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“So, just so I’m clear, you’re staying, right?”
Erin sealed her fate with a nod. “I’ll stay and help you with what I can, but I’m not doing it for Charlie. He made his bed, and he can lie in it for all I care.”
It sounded convincing. Too bad it wasn’t entirely true. Foreign feelings assaulted her when she thought of her father and his condition, confusing and frustrating her. But what bothered her more was that somehow Colin had seen through the layers she piled around herself to the bare truth underneath. His keen sense made him both dangerous and alluring.
“Who else are you doing this for?”
“Aunt Caroline, of course,” she answered. “If this was deliberate, I want that person to pay for what he or she did. Caroline was the best, and she didn’t deserve to die. When it was her time to go, it should’ve been peaceful and preferably in her bed.”
Something akin to admiration lit up his face and Erin had to bite back a smile. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Stop looking at me like I’m something special.”
Colin’s grin widened and he almost looked boyish. “Sorry, no can do.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader since before she can remember, Kimberly Van Meter started her writing career at the age of sixteen when she finished her first novel, typing late nights and early mornings, on her mother’s old portable typewriter. Although that first novel was nothing short of literary mud, with each successive piece of work her writing improved to the point of reaching that coveted published status.
A journalist (who during college swore she’d never write news), Kimberly has worked for both daily and weekly newspapers, covering multiple beats, including education, health and crime, but she always dreamed of writing novels and someday saying goodbye to her non–fiction roots.
Born and raised in scenic Mariposa, California, Kimberly knows a thing or two about small towns – preferring the quiet, rural atmosphere to the hustle and bustle of a busy city any day – but she and her husband make their home in Oakdale, which represents a compromise between the two worlds. Kimberly and her husband, John, met and fell in love while filming a college production. He was the camera operator and she the lead actress. Her husband often jokes that he fell in love with his wife through the lens of a camera. A year later they were married, and have been together ever since.
In addition to writing, reading and drinking hot chocolate by the window sill when it rains, Kimberly enjoys photography and is the resident photographer for every family event, including weddings and new babies. The photographs gracing the walls of their home are comprised almost entirely of shots Kimberly has captured, whether on the job or just playing around with the camera. The oldest of four siblings and the mother of three children, Kimberly divides her time between soccer games, swim meets, bottle feedings and deadlines.
Dear Reader,
As a native of a rural town in Northern California, I suppose you could say the inspiration for this book sprang from real-life experiences. I understand how reputations can be hard to live down and gossip in concentrated amounts can be toxic to the soul.
With that said, I think some of the best people reside in small towns and I’m thankful my roots are firmly grounded within small-town soil. In my experience, life in a fishbowl encourages character growth and fosters accountability. There’s nothing like thinking you’ve got away with something, only to learn your mum heard hours ago thanks to a large and tangled network of friends and family.
Both Erin McNulty and Colin Barrett are plagued by the past, but together they find the strength to confront old issues, freeing up space in their hearts to embrace a bright future. Their story is one of courage and discovery, but ultimately of hope.
Over the years I’ve found I’m most drawn to characters who use a prickly personality as protection against anyone getting too close. I enjoy the transformation that occurs when two people who are meant to be together finally overcome their individual obstacles to discover their personal happily ever after. That’s the best part about writing romance. No matter what I do to these poor people, I know in the end…everything will work out.
Like my firstborn, my first novel will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope you enjoy reading Erin and Colin’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love hearing from readers. Please feel free to drop me a line either through snail mail at PO Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361, USA or through e-mail at author@ kimberlyvanmeter.com.
Enjoy!
Warmly,
Kimberly Van Meter
KIMBERLY VAN METER
To my husband, John, for ten-second kisses,
our three beautiful children and
everything in between.
To Kamrin for being my dedicated reader – you
never let me down, no matter how
inconvenient the request.
To my parents for always believing I had the talent
to achieve my loftiest aspirations.
To Trudy and Kevin for always being the
wonderful people you are.
To my mentor Debra Salonen for believing I
had what it took to be a “Super” author, and my
critique partner Theresa Ragan for being brutal.
To all the other friends and family (you know
who you are) that are too numerous to mention
individually but without whose constant
encouragement I might have failed.
To my editor Johanna Raisanen for showing me in
the kindest way possible how to make a good story
even better than I imagined.
And, finally, to my grandmothers. Pat – for passing
on the dream; and Doris – for cookies
and homemade pickles…
I love you both immeasurably.
Special thanks:
Special thanks must go to Detective Sergeant
Michael Eggener with the Oakdale Police
Department for his invaluable advice on the inner workings of a real police station. Any deviations
from correct procedure are completely my own
and no reflection on the professionalism exhibited
by most law enforcement agencies.
CHAPTER ONE
“ERIN MCNULTY, line three, please.” A disembodied voice sounded above the din of the newsroom just as Harvey Wallace, editor-in-chief of American Photographic magazine, poked his head out from his office and bellowed.
“Erin! I need those proofs, like yesterday! Marshal,” Harvey shouted at the reed-thin reporter who was trying to scuttle past without drawing attention to himself, “that piece on corporate America was pure crap! College graduate, my ass! I want a rewrite by tomorrow or else I’m placing a listing for a features reporter in JournalismJobs.com first thing in the morning. You got me?”
Erin looked up long enough to watch the color leach from Marshal’s face. She spared the young man a compassionate thought but quickly returned to the latest proofs scattered about the light table. She didn’t have time for much else—they were all on deadline for the February issue and Harvey was riding her just as hard as he rode everyone else, possibly even harder since she announced her interest in the recently vacant position of senior photographic editor. Every assignment felt like a test, every successful campaign felt like a step closer to her goal. And as she surveyed the photos before her, she was sure she’d just taken a giant leap forward. They were, without a doubt, the best of her career thus far. If Harvey didn’t at the very least wet himself when he saw them he was a blind man and she was wasting her time.
“Erin!”
Despite the near growl he’d ended her name with, she held up a hand, halting Harvey’s tirade in midbreath. “Two minutes, Harv. Two minutes and you’ll have the proofs on your desk.” So, shut your yap, you cantankerous old fart. If only she could actually say that. She scooped the three best and headed for the lion’s den.
“It’s about time,” he said once they were in his hands.
“You upped my deadline by two days,” Erin reminded him, silently chafing at his tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t cut it close to my actual deadline.”
“No—” he glanced up, the look in his eyes combative “—you’re lucky.” When she failed to snap at the bait, he returned to the photos. His sharp blue eyes scanned the photos for the minutest of flaws, but Erin knew he wouldn’t find any. They were almost textbook perfect in composition, lighting and subject. She’d really outdone herself this time.
“Erin McNulty, line three, please.” The voice over the intercom sounded again, this time more urgently, but Erin ignored it. Not even the opportunity to photograph God himself could have torn Erin away. The longer Harvey studied, the more tense her stomach muscles became. Her confidence level dipped ever so slightly until Harvey leaned back and tossed the photos to the desk. “Not bad,” he finally grunted, making Erin want to climb over the desk and choke him until his eyes bulged from their sockets.
“I happen to think they’re my best,” she countered.
Harvey grunted again but didn’t comment further, which led her to believe he felt the same but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of voicing it. If he weren’t the best in the business, she’d have told him to take a flying leap a long time ago. Sometimes she thought it was a miracle she’d lasted this long.
Figuring there was no time like the present to broach the subject of her promotion she opened her mouth to start, but Harvey had already moved on. “I’ve pulled Michael from the Hometown America spread and I’m putting you on it,” he announced as if he didn’t know that Erin hated happy-sappy photo spreads. “Deadline’s three weeks from now.”
Disappointment at being thwarted drowned in the rush of anger that flooded her veins at the knowledge that he was deliberately provoking her.
“Problem?”
“No problem,” she answered, taking great effort not to clench her teeth as she said it. “Just surprised.”
“Why’s that?” he said, growl returning.
Sensing she was treading on dangerous ground, she proceeded with as much caution as her temper would allow. “Harvey, I’ve been working at American Photographic for three years full-time, and two years freelance. The last time you sent me to take pictures of hometown hoedowns was when I was freelancing and you figured even a novice couldn’t screw up that easy of an assignment. The only reason you’re putting me on this one is to see how much that promotion means to me. Well, I’ll tell you right now…that promotion means everything.”
Half expecting his marble pen holder to go whizzing past her head, she was relieved when all he did was snort.
“You’ve got a lotta nerve, McNulty,” he finally said. “I’ve fired better photographers than you for less.”
She didn’t doubt that, but it was too late to pull back. Either he’d toss her out or not. She met his stare. “But you know I’m right.”
The silence stretched between them until Erin thought she’d pass out from the breath she was holding. Finally, Harvey shrugged but the look in his eyes was shrewd. “Deliver this assignment and I’ll give it some serious thought.”
He’d give it some thought?
“See you in a few weeks, then,” Harvey said, finished with the conversation. His dismissive tone was meant to push buttons. The old man was notorious for driving people to their breaking point, which was why only a select few remained on staff for more than a year. She doubted poor Marshal had much of a chance. He was already sprouting gray hairs and the kid hadn’t even hit twenty-five yet.
She returned to the assignment. So, he wanted happy-sappy? I’ll give him a Norman Rockwell overdose, she thought as she scooped up the folder and turned her back on him. “In a few weeks then,” she said over her shoulder, equally dismissive.
Pompous windbag! She deserved that promotion, probably more so than anyone who’d ever had the misfortune to work under Harvey Wallace. Yet he continued to dangle the promise of that coveted position like a juicy carrot to a starving horse if only to see if it could take one more step before collapsing. Well, she was this close to telling him to stick his carrot up his ass, promotion be damned. Whoa there, a voice reasoned, putting a quick stop to her inner diatribe. Don’t throw away everything you’ve worked so hard for.
Breathe. She exhaled slowly. Right, she reminded herself, taking another slow breath. Creative freedom and the power to delegate—not to mention a pretty sharp addition to her resume. That’s why she put up with his crap.
Feeling only marginally better, but certainly less likely to rip the last remaining hairs from Harvey’s head, she detoured toward human resources to grab some mileage forms, when she was nearly bowled over by Molly, the harried receptionist whose voice she’d heard over the intercom.
“Ms. McNulty! I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed, reaching out with a manicured hand to steady herself. “But I’ve been paging you for the past ten minutes. You have an urgent call on line three.”
It took a moment for Molly’s words to sink in. Erin’s mind was stubbornly refusing to let it slide that she was being sent like a cub photographer on her first assignment to shoot some bucolic country scene because her boss was on a power trip.
“Ms. McNulty?” Molly ventured hesitantly when Erin failed to answer.
Erin shook her head, realizing she was being rude. “I’m sorry… What were you saying? A phone call?”
“Not just any call,” Molly said with a worried frown. “He said he was with the Granite Hills Police Department.”
At the mention of her former hometown, Erin stilled. She rarely received phone calls from home. “Did he say what he wanted?”
Molly shook her head, her expression concerned. “He said it was personal… sounds serious. Isn’t that where your family’s from?” At Erin’s barely perceptible nod, the little worry lines that seemed a permanent fixture on Molly’s middle-aged face deepened. “I’ll transfer the call to your office,” she said and quickly disappeared down the hallway to the reception desk before Erin could say anything else.
Granite Hills. Aside from her Aunt Caroline, there was nothing of interest to Erin in that place. Her father included.
Closing the door behind her, she stared at the blinking red light on her phone and wished she didn’t have to take that call. There could only be one reason the police were calling her at work. Charlie. The urge to simply ignore the call and let it go to voice mail almost had her finger on the button to do exactly that, but a small seed of doubt laced with fear made her hesitate.
Dropping the assignment folder to the center of her desk, she sank into the leather chair and reluctantly picked up the line. “This is Erin McNulty,” she answered, hoping the reason for the call was innocuous, or better yet, a mistake.
“Ma’am, this is Officer Barrett with the Granite Hills Police Department,” a voice with a subtle New York accent said, his solemn tone trapping the air in her lungs and causing a bad feeling in her gut. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this over the phone but there’s been an accident.”
An accident? The image of Charlie weaving his beat-up truck down the highway, heedless of the danger he posed to others, popped into her mind and she had to force her voice to remain level when anger quickly replaced her fear. The drunken old fool probably drove off a cliff.
“What kind of accident?” she asked, though she sounded the exact opposite of someone who cared. Assuming her theory was correct, she returned her attention to her assignment folder. “Is he all right?”
He was probably fine. The man, despite the fact that his liver had been pickled nearly every single day of his adult life, was surprisingly healthy.
Erin, impatient for an answer yet not entirely interested in the details, rolled her eyes at the photographic drivel Harvey was sending her to capture and pushed the folder away. Boring as hell.
“Ms. McNulty…there’s no easy way to tell you this…”
“What?” She heard him drag a deep breath and knot of foreboding returned to her chest.
“I’m sorry but Caroline Walker died in a single-vehicle car accident earlier this morning.”
CHAPTER TWO
AUNT CAROLINE?
“Are you sure?” she asked, the words breaking like glass in her mouth. A snapshot of Caroline’s plump, beloved face flashed in Erin’s memory and a choking sound followed as she tried to form the right words. “What happened?”
“Your aunt was thrown from the vehicle when the truck hit a tree—”
The sound of the officer’s voice continued, providing details that were lost on her at the moment. Her mind had gone quickly and terrifyingly numb, yet it felt like something heavy and cruel had caved in her sternum. She sucked a ragged breath and realized she couldn’t get enough air.
Gone. Her aunt was gone? There had to be a mistake. Caroline was the most cautious driver ever issued a license. She was the type of person who personified the term Sunday driver. In fact, she once received a warning from a state trooper for driving under the speed limit on the highway. At the time it’d been really funny and Erin had teased her mercilessly, but Caroline had sworn the cruise control had been set on the speed limit and she hadn’t a clue as to what had happened.
“My little Toyota must have a mind of its own,” she’d joked.
Erin paused, her brain suddenly working again.
“Wait a minute…my aunt doesn’t own a truck,” she said, clinging to the hope that perhaps there was a mistake. That her aunt was fine and more than likely baking something.
“No, she was a passenger in an old, beat-up Ford,” the officer said, the sound of paperwork shuffling in the background. “It was registered to Charles William McNulty… I assume that’s your father?” When Erin didn’t answer, he obviously took that as an affirmative. Swallowing, she realized that the officer wasn’t finished and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Your father—”
“Is he dead?” Erin cut in, her voice tight. “Please don’t drag it out, just tell me…is he dead or not?”
The knowledge Charlie had been driving in the accident that had killed Caroline made her chest burn with an emotion a lot like hatred, but it was side by side with something else that felt like fear at the realization her entire family might have been wiped out in a single blow.
“Is he dead?”
“No,” he answered slowly. “But he’s in pretty bad shape. He went straight to surgery as soon as they got to the hospital but there was a lot of damage. I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.”
Her father was alive, yet Caroline was dead. The injustice of it made her nauseous. If anyone had to die, why couldn’t it have been Charlie? She heard Caroline’s voice chastise her for the desperate thought and she sagged against the back of the chair, tears tickling the back of her throat.
“Tell me she didn’t suffer,” she said, the sound strangled.
“It was instantaneous.”
Thank God. The thought of Caroline dying in pain was more than she could handle at the moment.
Her mouth trembled and she nodded, even though she knew the man on the other end couldn’t see her.
“There are some details that need to be attended to.…” the officer said in an apologetic fashion, leaving the rest unsaid. She knew what he was expecting to hear, what she was supposed to say, but the words were stuck in her mouth.
The sound of Caroline’s voice, mildly reproachful for Erin’s continued refusal to come home to visit, echoed in her head and caused fresh tears to collect in her eyes. Every holiday, Caroline had called, asking her to come home, and every time Erin had found a reason not to. Most times she’d blamed work, which wasn’t hard since she maintained a hellish schedule, but there were times when Erin had simply lied to get out of going back to Granite Hills. And now Caroline was gone.
“Ms. McNulty?”
The soft query dragged her back to the phone in her hand. She swallowed and took a shuddering breath. “Yes?”
“About your father…”
A muscle twitched in her jaw and she realized she had clenched her teeth. She made an effort to relax but she couldn’t keep the tone of her voice from reflecting how she felt about the man at that moment. “What about him?”
“He might not make it,” he answered gravely.
Her stomach churning, she snuffed out the flicker of concern that had the gall to flare to life and pressed her lips together. She’d be damned if she were going to care one iota for that man. Her Aunt Caroline was dead and it was all Charlie’s fault.
“There’s nothing I can do for him. I’m sure he’s in the best of hands,” she said, nearly choking on the toxic mixture of grief and regret clogging her throat. She fastened her gaze on the folder lying on her desk in an attempt to keep from collapsing in on herself. “I appreciate your call, Officer Barrett. I’ll take care of the necessary arrangements,” she said, her voice sounding as if it were coming from someone else, someone who hadn’t just lost the one person who had truly loved her. “I have to go now,” she said, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand when she realized her tissue box was empty.
“Wait!” he exclaimed, catching her before she hung up the phone.
“What?”
“I know your father had a bit of a drinking problem,” he said, trying for tact but he needn’t have bothered.
“No, actually, he didn’t have any problems drinking. If it’d been an Olympic sport he would’ve won a gold medal,” she retorted bitterly. “My father was a drunk who took advantage of his family and never took responsibility for his actions. I’m sure last night was just the inevitable conclusion of his recklessness.” Her breath caught in her chest and she forced herself to continue. “Unfortunately, it was my Aunt Caroline who paid the price.”
“Well, we don’t know for sure if he was drinking and I’m not about to make that assumption,” he said. “We’ll know when the blood alcohol content comes back from the lab.”
Erin shrugged. She didn’t need a piece of paper to tell her what she already knew. “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll call you when I get the results,” he said.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say don’t bother but she was quickly losing her fire. All she wanted to do was cradle her head in her arms and cry. “Fine,” she finally answered. “I’m usually here until nine p.m. After that, you’re out of luck.”
The officer paused and Erin could almost feel his censure at her cold attitude toward her sole surviving kin. She knew how she must look to someone who didn’t know their history, but she’d long since stopped trying to defend herself to total strangers. It was easier to let them assume what they pleased. No doubt, the officer judging her on the other end of the line was no exception.
“I’ll try to get back to you before then…in case you change your mind and want to book a flight home,” he said.
The flesh on her arms suddenly puckered and popped as a chill raced down her spine. Granite Hills, Michigan, hadn’t been her home for a long time. San Francisco was her home now. “That’s not necessary,” she said, rubbing the skin on her arms. There was no way she was going back there. Especially not now. “I’m sorry, it’s just not—” Possible. If she went back to Granite Hills the memories would destroy what little hold she had on her sanity. “I have deadlines.”
“Right. I understand,” he said, but his tone told her he didn’t understand at all. He probably had two loving parents who hadn’t left him to fend for himself at the age of six so they could drink themselves into a blind stupor. And most certainly, probably hadn’t beaten him so badly that he’d lost consciousness. Bitterness flooded her mouth along with the bad memories, but she held her tongue. No. He probably didn’t understand at all. “Is there anything else?”