Danger on the Mountain (18 page)
Read Danger on the Mountain Online
Authors: Lynette Eason
TWENTY
M
aggie stood beside Belle’s crib and simply watched the baby sleep. It had been three months since Shannon had tried to kill her and kidnap Belle, and Maggie still didn’t like to take her eyes off her daughter.
But the fear and anxiety were fading. Reese had been a big part of helping her accept that the danger was over and she and Belle were safe.
All three bank robbers were serving time. Shannon was in a hospital for the criminally mentally ill and getting help. Maggie hadn’t been able to bring herself to go see the woman yet, but she hoped one day she could do it. Reese assured her he thought she could.
Reese.
Love filled her heart.
“Hey.” Warm hands settled on her shoulders and she turned to see the man she’d been thinking about.
“Hey.”
“I got your groceries put away. I’m going in to work in about an hour. Are we still on for dinner?”
Maggie wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you, Reese.”
He froze, then a small sigh slipped from his lips. “I’ve been wanting to hear those words for a while now.”
She looked up into his eyes. “I’ve been wanting to say them for a while now.”
“So why now?”
She smiled. “Because it was time.”
He looked at the sleeping baby then pulled her into the den. The fire crackled in the fireplace and through the window she could see a light layer of snow covering the ground.
Excitement flooded her. She’d finally said the words and now that she had, she was surprised at how easy it had been. And how much she wanted to say them again.
“I love you, too, Maggie.”
The air in the room suddenly seemed too thin. “You don’t have to say it just because—”
His finger covered her lips, cutting her off. “I’ve been wanting to say it since we found Belle at the airport.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
Maggie drew in a much-needed breath. She whispered, “Reese?”
“You and Belle have wriggled your way into my heart and...” He shrugged. “I have something I’ve been wanting to ask you, but didn’t want to rush you.”
Her stomach flipped. “What’s that?”
He dropped to one knee. “Well, I was going to be a little more creative about this, but since you’ve provided the opening, I’m going to go ahead and step through.”
“Reese?” She couldn’t seem to say anything else. She felt shaky and light-headed and oh so happy. But first... “You’re really okay with Belle, aren’t you?”
He gave a sad smile. “I’ll always miss Emma, but Belle is a beautiful little girl with her own personality, who makes me smile and has captured my heart. She’s a part of you. How could I not love her?”
Maggie already knew that. She’d watched the two of them bond like superglue over the past three months. They’d celebrate Belle’s first birthday tomorrow and Reese had been like a kid in a candy store picking out the perfect present for her. “I know. I have no more doubts that you’ll love her like your own.” Eyes swimming with tears, she cupped his cheek. “You’re already a father to her.”
Reese’s green eyes widened and he opened the box to pull out a beautiful diamond ring. “Will you marry me, Maggie?”
Her throat closed and all she could do was nod. “I would be honored.”
He slid the ring on her finger and stood.
Belle’s cry sounded and he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “Hold on a minute, I’m not done.”
Maggie sank onto the couch and studied the ring on her finger. Joy surged through her and she sent up a silent thank-you to God, who’d allowed Reese to come into her and Belle’s life.
Reese walked back into the den with Belle on his hip. Belle lay her head on his shoulder and smiled at Maggie. Then Maggie noticed something on her daughter’s tiny finger. A small silver ring.
She glanced at Reese. “One for her, too? How sweet.”
He took it from her hand and said, “We’ll keep it somewhere safe for when she’s older. Right now, she’ll just want to eat it.” Maggie gave a watery laugh. He pulled her up from her seat on the couch and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “This is my promise to be the kind of dad she needs. I promise to love her and teach her and train her in the ways God says fathers are to love, teach and train their children.”
Her heart shook with emotion as he lifted her hand and kissed the ring he’d just placed there only moments before. “And I promise to be the kind of husband I’m supposed to be. I don’t promise to be perfect, but I promise you’ll never have reason to fear me.”
She felt a tear slip down her cheek. “I can’t believe I’m crying this much.” He smiled and she said, “I love you.”
“And I love you.” He leaned over and placed another tender kiss on her willing lips.
Belle giggled and clapped and Maggie grinned through her tears. “Welcome home, Reese.”
“Welcome home, Maggie.” And she thought she heard him whisper, “Thank You, God, for my family.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “What’s the first thing you want to do now that you don’t have to worry about someone trying to kill you?”
Maggie thought about it then grinned. “Kiss you.”
“I like that plan.”
His head lowered but before his lips touched hers, she muttered, “Then put you in my will.”
His laughter was music to her ears.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of
Navy SEAL Rescuer
by Shirlee McCoy!
Dear Reader,
Thank you for joining Maggie and Reese on their suspenseful adventure to keep Maggie and Belle safe. Rose Mountain has become like home to me and I will miss it, as this is the last story in the series.
Maggie came from a broken home, but grew into a wonderful young woman who made a bad decision to marry a man who hid his violent side. Thankfully, she was delivered from that situation with the help of her grandfather and a friend.
Reese grew up in foster homes, but thanks to the love of one foster mother, he knew that he wanted to do something good with his life.
Our backgrounds and daily interactions with the people in our lives influence us greatly. I pray that you’re the positive influence in someone’s life. I pray that this story affects you in a way that makes you want to be a better person and trust the Lord a little more each day through good times and bad.
I love to hear from my readers, so if you want to visit my website at
www.lynetteeason.com
,
you can sign up for my newsletter and keep updated with my latest writing news.
God Bless,
Lynette Eason
Questions for Discussion
Maggie had a rough few years with an abusive husband. What do you think of her decision to get out when she found out she was pregnant with Belle?
What do you think about her decision to go back to Kent before Belle was born? Do you think she was weak? Or strong?
Maggie is glad Kent is out of her life, but sad that he was dead. Are you surprised she would feel sad about that? How would you have felt if you had been in Maggie’s shoes?
Maggie and Reese hit it off right away; however, he has a lot of pain in his past. He was raised by foster families and his heart’s desire is to have a family of his own. He lost his and is afraid he’ll never have one again. Then along comes Maggie and Belle. And yet he acts almost scared of Belle. Do you find his reaction odd? Or do you understand it? Why or why not?
Maggie is also an orphan in the sense that she has no more living relatives, other than Belle. What do you think about her decision to let Shannon back into her and Belle’s lives? Do you think that isn’t a very smart move? Or do you understand why she does it?
Maggie goes through a plethora of emotions during the time someone tries to kill her. She’s scared, worried, angry and anxious. And rightly so. And yet she turns to scripture during this time and trusts in God. What do you do when you’re anxious or scared? Turn to God or away from Him?
What is your favorite scene in the book?
How does the story handle the theme of facing your fears and learning to trust again?
Discuss Shannon’s motivations and her heart. How might the story have been different if Shannon had entrusted her life to God?
Reese finally gives in and lets Belle wrap him around her tiny finger. And it’s only then that his heart starts to heal from his past wounds. What do you think about the scene where he volunteers to change her diaper and she ends up capturing his heart?
Maggie has a routine: she goes to the bank every Monday, she has Belle on a schedule and she has her teaching schedule. And she likes it that way. Are you a person who likes routine and schedules? Or are you more of an impulsive person who likes to toss such things out the window?
Maggie finally has to rely on others to help her stay safe. She’d relied on a police officer friend to help her get away from Kent—and then ended up not needing the officer’s help when Kent was killed. And yet Maggie still uses some of those techniques to keep herself hidden, almost invisible, when she moves to Rose Mountain. Why do you think she needs to do that?
Reese is determined to get the person who’s after Maggie. He couldn’t help his wife and daughter, but this is something he
can
do. He can catch the bad guy for Maggie. What does this tell you about
Reese’s personality?Maggie doesn’t want to live off the money her grandfather left her. She lives simply and does her job every day while looking after Belle. What does this say about her personality?
Maggie gives Shannon a good punch at the end of the story. Does this surprise you? Why or why not?
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.
You enjoy a dash of danger.
Love Inspired Suspense
stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.
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ONE
M
URDERER!
Red letters dripped like blood down the front of the freshly
painted house.
Smaller letters marched across the newly whitewashed porch
floor.
Murderer.
The painted words seemed to taunt Catherine Miller as she
trudged to the back of the old farmhouse and grabbed two nearly empty paint cans
from the dilapidated shed. Hopefully, she had enough to cover the vandalism. She
snagged a couple of paint pans, tucked paint rollers under her arm and carried
everything to the porch. Ten minutes, and she’d be done.
Good. Eileen would be finished with chemo in an hour, and
Catherine didn’t want her grandmother waiting. She was too sick, too exhausted,
too frail to be left sitting in a crowded hospital waiting room. At sixty-seven,
Eileen’s clock was running down, and Catherine wished desperately that she could
wind it back up again. She couldn’t, so she’d purposed to spend every moment she
could making sure Eileen’s last weeks and months were comfortable and
pleasant.
That meant getting rid of the vandalism before Eileen got
home.
She touched a finger to the dry red paint. Not even tacky.
Whoever had vandalized the house had done it soon after Catherine and Eileen had
left for the hospital. Some punk kid. She was sure that was what the sheriff
would say if she called.
She wouldn’t.
She’d put her grandmother through enough already. She wouldn’t
bring her home to vandalism or to police poring over the property. She’d cover
the paint and keep what had happened locked safely away with all the other
things she couldn’t share.
The sun blazed from the blue summer sky, the breezeless air hot
and arid. Sweat trickled down her temple and neck as she poured dove-gray paint
into a pan.
Whoosh.
One letter gone.
Swish.
Another disappeared. She should have felt
satisfaction, but she felt nothing. Not anger. Not irritation. Not dismay,
disgust, horror.
Nothing.
She covered another letter and wiped sweat from her upper lip,
surveying the fresh paint. Not even a shadow of red peeked out from under the
gray. Perfect. Eileen would never know what had happened, and that was the only
thing Catherine cared about. She dipped the roller in gray again, sweeping it
over the
E
and
R,
the
silence of the old farmstead only broken by the swishing of paint on wood.
Nothing moved. Not the tall grass and weeds that pressed up against the
perimeter of the yard. Not the leaves on the trees.
The stillness ate at Catherine as she worked, nudging at the
back of her mind. Four years in the state prison had insulated her from the
world, but not from people and life. There had been little silence in her cell
block and even less time alone. Here, in the small town where she’d grown up,
she seemed to always be alone and silent. Even when she was in a crowd. Even
when Eileen was close by.
She grabbed a fresh roller, poured white paint into a clean pan
and slicked it over the red letters on the porch. Almost done. There’d be plenty
of time for the floor to dry before she picked Eileen up from chemotherapy.
Something rustled to her left, the tall weeds that edged the
property swaying. No breeze to blow them, but they moved again, twitching to the
left and right as she watched.
“Who’s there?” she asked, sure a bird would fly out of the
overgrowth. Instead, soft laughter drifted from the weeds, the sound chilling
her blood.
“I said, ‘who’s there?’”
“Murderer!” The taunt whispered out, and Catherine
stiffened.
She’d been out of prison for two months, and in that time,
vandals had broken a window, slashed her car tires and egged the house. The
sheriff had been out three times, but he hadn’t been able to track down the
perpetrators. Kids with too much time on their hands. That’s what he’d said, and
Catherine had believed him, because she hadn’t wanted to believe an adult was
trying to chase her out of town.
But, then, in Pine Bluff, just about anything seemed possible.
Here, the guilty wandered free and the innocent rotted in jail.
Just once,
her rational self
said.
Just you.
The weeds rustled and a tall figure stepped out. Broad and
muscular, he stood at the edge of the yard, a ski mask pulled over his face.
A kid?
Catherine didn’t think so, and she tensed, setting the paint
roller in the pan without taking her eyes off the man. “Go home.”
“Go home,”
he mocked, chuckling
softly.
“I’m going to call the police,” she said, backing toward the
front door.
“I don’t think so,” he responded and loped toward her.
She lunged for the door, yanking it open, terror squeezing the
breath from her lungs as an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand slapped over
her mouth.
“Let’s go inside.” He pressed her toward the yawning doorway,
and she shoved back, raking her hand down his knit ski mask, slamming her elbow
into his ribs. Prison hadn’t taught her much, but it
had
taught her how to fight.
He cursed, his grip loosening, and she broke free, lifting the
paint roller, swinging at his face. Paint splattered across his ski mask, and he
stumbled back.
She didn’t wait. Didn’t try to fight more. Just jumped off the
porch and sprinted across the yard, heading for the dirt road that connected the
homestead to its nearest neighbor.
Please, please.
Footsteps pounded behind her, closing in fast.
Please.
She turned left at the road. A quarter mile, and she’d be at
the Morris place. Empty for years but finally sold to a man that Eileen said
spent more time away than home.
Please, let him be home.
Her breath panted out, the old broken mailbox that marked the
beginning of Morris property just ahead, the curve in the road that hid the
house from view just beyond it.
Close.
She was so close.
God is smiling down on you, my sweet
girl.
The voice echoed from a past so far away that Catherine wasn’t
sure it had ever been hers.
And then she was yanked back with so much force she flew. Off
balance, arms flailing, she beat at her attacker, jabbed at his eyes, tried to
pull the mask from his face, screaming, screaming. As if someone might hear. As
if rescue might be just a moment away.
His fist clipped her jaw, and she reeled, stars and darkness
dancing at the edge of her vision.
Please, please, help me.
The prayer danced, too, slipping into her muddled thoughts,
breaking her cardinal rule to never ask for help. She’d clung to her faith
through rocky times, but the past few years had been stagnant and empty of hope,
her faith shriveled and dry from lack of care.
If she could care again, would God save her?
Please!
Sun-scorched earth burned through her T-shirt.
On the ground, his hands around her neck, his breath fanning
her cheek.
“How’s it feel to be on the other side, Dark Angel?” he
whispered, his grip tightening, his knee pressing into her stomach.
She gagged, clawing at his wrists, trying to break his iron
hold.
No air.
No breath.
Just hot dirt and hot sun and cold blue eyes staring into
hers.
Please!
She let go of his wrists, dug her thumbs into his eyes, air
filling her lungs as he shoved her hands away.
One more scream.
Another.
And his hands tightened on her throat again.
* * *
A scream broke the silence of Darius Osborne’s first day
of vacation. Not an excited scream. Not an it’s-summer-and-we’re-letting-loose
scream. A terror-filled, panicked, help-me scream, that made his hair stand on
end.
Another scream followed the first, choked off at its zenith. He
dropped the paint scraper, grabbed the hammer, racing around the side of the old
farmhouse and onto the dirt road.
He stopped there. Waiting. Listening.
The hot summer day was silent again.
Not a breath, not a movement.
Nothing.
“Hello?” he called out, glancing up the road toward the distant
highway, then down it toward the curve in the road and the dead fields of the
neighboring farm.
“Help me!” A woman stumbled into view, burnished red hair
gleaming in the sunlight, welts raised on the pale column of her throat. He knew
her. Knew
of
her anyway. Everyone in Pine Bluff
did.
Catherine Miller.
The Dark Angel of Good Samaritan.
Injured, terrified.
He ran toward her, scanning the area as he slid an arm around
her waist.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Someone attacked me,” she rasped, her eyes hollow, her face
expressionless.
“Where is he?”
“He ran when you called out.” She gestured to the curve in the
road, the tall, brown grass and weeds. Anyone could be hiding there.
“Come on.” He urged her toward his house, her backbone
prominent beneath his hand, every vertebra pressing up against her shirt. Too
thin. That’s what he’d thought the first time he’d seen her on the news.
Too thin, but beautiful.
Aloof.
The perfect neighbor because all she wanted was exactly what
Darius did—to be left alone.
Only, she hadn’t been left alone.
The welts on her neck, the bruise on her jaw proved that.
“Who was it? Someone you know?” He opened his front door,
ushering her inside.
“I’m not sure. He was wearing a ski mask.” She shivered, and he
pulled a throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders,
his fingers brushing her neck.
She flinched, tugging the blanket close.
“What else was he wearing?”
“Dark pants. Long-sleeved dark shirt. He was tall. Maybe a
couple of inches shorter than you.” Her teeth chattered, but she looked him
straight in the eye, her gaze direct, her blue eyes dark and lifeless.
“I’m going to call for help, then I’ll see if I can find him.”
He pulled out his cell phone, dialing 911 as he took his Glock from the gun safe
in the hall closet.
Catherine watched as he loaded it, her expression never
changing. The media had said plenty about her incarceration and release. They’d
said plenty about her, too. Interviews with supposed friends, with people she’d
worked with and with the family of the people she’d been convicted of murdering.
There’d never been an interview with her, though. Just photos and videos of her
leaving prison, her expression as empty as it was now.
“Stay here, okay?” he asked.
“I’ll stay for as long as I can,” she responded, and he
frowned, hot air sweeping in as he opened the door.
“You need to stay here as long as it takes for me to make sure
you’re safe.”
“My grandmother is at the hospital getting chemotherapy. I need
to be there to pick her up in less than an hour.”
“Someone tried to kill you. I think your grandmother will
understand if you’re late.”
“My grandmother can’t know what happened.” She touched her
neck, but it was the only indication she gave of her feelings or her fear.
“Unless she’s blind, she’s going to be asking a lot of
questions. How are you going to explain this?” He touched the bruise on her jaw,
and she tensed, her eyes flashing with life for the first time since he’d seen
her on the road.
“I’ll tell her whatever I have to to keep her from
worrying.”
“Your choice, Catherine, but remember, you won’t be able to
tell her anything if you’re dead. Stay in the house. I’ll be back as soon as I
can.” He stepped outside, listening to the noisy starlings fighting over rotten
food near his overflowing trash bin, waiting for a sign that the perp had
followed Catherine.
Nothing.
Not even a hint that things weren’t what they should be.
Darius ran down the porch stairs and across the yard, scanning
the landscape and the sun-baked dirt road. A scuffed area just beyond the curve
in the road gave the first hint of what had happened. He crouched over it,
examining the heel digs ground into the dirt and the footprints that led into
deep cover.
He followed them into the heavy overgrowth, head-high weeds and
dried grass pressing in close, reminding him of far-off days and late-night
treks through planted fields and desert scrub. Different place, different
circumstances, but the adrenaline was the same, the skin-tightening feeling that
he wasn’t alone was the same.
Sirens screamed, their warning swelling and then ending
abruptly. Help had arrived. If the perp was close by, he wouldn’t be for long.
Not with the police on-site. Darius slipped through the tangled vegetation,
following a trail of broken branches and crushed grass, the Glock a comforting
weight in his hand.
He’d spent four years as a Navy SEAL working in enemy territory
in Afghanistan searching out top-ranking al Qaeda operatives, and he’d never
gotten tired of the hunt. Even now, stateside and working as a security
contractor, he loved this part of the job the most.
Cat and mouse.
Hide-and-seek.
Him against the enemy.
He followed the trail deeper into the field, then back through
sparser growth and out into Catherine’s property. An old farmhouse jutted up
from the middle of an overgrown yard, its front door swinging open.
Darius approached cautiously, his senses alert, his nerves
alive with anticipation. Cans of paint sat on the porch, a gray paint roller
abandoned beside them. A red shoe print marred one whitewashed floorboard, and
letters were painted across the width of the porch floor. Someone had covered
them with a thin layer of white paint, but they were still easy to read.
Murderer.
