieces of information she knew about him. He had always been an
enigma, which was what probably drew her to him. She loved to solve
puzzles—in fact, did the crossword in the newspaper every morning before
starting her day. “Interesting. An older sister. Any other deep, dark
secrets you want to share?”
Secrets? Jameson
scrambled to keep his countenance neutral. For a brief time he’d
forgotten. Cassie had that effect on him.
He turned away, staring at
two ducks herding their babies up the slope on the other side of the pond.
“Don’t we all have secrets?”
“I’m an open book.” She
waggled her finger at him. “And I see what you’re doing. You’re answering
a question with a question.”
He forced a grin. “Must be
the journalist in me.”
“Have you ever been a
reporter?”
“While I was working on my
doctorate—years ago. You would have been just a baby at the time,” he
said, needing to add the last sentence to remind him of their age
difference.
“Yes, that’s right. You’re
ancient.” Cassie tapped her chin. “Let’s see. You’re what? Ten? Twelve
years older than I am? Definitely ancient.”
He chuckled. “Okay, you’ve
made your point. I’m not that much older than you in years.” He
left unsaid how much older he felt in experience. There was an innocence
about Cassie that she’d retained even after ten years in the real world.
He yearned for that and realized he’d never been that way, even as a
child.
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got
that settled. The next thing I know they’ll refuse to let me vote.”
“Most women would love to be
thought of as younger than they are.”
“I’m not most women.”
That’s so true. He
was tempted to discover what she’d been doing for the past ten years. When
Scott had been in his class, he’d told him about Cassie working at a high
school as a P. E. teacher and coaching gymnastics. But was she still doing
the same thing? He started to ask and immediately stamped down his
curiosity.
“We’d better go back inside
before they send out a search party,” he said, instead of asking all the
questions he wanted to know the answers to, questions he had no business
asking.
“Dinner should be shortly.
As usual Steff has outdone herself with the preparations.”
Jameson walked beside Cassie
toward the door into the inn. “Steff Kessler was the perfect choice to be
alumni director.”
At the entrance into the
Event Hall Cassie turned toward him when he stopped. “Steff certainly has
the connections. I think a third of the buildings at the college are named
after someone in her family.” She started into the room, noticed he hadn’t
followed and swung back around. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“I’m not staying for
dinner.” He allowed his gaze to take in her black silk dress that fell in
soft folds about her knees. She looked elegant and beautiful.
“Why not?” Disappointment
furrowed her brow.
The urge to smooth the
creases from her forehead inundated him, confirming his need to leave.
“I’ve played hooky from writing long enough. Goodnight.” He pivoted and
strode away before he could change his mind. Cassie was a delightful,
intelligent woman. He didn’t need that complication in his life.
Title:
Family Ever After
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill (May 2008)
ISBN: 0373874804
Pages: 224
Chapter One
A clap of thunder
vibrated the air. Cara Winters jumped at the sudden sound. Staring out the
windshield of her blue Chevy, she could barely see the restaurant ten
yards away. Sheets of gray rain hammered the packed parking. With a glance
at the clock, noting it was twenty minutes after noon, she grabbed her
umbrella on the seat next to her.
She hated being late.
Again she studied the distance to the restaurant and noted a lessening in
the intensity of the storm. If she hurried, she shouldn’t get too wet.
Clasping the handle, she
readied herself for the mad dash. She shot out of the car, opening the
umbrella as she slammed the door closed with her foot. Then she rushed
toward The Ultimate Pizzeria, her total attention on the entrance.
Halfway across the
parking lot, a blaring horn froze her. She pivoted toward the noise, her
eyes growing round. A red sports car swerved to avoid her and splashed a
puddle of water down her front. The wind caught her umbrella and turned it
inside out. What the puddle of water didn’t get wet, the pouring rain did.
She sidestepped another
small lake and continued her sprint to the restaurant. Maybe they had a
towel—or several--she could use. Being drenched was a fitting end to her
horrible morning.
As she reached to open
the door, out of the corner of her eye she noticed the red sports car park
in the back. She thought about waiting to give the driver a piece of her
mind, but that would take time and energy she didn’t have.
Shivering from being
cold and wet, she welcomed the warmth in the pizzeria as she scanned the
tables for her son and Laura Stone. Her friend waved from the other side
of the restaurant, and Cara quickly made her way to the table beside one
of the large picture windows that faced the street.
“I’m sorry I’m late. The
second interview, but I didn’t get the job. Either one.” Cara slipped into
the chair across from Laura and smiled at Timothy whose mouth was full of
a bread stick.
Her friend’s gaze
widened. “I’m sorry about the jobs, but what happened to you? Did you go
swimming? I know you’re new to town, but it’s only March and still cold in
Cimarron City.”
“Funny. I’m laughing on
the inside.”
“Seriously, what
happened?” Laura dumped a packet of sugar into her iced tea and stirred
it.
“I almost got run over
in the parking lot, and the guy didn’t even bother to check and see if I
was all right. What has happened to chivalry in this century?”
Timothy swallowed his
food. “What’s chi—valry?”
“Hon, it’s about
courage, honor and protecting the weak.”
“You aren’t weak, Mom.”
Cara chuckled. “No, but
I am wet.”
She noticed her friend’s
gaze shift to something behind Cara. Before she had a chance to peer over
her shoulder to see what had captured Laura’s attention, a thick terry
cloth towel was dropped onto the table in front of her. She must really
look bad if a stranger was giving her something to dry off with.
Cara twisted around in
her chair to thank her rescuer. A tall, lean man with shaggy dark brown
filled her vision. Her gaze traveled up his torso and came to light on the
somber expression of the man who had nearly hit her. All words fled from
her mind as she stared into his hazel eyes.
“Noah, when did you
arrive? When I came in, they said you had a business meeting and had gone
to your office.”
Cara heard her friend
speaking to the man, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away. From the
distance in the parking lot and the heavy rain, she hadn’t really gotten a
good, up close look at him. Now she did, and he was probably the
handsomest man she’d ever seen. Bar none!
Averting his gaze from
her, Noah grinned at Timothy and then Laura as he sat in an empty chair.
“I just got here. I see you’re with the woman I nearly ran down.” He gave
Cara an apologetic look, the corners of his mouth curving up while dimples
appeared in his cheeks. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t see you between the
parked cars. I would have stopped, but I didn’t want you to get wetter
than you already were.”
Heat seared her face.
She lowered her gaze and fastened it upon the towel. “Thanks for this.”
She lifted it and wiped her damp hair and face.
“This is my friend, Cara
Winters, and her son, Timothy, from St. Louis. She finally decided to take
me up on my suggestion to move here.”
After greeting her son,
the man held his hand out for Cara to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Noah
Maxwell, the proprietor of this fine establishment. I know my armor is a
tab bit tarnished, but I hope the towel and apology restore some faith in
chivalry.”
Timothy giggled.
She paused in an attempt
to make herself more presentable and draped the towel over the arm of the
chair. She clasped his hand and shook it once before releasing it. Her
fingers tingled from the warmth radiating from his hand. “You’re a friend
of Laura’s husband, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, we’ve known each
other for years. Peter, Jacob and I were foster brothers.”
“Ah, yes. I met Jacob
and his wife yesterday.”
“How long have you been
here?”
“Just a few days.”
Noah transferred his
attention to Laura. “Why didn’t you say your friend was moving here? I
know how long you’ve been wanting her to come.”
Cara folded her hands in
her lap—tightly—to erase the warmth of his fingers about hers a moment
ago, but she still felt the touch. “Not her fault. She didn’t know until
the last minute. I finally sold my house and had been planning to move
into an apartment in St. Louis.” She glanced at her son. “But both Timothy
and I decided since we had to move why not come to Oklahoma. He missed
Laura’s boys. They were buddies. And I missed Laura.”
“Cara is what I call a
free spirit. When I asked her to come to Cimarron City, I extended an
open-ended invitation, which I’m thrilled she finally accepted. I’d about
given up on her moving here.” Laura leaned forward. “And we want to keep
her here. She needs a job and a place to stay. Any suggestions?”
Noah scanned his
restaurant. “Have you ever been a waitress? One of mine who works here
will be going on maternity leave at the end of this week.”
Cara shook her head.
Like Laura, she had been a wife, mother and homemaker with no skills
beyond that. Not very marketable, she realized after the fifth interview
with no hope of a job. She’d discovered that painfully in St. Louis the
past year as well. “Unless you count waiting on your family at mealtime.”
“Close enough. You’re
hired.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers and her lips closed.
Noah’s laughter spiced
the air like the smells from the baking pizzas. “Yes. I need a temporary
waitress. You need a job.”
“Don’t you have to check
my references?” Even with her lack of experience in the work force, she
knew that much.
Noah turned to Laura.
“Will you vouch for your friend?”
“One hundred percent.
You won’t get a better worker than her.”
Noah then shifted his
attention to Timothy. “What do you say about your mom? Is she a good
worker?”
“She’s the best!”
Timothy scooped up another breadstick and took a bite.
Noah’s sharp, assessing
gaze swiveled back to Cara. “There. I’ve checked your references. Do you
want the job? I know it probably isn’t what you’re looking for, but it’s
temporary until my waitress comes back in six weeks. The tips aren’t bad
here, and it’ll give you some time to look for a different job.”
Two warm patches
continued to flame her cheeks. She wasn’t used to a man looking at her
with such intensity. Married right out of high school, she’d basically led
a sheltered life where men were involved. “As long as you know I’ve never
done anything like this.”
Noah rose. “I’m a risk
taker. I think I can handle it. Can you start on Friday? The weekends are
very busy around here. You might as well plunge right in.”
Three days. “Sure.”
Thoughts flew through her mind. She had so much to do before she started
the job. Enroll her son in school. Start looking for a place to live. She
didn’t want to live off Laura’s—or anyone’s—charity for long.
“I’ll see you at eleven
then on Friday.”
The quick smile that
graced his mouth palpitated Cara’s heart. After he left, she said, “Once I
get past the fact he almost ran me down with his car, he’s a charmer.”
“Noah is a dear friend.
He’s very charming and kind, but he has left a string of broken hearts in
Cimarron City.”
Cara straightened,
lining up her fork and knife next to her plate. “You don’t need to worry
about me.”
“Mom, I need to go to
the bathroom.”
Cara began to rise.
“I’m eight. I can go by
myself.”
“Sure, hon. You see
where it is?”
He nodded and left.
When he disappeared
inside the restroom, Cara swung back to her friend. “Just because I said
Noah Maxwell was charming, doesn’t mean I’m interested, Laura. Being
married once was enough for me. My son and I are happy the way things
are.” If she said it enough, surely she would begin to believe it.
“It seems the last year
I was in St. Louis all we talked about were my problems. You haven’t
talked much about your marriage to Tim.”
Although the sentence
wasn’t really a query, Cara glimpsed the question in her friend’s eyes.
“It’s not a secret we were talking about divorcing before he became sick.
I couldn’t leave him when that happened. I’m not even sure I could have if
he’d remained healthy.” Her husband’s long illness had wiped out their
savings and what little life insurance he had went to finish paying off
his medical bills and to give her some time to figure out what to do with
her life. But she still didn’t know what that was.
A waitress brought a
large Canadian bacon pizza and placed it in the middle of the table. After
she left with Cara’s drink order, Laura said, “I took the liberty of
ordering. Timothy seemed to think you wouldn’t mind.”
The aroma wafting to
Cara made her mouth water. “Not one bit. I’m starved. I got out of your
house this morning so fast I didn’t even get a cup of coffee. Thankfully I
didn’t yawn through the interviews.”
“Noah’s pizzas are
fabulous even if I’m a little partial.”
Cara surveyed the busy
restaurant, noticing Timothy weaving his way back to them. “It’s a good
thing I like pizza since I’ll be working here at least for the time being.
Now all I have to do is find a place to live with my son.”
“You’ve got one for the
time being. My house.”
“I can’t impose for
long. You already have too many people under one roof.”
“The more the merrier, I
say. Remember I chose to have four children, so I’m accustomed to a lot of
people around.” Laura grinned. “Besides, soon our new addition will be
finished and we’ll have two more bedrooms.”
“No, this is important.
I have to make it on my own. I hope you understand.” She couldn’t make the
same mistake again of depending on someone else to rescue her.
Laura fixed her with a
kind look. “I understand perfectly. You remind me of myself this time two
years ago when I first came to Cimarron City.” She took a slice of pizza.
“But remember you aren’t alone. The Lord is with you and so are your
friends.”
If only it were that simple.
Cara picked up her own piece to eat while Timothy reseated himself. Her
son had to be her main focus now.
* * *
Two days later, Cara
stretched as far as she could on the second to the top rung of an
eight-foot ladder, leaning against an oak’s trunk. “Kitty. Here, kitty.
You’ve got to take this. You won’t get well if you don’t take it.”
Although, by the way this tomcat scampered up the tree, it appeared as
though he was healthier than everyone thought.
Cara held a treat
between her forefinger and thumb and waved it toward him. The overweight
cat, sitting on the branch above her, let out a protesting whine.
Obviously this feline was too smart to fall for the hidden pill inside the
moist delicacy.
She glanced at the top
rung and decided there was no way she would go that extra step for the
tomcat. She was high enough off the ground as it was. When she looked back
at the animal, entrenched in his safe spot, the cat sprang himself at her.
She flung up her arm to protect her face. The action caused the ladder to
rock back. For a second it teetered in mid-air, and then suddenly Cara
plunged toward the hard ground.
Masculine arms caged her
against the wooden rungs, but the ladder’s backward momentum was too much.
She continued to fall, taking her rescuer with her. His body cushioned her
impact. A grunt exploded from his lips, blasting hot air near her ear, at
the same time, muddy water splashed up, drenching her and the person under
her.
One of the slats hit her
forehead as the traitorous ladder came to rest on top of her and her
mysterious protector.
“Okay?”
The deep timbre of his
voice washed over her much like the puddle. She gripped the ladder and
shoved it off her, embarrassment making her unusually strong, it seemed.
“Yes. How about you?”
He lifted her up a few
inches and sucked in several deep breaths. “Now I am.”
She scrambled to the
side and rotated toward her rescuer. The color in her cheeks had to have
deepened to a scarlet red, if the warmth suffusing her face was any
indication, and she was glad that the muddy water covered her
mortification.
“I guess you attract
puddles,” Noah said as he scooted back out of the muddy water, which was
mostly on them now.
She pushed her wet hair
back from her face and wiped her hands across her cheeks. “One of my finer
abilities.”
His chuckles resonated
through Laura’s backyard. “I’m not sure I want to know about any others.”
He rose in one liquid motion and presented his hand to help her stand.
On her feet she saw how
totally soaked she was. Far worse than a few days ago when she had first
met Noah Maxwell. “I don’t think a towel will help this time.”
He glanced down his
body. “You think?” When he reestablished eye contact with her, amusement
glittered in his hazel depths. “Where is everyone?”
“Peter is at the barn.
Laura and the children are at the cottages, making plans for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“The last day of
freedom, as Laura’s son told me, before they have to go back to school.”
Puzzlement beetled his
brow.
“Last day of spring
break and the first day of my new job.”
“Ah, I see. I would
think Sean would be looking forward to going back. He only has a few more
months and he will graduate.”
“Top of his class as
Laura is eager to point out.”
“Yeah, he’s come a long
way from two years ago.”
“A lot can happen in two
years.” As she well knew. Her life had fallen apart and everything
familiar was gone. “Can I help you?”
“Why were you on the
ladder?”
Cara glanced up into the
branches of the oak and found the fat feline perched on another limb,
watching her like the Cheshire cat. “I told Peter I would give Moose his
antibiotic. One of the animals was having babies, I think, and he needed
to be there.”
“And the poor momma
probably doesn’t want him anywhere near her, but Peter likes to make sure
everything is all right. He lost a dog and a litter of puppies because
there were complications last year. So now he personally oversees any
birthing that he knows about.” Noah walked toward the hose near the deck
and turned the tap.
“That could be
exhausting, especially during the spring.”
“That’s Peter. All or
nothing. Actually that pretty well describes Jacob and me, too. Paul, our
foster father, taught us well.” He cleaned himself as best as he could
under the circumstances, then offered Cara the water.
“Thanks, but I’m
thinking a shower is more in line.”
“If only.”
“The least I can do is
bring you a towel.”
“Tit for tat?”
She smiled and mounted
the steps of the deck. “It’s dangerous to be around me. I’ll get one and
be right back.”
Noah watched Cara
disappear inside. Where in the world had that comment about being an all
or nothing kind of guy come from? Along with knocking the breath from him,
she must have rattled his brain when she landed on him. He tried to think
what it was about her that--
“Here you go.”
She appeared in front of
him while he obviously had been in a stupor since he hadn’t heard her
approach. “Oh, yes, thanks.”
“See you tomorrow,” she
said as she went back into the house.
He began drying his hair
and immediately the image of her doing that a few days before popped into
his head. She’d definitely rattled him. She wasn’t at all like the women
he dated casually. There was nothing memorable in her plain
features—certainly nothing that would attract him. Especially because he
never was interested in single mothers. Children and he did not mix.
* * *
One week on the job and
Cara’s feet still ached from standing so much. And tonight would be extra
long because she would help close the restaurant for the first time. In
the bathroom she slapped some water on her face, then washed her hands
before heading back into the dining area to finish the last hour of her
shift.
At least the tips were
good. Pulling her pad out of her apron pocket to take an order, she again
approached the table of three college-aged men. She pasted a smile on her
face although it was an effort to keep it in place after her last
encounter with them.
“You all ready to
order?” She positioned herself a little farther away than usual to avoid
the roaming hands of one of the customers.
“What did you say?” The
massively built young man with rippling biceps who had been extra friendly
slurred his words, making them run together. He bent toward her and nearly
fell out of his chair.
Blasted with the scent
of alcohol, she stepped back. “Are you ready to order?”
“You don’t have to
shout.” He straightened, tossing back his head so hard his blond curls
bounced.
Lord, patience is
usually one of my strong suits, but this Friday night must have brought
out the worst, and they all sat in my area of the restaurant.
Cara moved in closer to
the table, sidling toward the tall, thin young man sitting opposite the
blond giant. “Do you all need more time to look over the menu?”
The young man brushed
back a curl that fell onto his forehead. “What do you think, Brent?
Jeremy? This lil’--lady isn’t being too friendly. Do we order or
leave?”
“I ain’t all that
hungry. Let’s go find a bar that’s open,” the one called Jeremy said
across from Cara, his words garbled as though he had a mouth full of
pebbles.
“Bring us our bill.” The
blond waved his hand in the air. “We’re leaving. We need to do some
celebrating and you’re putting a damper on our festivities.” His voice
rose with each sentence spoken.
Since all she had done
was bring them glasses of water, she said, “There is no bill.” She started
to walk away, not sorry they were going, even if that meant the restaurant
lost some business.
Fingers clamped about
her wrist and halted her progress. She glared at the blond giant. “Take
your hand off me.”
Title:
Forsaken Canyon
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill (October 2008)
ISBN-10:
0373443099
ISBN-13: 978-0373443093
Pages: 224
Prologue
The Guardian wished he hadn’t been forced to do this, but someone had to
save Kit from her fiancé. She was just too naïve and trusting.
Comfortably hidden in the shut-off balcony of the church, he lined up his
sights on the rifle and aimed for the man’s heart. The sounds of the
wedding march reverberated through the large nave. With precision and
preparation he would succeed, and one day she would thank him.
Her fiancé stood on the steps to the altar, facing the center aisle. The
smile the man gave Kit—as though he really loved her--chilled the
Guardian. She deserved so much better.
Calmness descended as he adjusted his grip, checking his target. The sight
of her nearing her fiancé prompted him into action. Taking a deep breath,
he held it while fingering the trigger.
This is for you, Kit.
He squeezed off the shot.
Chapter One
Kit Sinclair bolted straight up in bed, darkness pressing in on all sides.
Her lungs burned as she dragged air into them. The sound of her heart
pounding in her ears like the roar of a powerful storm.
Just another nightmare.
I’m safe in my bedroom.
But the thought didn’t assuage the terror that constricted her chest as if
she were standing in front of the altar right now. She could still see the
red stain fanning outward on her fiancé’s snowy white shirt and Gregory’s
hand reaching out to her. The screams in the church resounded through her
mind. The scent of her fiancé’s blood filled her nostrils as though she
were still holding his body clutched to her.
Will I ever be free of
the memories, Lord?
She raked a wavering hand through her sweat damp hair then reached for the
lamp on her bedside table. After two failed attempts, she finally managed
to pull the chain, and a soft glow flooded the black recesses of her room.
But her mind still remained in the clutch of darkness, had since the day
her fiancé had been murdered right in front of her two years ago.
Glancing at her clock, she noted the time and realized she’d only gotten a
few hours of sleep. She flipped back the sheet and climbed from the bed.
She might as well work since she had to get up early anyway to make her
meeting in Santa Maria Pueblo this morning.
Thankfully she had something to concentrate on other than her past. She
could do nothing about what had happened, but she could prove her theory
was right, hopefully with the help of Zach Collier’s cousin. If not she
would find another way. Her job at the college depended on
it.
* * *
Hawke Lonechief finished the dregs of his coffee and motioned for Anna,
the owner of the café and his cousin, to refill it. "I’m gonna need it
this morning."
"Another all-nighter?"
"How can you tell?" Hawke took a tentative sip of the black brew,
relishing its strong flavor, just the way he liked it, no sugar, no cream.
"Cousin, we grew up together. I know when you haven’t gotten any sleep. Do
you ever see your mother?"
"Sure, we had dinner together two nights ago." And his mother had
basically read him the riot act although in her case it was mainly said
with her usual few words. She was worried about him, but his work held the
haunting memories at bay.
"You’re the chief of police so why are you doing everything down at the
station? What are the other officers for?"
Hawk shrugged. "What’s wrong with working?"
"Nothing, if in moderation. But you don’t know the meaning of the word."
He grinned. "Sure I do. It means steering clear of any excesses. I don’t
have time for excesses."
"You don’t call practically living at the station an excess?" She
fluttered her hand in the air. "Nope. Don’t answer that. I never could
change your mind while we were growing up. I don’t know why I even waste
my breath trying to now."
"I’m responsible for the
safety and well being of thousands of people. I don’t take that
responsibility lightly."
"And you shouldn’t, but what about your mother? Have you
left Aunt Evelyn to fend for herself on the ranch?"
Stung by the rebuke of his well-meaning cousin, Hawke straightened in the
booth and cupped the mug between his hands while he drank some more
coffee. "Charlie’s wife got sick. Somebody had to take care of his small
children. I couldn’t ask him to take his usual shift last night."
Anna wagged her head. "There’s always something with you. Go home. Get
some sleep." She sent him a quizzical look. "You are going home, aren’t
you?"
"Yes, I am as soon as I meet with someone. Then home it is."
"Good because that ranch is too much for Aunt Evelyn alone."
"That’s why I hired some more help."
"Who?"
"Lighthorse’s oldest son, John."
"Good. He’s reliable. She needs someone who is."
"Ouch." The persistent
reproach in Anna’s voice needled Hawke.
"As I told you, I have responsibilities I
can’t shirk."
"I know and we appreciate it. Crime is down at the pueblo since you took
over as police chief. But we both know what this is really about."
The door to the café opened, and a petite woman with long blond hair tied
back in a ponytail entered. Hawke zeroed in on her rather than continue
the conversation with Anna because there was no way he would get into a
discussion with her about that.
The attractive woman scanned the tables and booths until she found him and
then immediately headed in his direction. As he watched her move with
assurance and economy, alarm bells bells he usually listened to--went off
in his mind. What had possessed him to agree to meet with this woman? He
should have told his cousin, Zach, no.
Behind the pleasing features, he glimpsed a woman on a mission. The
determined set to her chin and the focused look in her blue eyes alerted
him to be wary. He didn’t need trouble. He’d had enough of that to last
him two lifetimes.
Exhausted from no sleep in twenty-four hours, Hawke tried to paste a
semblance of a smile on his face in greeting. Once he made a commitment he
didn’t back out no matter how much he wanted to. The corners of his mouth
twitched in protest. He gave up and rose instead.
"Dr. Kit Sinclair?"
"Yes, you must be Zach’s cousin, Hawke Lonechief." She
grinned and took his hand to shake.
The brief, firm exchange didn’t relieve the tension building in his gut.
He waved his arm toward the seat across from him. "Please sit."
After she slipped into the booth, Anna, who had been hovering on the side
observing the meeting with more interest than Hawke would like,
approached. "What can I get for you?"
"I’ve heard great things about your coffee here at the café from Zach
Collier. That’s all I need." That and the man across from me to agree
to be my guide to Desolation Canyon.
"You know Zach?"
"I’m a professor of history at the Albuquerque City College. We have
worked together on a few projects."
"Science and history working together?" The waitress poured a mug full of
the wonderfully fragrant coffee.
"Thank you."
Kit lifted the cup to her mouth and drew in a deep
breath of the aroma, one
of the best smells in the world especially when she had tried to avoid
sleeping as much as possible. She could use the whole pot after the night
before. "I helped Zach with some of the history behind his Aztec codices,
at least the part that involved the Spanish conquistadors. That’s one of
my specialties."
Normally she wouldn’t go into so much detail except that she wanted the
man across from her to know the information. Zach had told her Hawke
Lonechief was the best person to help her, possibly the only one. He knew
every square foot of Santa Maria Pueblo, and he could survive where most
people couldn’t. The place she wanted to go to wasn’t called Desolation
Canyon without reason. It was a hard, rough, barren land.
Like your life. The
thought came unbidden into her mind. She shoved it away.
After the waitress left, Kit lounged back against the cushion, trying to
relax her taut muscles. Even running through the mental relaxation
technique a friend had taught her did nothing to alleviate the stress
mounting in her as she got closer to discovering if her theory was right
or not. Nor was imagining herself on top of a mountain, looking out over a
beautiful vista right before the sun went down doing the trick not when
dark brown eyes studied her with an intensity that stole her breath, her
composure.
She did her
own survey of the man. He was dressed in tan slacks and shirt with an
emblem indicating he was a tribal police officer. His short black hair
surprised her. She had pictured him
with long hair on the hour
drive from Albuquerque. What else would surprise her?
"Now that we have finished sizing each other up, why do you need a guide?
Zach didn’t tell me much. Just that you two worked together and you were a
friend." Hawke finished his coffee and set it on the table.
Direct. She liked that. "I’m looking for evidence of the Lost City of
Gold."
"Who isn’t? But at Santa Maria Pueblo? I don’t think so."
The territorial tone of his voice warned her this might not be an easy
sell. "I think there was a lot of truth to the legend that sent Coronado
all over the Southwest looking for it. Working with Zach and what I
discovered while in Spain researching the topic for my dissertation has
only reinforced my conviction, which has grown the past several years."
One corner of Hawke’s mouth hitched up. "Sure. Who wouldn’t want to find a
place so full of gold that all your worries would be taken care of."
She
stiffened at his mocking tone, but she realized after all this time the
tale did sound farfetched. "I think there was a place that prompted the
legend, but I’m not saying it exists
today as it did five hundred
years ago or that it was as grand as the story said. If it did, it
probably would have been discovered."
He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Do you make it a
habit to go around telling people you’re looking for the Lost City of
Gold?"
"No, she said with a chuckle. They would think I was mad."
"Are you?"
"No, sorry to disappoint you. I’m perfectly sane. But I need a guide, and
Zach said you were the best, that you helped him and Maggie last year with
the Aztec codices. I trust Zach’s opinion."
"So you trust me?"
"Yes." Did she have a choice?
"You shouldn’t." His almost black gaze drilled into her.
"If there is a City of Gold out there and you’re looking for it, I
wouldn’t trust anyone. People do a lot of nasty things for money."
"To put your mind at rest, I
haven’t advertised the fact in the Albuquerque newspaper."
"That’s comforting because after what Zach, Maggie and
myself, to a lesser degree, went through last year because of the codices,
I would hate to see that happen to you."
She inclined her head. "I’m touched by your concern."
"If something happened to you at Santa Maria Pueblo, I would have to deal
with it. That’s my job, not being a tour guide."
His usage of the word tour stung Kit. "I wouldn’t require much of your
time. And of course, I would pay for that time. I estimate five or six
days to confirm if the remains of the Spanish mission is what I’m looking
for."
For a few seconds any emotion in his expression disappeared. Then a
relentlessness scored his features. Tension vibrated the air as he drew
himself up, his large presence commanding. "Where do you expect to find
these ruins?"
"It’s the one you found a
few years ago in Desolation Canyon. Zach told me about it a month ago when
we were working on some background information for the new exhibit at the
museum." As she spoke, his expression turned to fury as though a storm had
swept into the café. "This didn’t bode well for what she wanted. Can you
give me a few days of your--"
"No. I can’t." He
surged to his feet and tossed down some dollars. "Good bye, Dr. Sinclair."
As he stalked to the exit, Kit held her hands over the
lukewarm coffee, trying to draw any warmth she could from it because the
temperature in the restaurant had definitely dropped twenty degrees in the
past minute.
Desolation Canyon was in such a remote part of the reservation that few
people visited there and not usually because they wanted to, but why had
he reacted like that? Did he know something about the canyon she didn’t?
Making a quick decision, she hurriedly paid for her drink and followed him
outside. She had to know what she was getting into, because if he wouldn’t
guide her, she would have to find someone who would. This was too
important and could be a huge boost to her career.
Kit caught him scrambling into his Jeep. "Mr. Lonechief," she called out
from across the small parking lot on the side of the café.
He glanced at her and
slammed his door shut. The next thing she heard was the roar of the
engine. Brazenly she shot out in front of his vehicle before he put it
into drive and blocked his path. He scowled as she came around to his
window, her hand at all times on his Jeep as if she would cling to it if
he sped away.
“What’s the problem with Desolation Canyon?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Besides being isolated, ruggedly harsh and not the
latest tourist destination?”
“I know it won’t be an easy hike. But there’s something you aren’t telling
me.”
He firmed his mouth into an even deeper frown. “Stay away from there.”
“Why?” She leaned toward him, her hands braced against his door.
A nerve in his jaw jerked. He stared forward for the longest moment, then
muttered, “My wife died in that canyon. Now if you’ll excuse me, Dr.
Sinclair, I’ve been up all night and need some sleep.” Hawke pointedly
peered at her hands still on his Jeep door.
His revelation stunned her. It took a few seconds for a question to form
in her mind. “How? What happened?”
Anger hardened his clenched jaw. He revved his engine.
“Will you at least recommend
another guide?”
His expression blanked, leaving no indication of what he
was thinking or feeling visible. “No.”
“You can’t be the only guide available!” She stepped back because the
scorch of his look dared her to continue preventing him from leaving. She
was only brave to a point.
“Stay away from there.” Hawke threw the black Jeep into drive and
screeched out of the parking lot.
Weary, she closed her eyes for a few seconds. When she opened them, his
vehicle had vanished from her view. He must have broken a few laws getting
away from her. If she weren’t so desperate for help, she would laugh about
what just happened or cry at his revelation. But a couple of years ago she
had determined emotions wouldn’t rule her life—ever again.
Her career was everything to
her now. She was a researcher, more at home in the library surrounded by
books, delving into the mysteries of the past through the written word.
She couldn’t believe she had actually stood in front of his car to stop
him from leaving. A woman of action had never been a description of her.
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill
- Love Inspired (Nov 2008)
ISBN: 0373875045
Pages: 224
Chapter One
“Am I glad you are finally
here, Julia. I need help!” Olga Terenkov, dressed
in a jean skirt, a leather vest, cowboy boots and
large pieces of turquoise jewelry, planted herself
in front of Julia Saunders.
“What’s the problem?” Julia
placed her cherry pie on the dessert table.
“Too many pets. When I
decided to have Show and Pet for the children, I
never thought they would bring everything from a
boa to a pig! Those are not pets!” In her
exasperation, Olga’s Russian accent became
heavier.
“And my daughter just
brought a goldfish.” Julia peered around the grief
counselor to search for Ellie among the crowd of
parishioners at the church picnic. Her daughter
had raced toward her friends the second she’d
climbed from the car. Ellie stood in the middle of
a group of children showing them her new and only
pet, swimming in it plastic bowl.
Leading a pony, a little
girl with light brown shoulder length hair joined
the group of kids. Her daughter immediately
latched onto the cute animal, holding her small
fishbowl in one hand and stroking the pony with
the other. Ellie, even though she was only five,
had wanted to learn to ride ever since they had
arrived at Prairie Springs from Chicago four
months ago. Julia was sure she would hear about
her daughter’s renewed longing later that night.
Olga gestured toward the
newest arrival. “See! Next someone will bring a
rat.”
“What can I do to help?”
“I need someone to get the
Show and Pet organized, be in charge. I thought
all we would have were a few cats and dogs. Where
are the normal pets?” The older woman threw her
arms up in the air. “I’ve got Paige’s dad to help,
too. I need all the animals moved over there.”
Olga pointed toward an area roped off with a few
temporary pens set up. “Can you do that for me?”
“I was supposed to help Anna
with the food.”
“Oh, she’s got more than
enough with David, Caitlin and Steve. See!” Olga
fluttered her hand toward the end of the long
tables.
“Then sure. I’d be happy to
help with the pets.” This from a woman who had
never had a pet, except now a low maintenance
goldfish. Julia spied her friend, Anna, giving
instructions to a small army of volunteers and
wished she could take back her words. She would be
better handling the food.
“Who’s Paige’s dad?” Julia
asked, still learning all the children’s names.
This was only her third Sunday attending Prairie
Springs Christian Church.
“You see that handsome
cowboy over there?” Olga nodded her head in the
direction of the group of children Ellie was in
the midst of. “That’s Paige’s dad, Evan Paterson.”
Julia found the man Olga
indicated. He looked like the perfect Texan cowboy
in an ad campaign. His image had plagued her
dreams since she’d first glimpsed him from across
the room at Ellie’s elementary school. Her
daughter had talked about Paige, but Julia hadn’t
realized the connection between Ellie’s classmate
and the tall, lean man with sandy brown hair and
the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“I’m surprised you don’t
know him. Paige and Ellie are in the same
kindergarten class. That’s Paige with your
daughter. She brought the pony.”
For a few seconds Julia
studied the little girl, who had befriended her
daughter, before she again found herself zeroing
in on the Texan cowboy. “I saw him at Back to
School Night a few weeks ago, but we didn’t meet.
I didn’t realize he went to this church.”
“He goes to the early
service, and don’t you attend the late one?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then I will introduce
you two, and you can start getting that menagerie
under control.” Olga spun around and moved toward
the group of children.
Julia heaved a sigh and
followed. Every alarm bell in her went off the
nearer she came to the kids and Evan Paterson.
There was something about the man that reminded
her of—
“Evan, I want you to meet
Julia Saunders. I’ve talked her into helping you
with the animals.”
He pivoted toward them,
tipping back his black cowboy hat, his mouth
cocked in a grin. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise.” Julia fit her
hand in his and shook it. His firm, self-assured
grip left a warmth on her palm that she couldn’t
quite ignore.
“I’ll leave you two to work
this,” Olga swept her arm across the scene in
front of them, “out before we have animals running
loose all over the place. Now I wish I had gotten
more pens.”
At that moment one of the
Mayhew twins let go of her large dog’s leash while
turning her attention to the pony. The black Lab
darted through the group of children and made a
beeline for the food table. Quick, as if he was
used to roping dogs, Evan leaped forward and
snatched up the end of the leash. The Lab came to
a grinding halt a few feet away from the desserts.
Olga clapped. “Very good.
For a second I thought we were at a rodeo.”
Julia chuckled at the “aw
shucks” look that appeared in Evan’s eyes and the
touch of color that brushed lightly across his
cheeks.
He lowered the brim of his
hat to shield his expression and gave the leash
back to the little girl. “Josie, keep a tight rein
on your dog.”
Before Julia could say
anything, Evan put his two fingers in his mouth
and trilled an ear-piercing whistle that silenced
the clamor. “I need everyone to get their pets and
moved over there.” He pointed toward the corded
off area.
Olga leaned close and
whispered to Julia, “That’s his military training.
A cowboy in uniform. You can’t go wrong there.”
Then Olga hurried away,
leaving Julia speechless for a good minute. She’d
heard from Anna about her mother’s “little
matchmaking” schemes, and now Julia was sure she
had become the object of one. Little did Olga know
that she wasn’t in the market for anything that
looked remotely like romance.
When Julia swung her
attention back to the problem at hand, she
realized she was standing by herself while all the
pets and children headed toward the area Evan had
indicated. He was more organized than she was.
“That man doesn’t need any
help,” she muttered to herself and started
forward.
Julia came up behind Evan.
“Reporting for duty.” She curled her hand to keep
from saluting.
After directing his daughter
and her pony to one of the pens, he wheeled
around, pushing his cowboy hat up on his forehead
to reveal the amusement in his eyes. “It’s hard to
get away from something that was a part of my life
for years. When faced with overwhelming odds, I
always fall back into my military training.”
“And come out fighting?”
His laughter peppered the
air, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that
gave him character deepening. “I was a sergeant
and used to giving orders to the men in my unit.”
“Then if you’ve got
everything under control, I’ll go help Anna with
the food.”
“And disappoint Olga?”
“Then you know what she’s up
to.”
“I’ve known Olga for quite
some time. She can be a steamroller, a sweet one
but nevertheless a determined one, too. I find it
easier to go along until she is out of view.”
Uncomfortable with the topic
of their matchmaking, Julia searched for a safer
subject to discuss. “So you’ve been a member of
this church for a while?”
“Yes and you’re new. How
long have you been attending? This is the first
time I’ve seen you here.”
“Three weeks. I tried out
some other churches in Prairie Springs, but this
one fits my spiritual needs.”
“Help! I’ve lost my kitten!”
a little boy shouted.
The twenty-pound “kitten”
jumped over a rabbit’s cage and landed on the
pig’s back, sending it charging forward. The cat
continued its trek through the animals, causing a
mutt and a German shepherd to chase after it while
dragging their owners. After scurrying up a nearby
oak, the pet that started the chaos perched on a
top limb, staring at the dogs barking at the
bottom of the tree. A picture of the cat in
Alice in Wonderland popped into her mind.
Shaking the image from her
thoughts, Julia hurried into the melee. She
intended to calm the children who still had
control of their pets while Evan waded through the
dogs at the oak, grabbed the collar of first the
mutt then the German shepherd and hauled them to
their waiting owners.
Cradling the fishbowl in her
lap, Ellie sat next to Paige. Both girls giggled.
Julia stopped in front of
her daughter. “I’m glad someone thinks this is
funny.”
Ellie put her hand over her
mouth in an attempt to contain her laughter.
“Taylor did that on purpose. He wanted to see what
would happen, Mommy. He thought the dog was funny
earlier.”
Julia knelt by her daughter
and Paige. “Can I count on you two to help me?”
After both girls nodded, she continued. “Paige,
put your pony into the first pen while I get the
pig into the second one.”
“What about my goldfish?”
Ellie still held her bowl.
“I don’t think we have to
worry about your fish getting away. You can set it
up on something high enough the other animals
won’t bother it.” Julia smoothed Ellie’s brown
wavy hair back from her face. “Honey, if you and
Paige can get all the kids with dogs over there,”
Julia pointed toward a roped off place at the far
end, “that would be a big help.”
“When is show and pet gonna
start?” Paige tugged on her pony’s reins.
“When we have some kind of
control on the situation.” Julia prayed those
weren’t her famous last words concerning this
activity.
Title:
What Sarah Saw
Paperback
Publisher: Steeple Hill
- Love Inspired Suspense (Jan 2009)
ISBN: 0373443226
Pages: 224
Prologue
A patrol car was parked
on Main Street in front of Farley’s Pawn Shop.
Approaching her office across the street, Dr.
Jocelyn Gold shivered in the cool January air,
remembering the same scene only five days
before—when Earl Farley had been found dead, an
apparent suicide, in his office right below his
apartment on the second floor.
Was the sheriff’s
department completing its investigation into
Earl’s death? Sheriff Bradford Reed hadn’t been
very supportive when Earl died, but then the
Farley’s didn’t belong to the elite of Loomis.
After the deputy left, she’d called Leah, Earl’s
wife, to offer to come over if she needed someone
to talk to.
She
pushed her door open and entered, hoping
everything was all right with Leah, who had
instantly renewed their friendship when she’d
first come to town nine months ago. Quickly
Jocelyn crossed to the window and opened the
blinds to allow sunlight to pour into the room.
After being gone for two days to speak at a
conference in New Orleans on counseling children
who were victims of crime, the musty smell of a
closed office accosted her.
The
blinking light on her phone drew her attention.
When she played her messages, Leah’s voice blared
from the speaker, “Jocelyn, I need to see you.
I’ve made a mess of everything. I’ll catch you
when you get back tomorrow.”
Her
neighbor’s frantic tone heightened Jocelyn’s
concern. She placed a call to Leah’s apartment.
What was going on? A new development in Earl’s
death?
Please, Leah, pick up.
On
the fifth ring a gruff-sounding man answered with,
“Hello.”
The
rough voice snatched any words from Jocelyn’s mind
for a few seconds.
“Who’s this?” the man demanded.
She
tightened her hand around the receiver. “Dr.
Jocelyn Gold. Who is this?” she asked with as much
authority as she could muster.
“Sheriff Reed. Why are you calling, Dr.
Gold?”
“Leah’s a friend. What happened? Is she all
right?”
“We
don’t know. She’s disappeared.”
Jocelyn jerked up straight. “Disappeared? When? I
saw her on Friday right before I left.” Her friend
had urged her to go and speak at the conference,
that she had Shelby and Clint to support her while
Jocelyn was gone a few days.
“She’s been gone hardly a day.”
“Foul play?”
“Don’t know. Her brother seems to think
so.”
Jocelyn instantly thought of Leah’s three-year-old
daughter. “Where’s Sarah?”
“Clint Herald has her.”
Leah’s brother had her daughter. Relief trembled
through Jocelyn. “You might want to come listen to
my recorder. She left me a message. She sounded
frightened.”
“You’re at your office?”
Jocelyn sagged back against her oak desk, all
energy draining from her. “Yes. I’ll be here
catching up on some paperwork.”
“I’ll stop by after I’ve finished up here.”
Even
after the sheriff hung up, Jocelyn held the phone
to her ear for a few extra seconds. Where’s
Leah? Is she okay? Does this have something to do
with Earl taking his own life?
In spite of Leah’s urging, I shouldn’t have gone.
If I had been here, maybe she wouldn’t be missing.
I let her down.
She’d come back to Loomis to get away from crime.
When she’d worked with the New Orleans police as a
consultant dealing with traumatized children, the
stress made her long for a more laid-back place to
live and a job where she wasn’t bombarded
constantly with the horrors people could do to
children.
Memories she refused to think about inundated her
with the suddenness of a summer thunderstorm
sweeping in from the Gulf of Mexico. She couldn’t
hold them at bay. Legs quivering, she slid down
the front of the desk to the hardwood floor.
I
let someone else down and he died. Please don’t
let it be happening again. A tear slipped from
one eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped it
away, determined not to revisit her past. But the
images of the lost child—and her friend
Leah—haunted her.
Chapter One
Several hours later,
Jocelyn dropped her pen, her hand aching from
writing up her clients' notes in their files.
Glancing toward the window, she saw the patrol car
still in front of the pawnshop. She stood,
stretching her arms above her and rolling her head
to ease the tension in her neck.
A knock sounded and sent
her whirling around toward the door. She stared at
it, not moving an inch. This time someone pounded
against the wood, prodding her forward. She
hurried from her office into the reception area
and peered out the peephole. The sight of Sam
Pierce stunned her. She hadn't seen him in
months—not since she'd worked that child
kidnapping in New Orleans with him. It hadn't
ended well, and they hadn't parted on good terms.
Sam pivoted to leave.
Quickly Jocelyn unlatched the lock and pulled the
door open.
Halting, the over
six-foot FBI agent glanced back at her. Dressed in
a black suit with a red tie, dark hair cut short,
he fixed her with his intense stare, his tanned
features making a mockery of the cool January
weather.
"Jocelyn, it's good to
see you again."
The formality in his
voice made her wonder if he was only trying to be
polite.
"I'd like to have a word
with you. Sheriff Reed said that Leah Farley left
a message on your answering machine. I'd like to
listen to it."
"The FBI is working
Leah's disappearance?"
"Yes." He took a step
forward, forcing her to move to the side to allow
him into the office.
"Really. I got the
impression from the sheriff that he didn't think
Leah had met with foul play. I'm surprised he
requested your assistance."
"The mayor did. I don't
believe the sheriff was too happy, but he's
cooperating."
"Good, because I don't
think Leah would run away and leave her daughter
behind. She adores her."
"So you knew her well.
Professionally or personally?" He wore a
no-nonsense facade as if they hadn't dated for
four months right before she had moved to Loomis.
As if he hadn't saved her life once.
Jocelyn waved Sam toward
the chair in front of her desk in her office. She
sat in hers behind it, biding her time while she
gathered her composure. As a psychologist, she'd
learned to suppress any emotions she might
experience in order to deal with a client's
problem. His presence strained that skill.
"Personally. We're
neighbors." She knew she was stating the obvious,
but Sam's intense stare unnerved her, as though he
remembered their time together but not fondly. He
was one of the reasons she had come to Loomis nine
months ago to open a private practice and teach a
few classes at Loomis College.
Grinning, Sam threw a
glance at the pawnshop across the street and said
in a teasing tone, "Yes, I can see." Then as
though he realized he'd slipped too quickly into a
casual, friendliness toward her, he stiffened, the
smile gone.
His sudden change pricked
her curiosity. He didn't like this any more than
she did. That realization made getting through the
interview a little easier. She relaxed the tensed
set of her shoulders.
When she had started
seeing Sam in New Orleans, she had known it wasn't
wise to date someone she had to work with from
time to time in volatile, intense situations.
Being a consultant on kidnapping cases where
children were involved had thrown them together
over the course of the year he'd been in the Big
Easy.
Jocelyn gripped the edge
of her desk. "Look, I'm happy to let you hear the
recording, and I'll help in any other way I can,
but I insist on us putting our former relationship
in the past where it belongs." Their relationship
started when Sam rescued her from a patient's
father who tried to kill her, and it fell apart
when they worked together on a kidnapping case
that ended violently. Brutality had surrounded her
in New Orleans. She thought she'd escaped it by
coming to Loomis.
"Do you mean it? You'll
help with this case? Because I was thinking we
need someone with your experience." His frosty
gaze melted a few degrees.
Although she now worked
with all ages, in missing-persons cases she'd
dealt only with the children involved. "Well, yes.
I'll help.
But since children are my
specialty, I'm not sure how…" She drew in a deep
breath. "Sarah. You want me to work with Leah's
daughter?"
Sam nodded. "I think the
key to Leah's disappearance may be wrapped up in
her husband's suicide, so I'll be looking into
that, too. Were you aware that Sarah might have
witnessed her father's death?"
Jocelyn's heartbeat
quickened. Poor little Sarah!
Jocelyn swallowed and
said, "I hadn't heard that before I had to leave
or I wouldn't have left. I thought Sarah was
asleep upstairs in her bedroom. Earl shot himself
downstairs in his office in the store."
"Apparently Leah's
brother told the sheriff his sister was beginning
to think that Sarah might have seen or heard
something from a couple of things the child said
to her mother."
"What?"
"Clint didn't know. Leah
left Sarah with him before he could question her
further about it."
"That poor child."
"I need to know what she
knows."
"She's only three. It may
be very little. Have you talked with Clint? The
sheriff said that Sarah is staying with him."
"No, but I'm heading out
to his house to interview him after I leave here.
I want you to come along and assess Sarah."
Just like old
times—unpleasant ones. Don't go there. Why,
Lord, are you doing this? "Do you want to hear
the message?"
"Yes."
"I'd give you the tape,
but I use an answering service." The second time
she heard it Jocelyn was even more convinced Leah
was in trouble. Was it due to her husband's
suicide or something else? Where did Sarah fit
into this? Had the child heard or seen something
she shouldn't have?
"Why would she call you?
Isn't Shelby Mason her closest friend?"
"My, you have been busy.
How long have you been in town?"
"A few hours." He
captured her gaze, intensity pouring off of him.
"You aren't seeing Leah
professionally, are you?"
Clenching her teeth, she
curled her hand around her pen until it dug into
her palm. "No. We're friends, but lately she has
used me more and more as a sounding board when
something's bothering her."
"What was she bothered
by, and don't tell me it's confidential because
she isn't a client."
"Her marriage. She and
Earl were having trouble."
"The kind that could
drive her to kill her husband and leave her
child?"
"I told you I can't see
Leah doing anything like that."
"Leave her child or
murder her husband?"
"Both." Before she
snapped her pen in half, Jocelyn placed it on top
of the folder she was working on.
"You, better than most,
know that when people are pushed too far, they are
capable of doing something you'd never think they
could." Sam rose, hovering in front of her desk.
"Will you come with me to Clint Herald's?"
She wanted to say no, not
be dragged into the seedy side of life that had
taken up so much of her time in New Orleans, but
she couldn't. Leah was a friend. Shelby, Leah and
she had once been a tight threesome in high
school. What if she was in trouble and needed her
help? "Yes."
"Thanks, I appreciate
it."
The formal tone returned
to his voice and bearing, and she grasped it like
a life preserver. So long as he kept things
professional, she would be able to help Leah—that
was, if she could keep herself from remembering
her and Sam's past relationship.
She locked her office and
trailed him to the parking lot at the side of the
building. He headed for his black nondescript
sedan.
"I'll drive myself."
Jocelyn paused a few feet from her yellow T-bird.
Over the top of his
vehicle he studied her for a moment, then
shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll follow you, since
I'm not familiar with Loomis."
When she pulled out onto
Main Street, she noticed the sheriff coming out of
the pawnshop with several plastic bags, probably
full of evidence. Seeing them brought to mind the
other child from her past—the one she hadn't been
able to save.
His hands tight on the
steering wheel, Sam kept sight of the yellow
Thunderbird a few yards in front of him. He'd
known that Jocelyn had left New Orleans for a job
in a Louisiana town north of the city, but he
hadn't been prepared to see her again today—and
worse, needing to work with her.
Being with her brought
back the memories of the last case they'd handled
together. For several seconds the image of the
little five-year-old boy's body, bruised and
beaten, and the horror on Jocelyn's face at the
sight flashed across his mind like a strobe light.
Jocelyn's reaction drew his own repulsion to the
foreground. He'd almost quit his job.
He gripped the wheel
until his hands ached. He hadn't found the child
in time, and that would haunt him for the rest of
his life. It flashed in his mind alongside his own
younger brother's face the last time he'd seen him
twenty-five years ago.
He shook his head to
clear the disturbing images as Jocelyn turned into
the driveway of an older two-story house with huge
oaks dripping Spanish moss standing sentinel in
front. Parking behind her, Sam shut down his
thoughts of the past. He couldn't let anything
cloud his judgment while working the case. He'd
concentrate on solving it soon and be gone from
Loomis.
After joining Jocelyn on
the porch, he leaned around her and pressed the
bell. She kept her gaze trained forward, the
silence between them taut. Her faint scent of
vanilla tempted him with memories. The sight of
her long blond hair, free from the usual clasp at
her nape, billowing about her shoulders or the
feel of her soft hand in his…
A click wrenched him back
to the present. Relieved when the door opened to
reveal a large man with dark features and a grim
expression on his face, Sam pulled out his badge.
"I'm Special Agent Pierce with the FBI. I'm here
to look into your sister's disappearance and
wonder if we could have a word with you."
"I'm glad someone is
finally taking this seriously. I couldn't get the
sheriff to listen to me yesterday when I told him
that Leah wouldn't leave Sarah unless something
bad had happened to her." Clint stepped to the
side to allow them into his house. "Come in. And
hi, Jocelyn. I was just about to put Sarah down
for a late nap. I'll take care of that and then we
can talk.”
When
Night Falls
Chapter One
In
the dead of night darkness, closed in on Dr.
Jocelyn Gold as she approached her car, parked in
the last row in the large lot, full of vehicles
but not people.
Glancing up at the security light, she couldn’t
remember it being out when she arrived at the
apartment building earlier. She’d been meeting
with Sam Pierce to consult with him and interview
a teen in an FBI case. She should have waited for
Sam and left with him, but she’d wanted to get
home. Usually place was teeming with people. She
checked her watch. One in the morning. That would
explain the emptiness. She’d been here longer than
she thought. She hurried her pace, clicking her
remote to unlock her car.
She
reached for her door handle of her yellow
Thunderbird. A sweaty hand clamped over her mouth.
The taste of salt gagged her as a large body
flattened her against her vehicle. The force of
the action knocked the breath from her lungs and
her purse from her grasp. A knife pressed into her
neck while a musky odor assailed her nostrils.
Terror held her immobile. Her breath trapped in
her lungs, she tried to recall her self-defense
training. Her mind blanked.
The
man leaned into her, the scent of beer chasing
away all other smells. “You should have left my
daughter alone.”
The
gruff, muffled sound of his deep voice pierced the
thundering of her heartbeat in her ears. Daughter?
Who?
Her
assailant shoved her head into the soft top of her
convertible, his hand no longer over her lips, the
sharp weapon no longer at her throat. But before
she could scream, he stuffed an oily rag into her
mouth. With her body still trapped between her car
and him, he tied a gag on her. When he lifted the
knife, even in the darkness she could see its
glinting steel. She squeezed her eyes closed,
anticipating the bite of the knife.
Seconds passed.
The
hammering of her heartbeat in her ears proclaimed
she was still alive. She stared at the black
shroud of night, the apartment building a hundred
yards away. He shifted, bearing his full weight on
her body.
Then
it came--the steel blade sliding across her flesh,
nicking her. The sweat running down her neck stung
the cut. A cold, clammy feeling washed over her.
“I’m
gonna enjoy slicing you up. But not here.” He used
the tip of the knife to toy with the shell of her
ear.
The
threat shoved her survival instincts to the
foreground. Snippets of her training finally
leaked into her thoughts. She ground her foot into
his, and the instant his hold lessened, she jabbed
her elbow back into his soft stomach. A whoosh of
air blasted from his lips.
The
hulking man struggled to breathe. His grip
loosened even more. Jocelyn went limp, totally
slipping from him. Wrenching away, she swung her
arm against his wrist, and the knife flew from his
grasp. The clanking noise reverberated in the
quiet. She kicked his shin, then whirled and ran
toward the building.
The
sound of his pounding footsteps filled her ears.
Her own breathing shallow and ragged, Jocelyn knew
the distance between them was shrinking, but she
dared not look back.
Eighty yards.
I
can make it. She tore at the gag over her
mouth.
Sixty. She spat out the rag. She felt a catch in
her side.
A
hand grabbed her jacket. She shrugged out of the
garment and kept going.
Forty more yards and safety.
But
the thud of his footsteps sounded right behind
her. She screamed.
He
slammed into her, and she crashed to the asphalt,
all the air rushing from her. Pain shot up from
her knees and palms. A heavy weight pressed her
into the cement, constricting the rise and fall of
her chest. The grit of the pavement dug into her
cheek. Her lungs burned with the effort to draw
oxygen into them.
Suddenly the pressure on her back eased. She
started to scramble away when he yanked her arm
up, hauling her to her feet, facing him. Over six
feet tall, he towered in front of her. Through the
slits in the black ski mask she felt his gaze
boring through her although it was too dark really
to tell.
“I’ll make you pay for destroying my
family.”
His
mumbled threat, a menacing whisper, hung between
them. They were only mere inches apart. Squeezing
her arm so tight that her fingers were going numb,
he yanked her closer until her length mashed into
his. Again the smell of beer accosted her. Bile
rose into her throat. With one hand fisted in her
hair and the other digging into her arm, he began
dragging her toward some bushes off to the side.
She fought to block the pain and focus on getting
away.
She
screamed. Her voice barely worked. Swallowing
hard, she started to shout again. He locked his
arm across her front and braced his fleshy palm
against her mouth.
“Stop! FBI.”
Her
attacker jerked around, taking her with him. He
knocked her to the ground, then fled.
“Jocelyn, you all right?”
She
blinked and looked up. Sam Pierce hovered over
her, his gun drawn.
“Yeah,” she answered in a raw whisper while the
blackness around her threatened to swallow
her.
He
thrust his cell into her hand. “Call the police.
I’m going after him.” Sam raced after the man who
had a good minute head start.
* * *
The
pounding of his feet ate up the distance. A
picture of Jocelyn with her long, blond hair
clutched in her assailant’s hand and her blue eyes
full of fear and pain spurred him even
faster.
He
glimpsed the large perpetrator dash into a dark
alley. Sam followed. Thoughts of hearing Jocelyn’s
scream propelled him into a situation he knew was
dangerous. When he got his hands on the man, he
would regret messing with Jocelyn. Rage fed Sam
until he realized he’d lost sight of the
attacker.
Slowing his pace, Sam searched the shadows. He had
to stay focused on his target, not on his anger.
He saw a movement up ahead and increased his
speed. His grip on his weapon tightened, all his
instincts sharpened. The only illumination came
from the buildings lining the sides of one back
alley after another.
When
he reached a dead end, a chain link eight-foot
fence towered before him. Scaling it, he leaped to
the ground and scanned the inky curtain
surrounding the abandoned warehouse. He dug into
his suit pocket and retrieved his penlight, then
made a sweep of the area.
A
crashing noise jerked him around to the left.
* * *
Jocelyn picked herself up from the pavement. Her
legs wobbled. She stumbled and nearly went down.
The trembling started in her hands and quickly
spread throughout her. She hugged her arms across
her chest and trudged toward the apartment
building.
At
the double glass doors that led inside, she pulled
on one and nearly cried out when it didn’t budge.
Yanking on the other produced more frustration.
The locked lobby afforded no safety for her. She
raised her hands to hammer her fists against the
glass when she saw Sam’s cell. Quickly she made a
call to the police, then wilted to the pavement
before the doors, hoping they arrived
soon.
Finally Jocelyn looked down at herself and gasped.
Through her torn black pants she could see her
bloodied knees. Turning her hands over, she
examined her scraped and bleeding palms. She
brought her finger up to her neck and felt the
sticky wet of her own blood.
What
if something happened to Sam because of her? That
question renewed all her panic and fear. With
everything else going on in her life, how would
she forgive herself if it did?
* * *
A
white cat darted in front of Sam, and for a few
seconds he relaxed his tense body, drawing in a
calming breath.
Then
he continued his search of the tall weeds and
trash littered yard encircling the warehouse.
Nothing but a black wall greeted his
inspection.
Suddenly he realized where he was. The assailant
had doubled back around. The apartment parking lot
was nearby. Visions of Jocelyn at knifepoint
flashed through his mind.
Sam
set out in a jog, skirting the abandoned
structure. Lord, protect her.
He
rounded a corner when something hard whacked him
across the chest. He stumbled and fell to his
knees. The grip about his weapon momentarily went
slack.
Sucking in gasping breaths, he lifted his head at
the same time he strengthened his hold on his gun.
A two-by-four came at him, catching him on the
side of the head. He collapsed forward. The sight
of white tennis shoes was the last thing he saw
before darkness rushed in.
*
* *
Jocelyn hugged Sam’s cell phone as though that
would protect her from her attacker if he
reappeared. She continually scanned the parking
lot, so tense that her muscles ached.
A
movement in the shadows at the edge of a pool of
light from the nearest security lamp caught her
attention. A figure emerged. She struggled to her
feet, praying it was Sam coming back.
In
the distance a siren broke the stillness of the
night.
The
unknown person froze, stared down the street then
spun about and ran.
Jocelyn slid down the glass as patrol cars came to
a shrieking halt. Two police officers raced toward
her. One placed a call while the other homed in on
her.
“Jocelyn, I heard the dispatcher and came as quick
as I could.”
Relief washed over her. She knew her. Terri
Morgan. She quickly explained what happened,
finishing with the fact Sam was still gone. Her
mounting fear crept into her voice as the other
officer joined Terri.
“I
called for an ambulance,” the newcomer said.
“Why?” Jocelyn asked, trying to stand, needing to
go look for Sam.
“Jocelyn, stay right there until the paramedics
can check you out.” Terri placed a hand on her
shoulder.
“No!
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.” Her voice
rose.
“You’re hurt, Jocelyn.”
The
patience in her friend’s voice did nothing to
alleviate her dread. “I’m okay. Find Sam.”
She
took a step forward and sank to the pavement,
Terri’s arm about her in support. Her body
throbbed in pain.
More
sirens disturbed the night.
An
ambulance slammed to a stop in front of the
building. One paramedic jumped out and hurried
toward her while another opened the back of the
vehicle.
She
shook off Terri’s assistance and shoved to her
feet, determined to remain upright. “You don’t
understand. I’m not going anywhere until I see
Sam. Make sure he’s all right.”
The
other policeman murmured something in her friend’s
ear, then made a call for backup. Panic surged
through her.
Where was Sam?
A
paramedic wheeled a gurney to her. A protest
welled up inside her, but before she could utter
it, a figure staggered out of a dark alley across
the street and pitched forward.
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