A creature of the night appeared at her side…

Stacy screamed as the figure loomed over her. Frantically she lashed out, tying to evade its clutches, but her struggle only tightened the ironlike grip that encircled her. As her nails connected with flesh, the terrifying illusion faded, and she realized that the flow of cuss words assaulting her ears was coming from a very angry, warm-blooded man.

“Damn little wildcat.” His grip tightened on her. “Your blasted car is just a few feet from slipping into the river. I’m here to help.”

Stacy went limp in relief. His face was hidden in the shadows of a wide-brimmed hat and the collar of his raincoat, but she gave in to the reassurance of his deep voice with a thankful prayer.

Lifting her in his arms and holding her tightly against his chest, the man carried her away from the sinking car and rising river. Gratefully she leaned against his chest, aware of the tensile strength in his muscular body. She felt totally safe.

Protected.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

August marks a special month at Harlequin Intrigue as we commemorate our twentieth anniversary! Over the past two decades we’ve satisfied our devoted readers’ diverse appetites with a vast smorgasbord of romantic suspense page-turners. Now, as we look forward to the future, we continue to stand by our promise to deliver thrilling mysteries penned by stellar authors.

As part of our celebration, our much-anticipated new promotion, ECLIPSE, takes flight. With one book planned per month, these stirring Gothic-inspired stories will sweep you into an entrancing landscape of danger, deceit…and desire. Leona Karr sets the stage for mind-bending mystery with debut title, A Dangerous Inheritance.

A high-risk undercover assignment turns treacherous when smoldering seduction turns to forbidden love, in Bulletproof Billionaire by Mallory Kane, the second installment of NEW ORLEANS CONFIDENTIAL. Then, peril closes in on two torn-apart lovers, in Midnight Disclosures— Rita Herron’s latest book in her spine-tingling medical research series, NIGHTHAWK ISLAND.

Patricia Rosemoor proves that the fear of the unknown can be a real aphrodisiac in On the List—the fourth installment of CLUB UNDERCOVER. Code blue! Patients are mysteriously dropping like flies in Boston General Hospital, and it’s a race against time to prevent the killer from striking again, in Intensive Care by Jessica Andersen.

To round off an unforgettable month, Jackie Manning returns to the lineup with Sudden Alliance—a woman-in-jeopardy tale fraught with nonstop action…and a lethal attraction!

Join in on the festivities by checking out all our selections this month!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Harlequin Intrigue Senior Editor

A Dangerous Inheritance
Leona Karr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A native of Colorado, Leona (Lee) Karr is the author of nearly forty books. Her favorite genres are romantic suspense and inspirational romance. After graduating from the University of Colorado with a B.A. and the University of Northern Colorado with an M.A., she taught as a reading specialist until her first book was published in 1980. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller list and nominated by Romantic Times for Best Romantic Saga and Best Gothic Author. She has been honored as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer of the Year, and received Colorado’s Romance Writer of the Year Award. Her books have been reprinted in more than a dozen foreign countries.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Stacy Ashford—Her inheritance from an eccentric uncle drew her into a web of danger and love.

Josh Spencer—A strong-willed hero on a quest for revenge.

Nate Spencer—” Gramps,” an old man who believes a dead granddaughter has come back to haunt him.

Sheriff Mosley—A lawman who may have ignored a murder for personal reasons.

Alice And Ted Macally—Owners of a local restaurant who took a willful young woman into their home.

Abe Jenkins—A congenial storekeeper who seems friendly and harmless.

Marci—A young woman jealous of Josh, the man she wants to marry.

To Jimmy, Jamie and Yolanda Lickley, with loving thanks

for the many things you’ve done for me.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Stacy Ashford’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she leaned forward and strained to see in the enveloping darkness. Lowering storm clouds masked high jagged peaks, and drifts of black fog flowed down darkly wooded mountainsides, covering them like a shroud. Every clap of thunder vibrated with a threatening warning.

Stupid. Just plain stupid, she silently lashed out at herself. She’d never intended to be on the road this late. The mileage from Denver to the mountain town of Timberlane had been deceiving, and night had fallen before she made it over a series of high mountain passes.

She’d rented a compact car at the airport upon her arrival from Los Angeles. As she drove into the high country the temperature had changed from simmering August heat to a biting chill. She was used to straight, crowded interstate highways, and her body was rigid from the tense driving. Around every serpentine curve, the wheels of her car were just inches from narrow dirt shoulders falling away to deep rocky chasms. Was hers the only car on the two-lane road? No signs of lights ahead or behind her. She’d passed the last cluster of buildings miles back.

What am I doing here, anyway? Stacy asked herself.

A month ago, her life had been secure. At only twenty-eight years of age, she had a blossoming career in the merchandising field. Sure, there’d been a rumble that her company was going to downsize, but she’d ignored it. She’d always been good at closing her eyes to any warnings that didn’t fit in with her plans. She wasn’t prepared when it had happened—a pink slip, a pat on the back and a firm shove toward the unemployment lines. Quickly, she’d registered at employment agencies, checked the Internet and sent numerous résumés to prospective companies.

Weeks had gone by without even a job interview, and when an L.A. lawyer unexpectedly called her, she’d thought he’d tell her that her credit rating had hit rock bottom and everything she owned was about to be repossessed. She nearly fainted when he’d told her his real business.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Is this some kind of joke?”

He assured her that it wasn’t. She was the beneficiary in a relative’s will. Stacy had only heard vague talk from her mother about Willard Dexter, her brother with wanderlust. They hadn’t been close, and he hadn’t even shown up for her mother’s funeral a few years back. Now, of all things, Uncle Willard had recently died, leaving his niece money and property located in the high mountains of Colorado. At first, the unexpected wind-fall had sounded great, but the terms of her uncle’s will were as eccentric as the man himself had been. In order to inherit the money, Stacy was required to use a stipulated portion of it to improve the mountain property and reside there while the renovations were being done.

At any other time in her life, Stacy would have rebelled against the loss of independence imposed by her uncle’s will, but her life was in the pits, financially and romantically. So here she was, driving a torturous mountain road at night, trying to keep from plunging off a thousand-foot cliff.

As the wind quickened, a flash of jagged lightning cut through the darkness, and then the storm hit. A whirling cauldron of slashing rain enveloped the car. Driving forward at a snail’s pace, she fought the mesmerizing effect of raindrops swirling into the feeble radius of her headlights. The only blessing was that the road had leveled off in some kind of a high mountain valley, but the ground bordering it was still steep and sloping.

As she peered ahead, a sliver of lightning struck the landscape, and for an instant she glimpsed a gravel road leading off of the narrow highway. Her heart leaped with relief. A safe place to park! Even if she had to spend the night in the car, it would be better than the suicide attempt of driving in this storm.

Cautiously she peered ahead as she turned off the pavement. A second too late, she realized. Blinded by the deluge, she’d turned too soon. She’d missed the road!

With a jolt, the car dipped downward, throwing her forward. Her brakes were useless as the vehicle began to slide. Frantically she reached for the door handle just as the car lurched to an abrupt stop.

She sat there stunned. It had all happened so fast she couldn’t get her bearings. Rivulets of water obscured the windows. The engine was still running, but the car’s headlights no longer stabbed the darkness. She had no idea what had stopped the car’s downward movement. A horrible wailing of wind mocked her rising panic.

What should she do? Stay in the car? If it was wedged in tightly against a tree or something, she could just wait out the storm, and then flag someone down when it was over.

But what if it began to slide again? The thought of deep mountain chasms, thousands of feet below the road, sent chills rippling up her spine. She forced herself to quit imagining the worst scenario. There was only one way to know if the car’s position was precarious or not.

Get out and look.

She realized that stepping out into the storm’s fury could invite all kinds of disaster. Rain poured down the windows like a solid sheet, and building wind gusts assaulted the car. Only a greater fear of being trapped in the car plunging down the mountainside forced her to make sure that remaining in the car was safe.

She took a deep breath and picked up her cell phone, as if even in these circumstances it was some assurance of contact with the outside world. Then she forced open the car door and stepped out into a rushing torrent of mud and water. Dressed only in yellow summer slacks, a white pullover and sandals, she was instantly drenched. Assaulted by wind, rain, and flying debris, she struggled to keep her footing in the slippery, rain-drenched, uneven ground.

Deafening thunder vibrated like clashing cymbals in her ears, and she had only taken a few steps when she slipped and went down on her knees. As she tried to catch herself, she dropped the cell phone. She lunged for it, but not in time to keep a swiftly moving current of mud and water from sweeping it away.

She wavered to her feet, desperately trying to clear her vision enough to see what was holding the car in place. She caught a glimpse of dark forms that defied recognition in the deluge. Rocks? Trees? Bushes? She thought she heard the roar of plunging water.

Everything around her was diabolically alive. Needled tree branches lashed the air like writhing dark specters. Glimpses of jagged rocks rose in threatening shadows around her. Vicious winds like crazed hands tore at her long dark hair.

She screamed when a night creature appeared at her side and loomed over her. Frantically she lashed out, trying to evade its clutches, but her struggle only tightened the ironlike grip that encircled her. As her biting nails connected with soft flesh, the terrifying illusion faded, and she realized that the flow of cuss words assaulting her ears was coming from a very angry, warm-blooded human.

“Damn little wildcat.” His grip tightened on her. “Your blasted car is just a few feet from slipping into the river. I’m here to help.”

She went limp with relief. His face was hidden in the shadows of a wide-brimmed hat and the high collar of his raincoat, but she gave in to the reassurance of his deep voice with a thankful prayer.

“Is anyone else in the car?” he demanded curtly, keeping an iron grip on her.

“No,” she choked.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.” Lifting her in his arms and holding her tightly against his chest, Josh Spencer carried her away from the sinking car and rising river.

All evening, the radio had been reporting emergencies up and down the front range, but he never expected to have one on his doorstep. After supper, he’d saddled his horse and gone out into the storm because he was concerned about the wooden bridge leading onto his property. The old bridge had recently been reinforced, but was it holding with the battering of high waters and floating debris?

Hunched in the saddle, he’d cussed the miserable weather as he rode down the road in the storm. When he’d reached the narrow bridge and played his flashlight over the side, his breath caught. “What in the—?”

Josh kept staring through the pelting rain until he was sure. A car was wedged against the underside of the bridge, undoubtedly ready to be swept away in the rising river.

Bounding from the saddle, he secured his mount’s reins around a railing, and then he raced across the bridge and down the rain-sodden embankment. A few feet from the car, he could barely make out a small feminine figure staggering in the mud and water, losing her balance in the tumult.

His shout was lost in a crash of thunder. A few more feet and she’d be dangerously close to the edge of the river. He bounded forward, and as he reached out and grabbed her, she lashed out in crazed terror. Not that he blamed her. Coming at her like that out of the dark, she had every reason to be frightened. Even now as he carried her to where his horse was tethered, she was trembling.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her as he lifted her higher, set her sideways on his horse, and swung up into the saddle behind her. Opening his raincoat, he pulled her close so that she was enveloped in its folds. “We’re going to have you warm in no time.”

Gratefully, she leaned against his chest, as he kicked the horse into motion. She was aware of the tensile strength in his muscular body as it responded to the rhythmic harmony of the horse’s movements. Even though she was still shivering in her drenched clothes, the warmth of his nearness radiated in a way that startled her. She felt totally safe. Protected?

Don’t be a fool. A silent warning shot through her. The man had appeared out of nowhere, and she hadn’t even seen his face. The minute he laid his hands on her, he had physically overwhelmed her. Where was he taking her? And who would miss her if something happened to her?

No one.

After weeks of unemployment she’d lost touch with all her fellow workers. There were none who might be interested in this trip she’d taken to size up her inheritance and learn whether it was going to be a blessing or an albatross around her neck.

Her thoughts raced ahead. One thing was frighteningly clear. No one in Timberlane would even be aware of her disappearance if she failed to arrive there. What she’d learned about Timberlane had not been reassuring. Apparently promoters’ plans to make it a bustling Colorado ski resort had fallen by the wayside, and it was hardly more than a wide spot in the road with barely a couple of hundred residents. Why her uncle Willard had tied up her inheritance in a run-down building and questionable real estate was beyond her.

When the horse’s galloping gait changed to a trot, and then slowed to a walk, she found herself stiffening. She could make out some dark buildings. A faint light showed in what seemed to be a small two-storied house. He was taking her to his place. What then? Did he live alone? Would she be safe there or plunged into an unspeakable terror? She had felt the strength of his large hands. The deliberate way he had put her on the horse. Every horror movie she had seen suddenly became real—a helpless woman in the clutches of a deranged stranger. She had not even seen his face, or looked into eyes that might show him to be the devil himself. True, he had rescued her from the storm, but the price might be a high one. She shivered again, not from her clinging wet clothes, but from a growing cold fear slicing through her.

“We’re here,” he said in a tone of satisfaction as he reined the horse under a wooden overhang at the back door of the roughly hewn log house. He dismounted and lifted her down.

“Where are we?”

“Home. Where else?”

“You have a family?” she asked hopefully with chattering teeth.

“I’ll see you inside, and then put up the horse,” he said gruffly, ignoring her question.

He opened a squeaking back door, ushered her through a kind of utility room, and into a lighted, plain and modestly furnished kitchen.

A welcoming warmth touched Stacy’s face and the homey smell of cooking lingered in the room. Reassured by the familiar sights and smells, and relieved to be out of the storm, she started to slump down in one of the wooden chairs, but he stopped her.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said. “Better run yourself a bath and get into some dry clothes.”

Clothes.

Everything was in the car, probably floating down the river by now! Suitcases. Purse. Keys. Boxes. All gone!

“I’ll scrounge up something for you to put on,” he said quickly as if reading her expression. “I don’t expect you’ll be too picky,” he added, glancing at her soaked summer slacks and top.

“No,” she agreed, fighting the sinking plunge of her stomach.

“I’ll show you the way.”

She still couldn’t see his face clearly, only the lower half. He had a wide, firm mouth and a well-defined jaw. A wide-brimmed western hat still put his eyes in shadow, and his raincoat, tight jeans and cowboy boots only added to the girth of his masculine stature.

He firmly took her arm and propelled her down a hall adjoining the kitchen. One thing was certain, he was just as dominating and commanding in the kitchen as he’d been outside. Under ordinary circumstances she would have bristled at his macho behavior, but she knew better than to challenge his authority until she was warm and dry and had decided how to protect herself if things started to get ugly.

A small bathroom at the end of a short hall looked as if it had been built as an afterthought. The plumbing was old and a large claw-footed tub took up most of the space. There were no feminine toiletries, just a bar of white soap, a man’s hairbrush and some faded, worn towels.

“Wait a minute.” He opened a nearby hall closet and brought out a stuffed plastic bag. “There ought to be some clothes in here that will do.” He handed her the sack. “After I put up the horse, I’ll warm some brandy.” With that, he turned his back on her, and a moment later she heard the back door close with a distant bang.

She stood for a moment, leaning against the closed bathroom door, whispering, “It’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right.”

As she began to strip off the drenched clothes, she caught a reflected image of herself in a mirror above the sink. She stared in disbelief. Her ebony hair had become a straggly, frizzled mop framing her pale face and blue lips. Then she looked down. Mud coated her arms, legs, clothes and shoes, and she looked like something that had crawled out from under a rock.

Horrified that anyone had seen her in such a condition, she filled the old bathtub nearly full and sank into the blessed warmth of a hot bath. As her chilled body began to revive, her mind began to dwell on unanswered questions. How was she going to handle this situation with her rescuer? He hadn’t answered her question about a family. How safe was she? She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.

She stepped out of the tub, dried herself and tried not to let her imagination build a tale of horror about a woman at the mercy of a stranger in a storm like this.

As she opened the plastic bag, the sickening sweet smell of cheap perfume assaulted her. It contained a few women’s clothes, a box of costume jewelry and ribbons. Her mouth went dry as she wondered if this was some feeble collection from other rescued victims? Just the thought made her want to shove them away as far as possible, but standing there naked in the strange bathroom, she didn’t have a choice.

She couldn’t bring herself to put on anything but a horrible purple-and-red flannel robe that offered more concealment and warmth than anything else in the bag. A pair of knitted socks in the same ugly purple were too large for her feet, but gave her some protection from the cold floor.

Once she was dressed, she lingered, drying her naturally curly dark hair with a towel and using the man’s hairbrush to try and subdue it until it fell softly on her shoulders.

A pale face looked back at her as she buttoned the high-necked robe to the top. She was tempted to hide out in the bathroom until daylight, but one glance at the feeble lock on the door warned her that it wouldn’t hold him out for long if he decided to come in after her.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and went out. Light from the kitchen spilled down the hallway, and she wondered if he’d come back to the house yet. The only sound was a whispering of her stocking feet on the bare wooden floor as she moved down the hall.

When she entered the kitchen, she heard a quick intake of breath that sounded like a growl. Sudden fear lurched through her. For a second she was confused about where the ugly sound was coming from. Then she saw a slight movement and jerked her eyes in that direction.

An old man with rounded shoulders was leaning on a cane in a corner of the room, staring at her. Shocks of white hair framed his leathery wizened face as his biting gaze slowly passed over her hair, down the robe to her purple socks.

She wanted to say something, but the hatred in his eyes and ugly mouth stopped her.

His voice was raw and rough as he lashed out at her. “So ye came back, did ye, Glenda? I didn’t think a grave would hold the likes of you. Even the Devil is particular about his playmates.”

Chapter Two

Josh quickened his steps as he reached the back door of the house and heard his grandfather’s raised voice, ranting and raving. Damn! He’d thought the old man was asleep and wouldn’t be aware of their unexpected houseguest till morning. What in blazes had set him off?

“All right, Gramps! Settle down,” Josh ordered as he came into the kitchen and saw his grandfather waving his cane and cursing. “What’s this all about?”

“Glenda’s come back.” The old man’s bushy gray eyebrows matted over wrinkled eyelids. “Glenda’s come back. Climbed out of her own deceitful grave, she did.”

“Nonsense,” Josh said firmly, but with an edge of impatience.

“See for yerself,” Gramps growled, and pointed his cane.

Josh turned around, and his stomach took a sickening plunge. For a mesmerizing moment, his tormented sister stood there, materialized in front of his eyes. The familiar gaudy robe and dark curly hair assaulted his senses, and he half expected her to break out into her rough laughter. He just stared at her.

Stacy didn’t know who the dead Glenda was, but she was very much aware of angry hostility filling the room. Both men were staring at her as if she had indeed come back from the grave to haunt them. Why?

Stacy’s mind suddenly filled with terrifying scenarios. Had they killed this Glenda? What if they really believed her murdered soul had come back from the grave to haunt them?

As evenly as her rapid breath would allow, Stacy said quickly, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you and your grandfather in some way. My name is Stacy Ashford. I’m from L.A.” Then she added a lie. “My family will be expecting me in Timberlane and they are probably already out looking for me.”

Josh realized that it was the curly black hair and familiar robe and socks that had created the illusion. This woman’s melodious voice, and the soft beauty in her clear sky-blue eyes and gently curved lips had never belonged to Glenda.

Josh quickly explained to his grandfather that she was a woman who had been caught in the storm, and he’d given her some of Glenda’s clothes to wear.

The old man didn’t look convinced, and he continued to glare at her. Stacy saw his gnarled hand tighten on his cane as if ready to strike out at her if she came a step closer.

“I apologize,” Josh said quickly. “My name is Josh Spencer and this is my grandfather, Nate Spencer. Please have a seat, and we’ll have the warm brandy I promised.”

Stacy moved slowly toward one of the kitchen chairs as the old man continued to glare at her. She couldn’t tell from his wizened frown whether he was convinced that he’d made a mistake or still believed it was Glenda playing some kind of evil trick on him. She suppressed a shiver, remembering the venom in his tone. What had this Glenda done to create such bitter anger in him?

“Come on, Gramps. I’ll see you back upstairs,” Josh said briskly, taking his arm and urging him toward the hall door. They left the kitchen, and Stacy heard their steps on the stairs, accompanied by the querulous swearing of the old man.

Outside the wailing of the wind and the relentless peppering of rain warned her that the storm was still full-blown. Any thought of fleeing the house was utter stupidity. She was trapped. She sat stiffly in a kitchen chair, trying to prepare herself for spending the night in a house with two strange men and the lingering, unwelcome presence of someone named Glenda.

When Josh returned to the kitchen, Stacy had her first look at him without his hat. He was ruggedly good-looking with brown eyes, longish dark chestnut hair, and high cheekbones accenting a firm chin. Any producer casting an adventure movie would definitely have given Josh Spencer a second look, she thought. There were plenty of hopefuls running around Hollywood that couldn’t measure up to his robust physique. But would they cast him as a good guy or the villain?

Stacy watched him prepare hot mugs of coffee and brandy with a confident ease that told her he knew his way around the kitchen. Washed dishes were drying in a rack, and there were no signs of feminine or extraneous culinary equipment sitting around on the counters.

“There you are, Miss Ashford,” he said as he handed her the mug of hot liquid.

Miss Ashford? The formal use of her name seemed totally at odds with the present situation, especially since she looked like the refugee she was. Was this macho man secretly enjoying seeing a big-city woman dependent upon a local yokel?

He eased down into a chair across the table from her and apologized again for his grandfather’s behavior. “Sorry about that. When he gets something in his head, nobody can get it out.”

“Who is Glenda?”

His fingers visibly tightened around his mug. As he focused on some unseen point over her shoulder, he answered gruffly, “My younger sister.”

“Glenda is your sister?”

“Was,” he corrected curtly. “As you must have guessed, she’s dead.”

“How did she die?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His flat refusal sparked Stacy’s indignation. “Obviously, I’ve landed in the middle of something that’s none of my doing. You gave me your dead sister’s clothes to wear, and your grandfather frightened me with accusations of coming back from the dead to haunt him.” She knew that she might regret demanding an explanation, but she hated being in the dark when her very life might be at stake. “What happened to Glenda?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I suppose you have the right to know.”

Stacy listened attentively as he explained how he and his younger sister, Glenda, were orphaned at the ages of sixteen and twelve when their parents were killed in a train/car accident, and their grandfather, Nate Spencer, a widower, took them in to raise. Stacy gathered Josh had adjusted to life in the Rocky Mountains, but his sister had hated it from the first moment.

“Gramps and I built a half-dozen fishing and hunting cabins and facilities down by the river. We do a good business all year around.” He sighed. “When Glenda was sixteen, she ran away to Timberlane, got a waitress job and refused to come back home to live despite Gramps’s threats and bribes. She stole money from the cabin rentals, lied to us about everything and was responsible for vandalism to the property by some of her pothead friends. Until her death two years ago, her life had spun out of control, and there was nothing that Gramps and I could do about it.”

He stood up abruptly, and firmness around his mouth and a fierce glower discouraged any more questions. Obviously Josh Spencer wasn’t a man who could be led where he didn’t want to go. However his sister had met her death, it was clear that he carried a lingering hurt deep inside, and he wasn’t about to talk about it.

“Time to turn in. We left a bed in her old room. You can use it.”

“Haven’t you got a couch somewhere?” she protested. Wearing the dead woman’s clothes was one thing, but sleeping in her bed was another. “I’d be fine bedding down anywhere.”

Refusing to listen to any argument, he put a firm hand on her arm and led her up the narrow staircase to a small bedroom at the front of the house.

At one time it might have been pleasant enough, Stacy decided, but a stale, musty smell permeated the room. Heavy, ugly curtains hung at two long, high windows. A single light bulb hung on a chain from the ceiling and sent an orangish light across a small bed, an old vanity dresser and a hooked rug that was rough under her stocking feet.

Stacy would rather have bedded down on the floor in the kitchen than stay cooped up in this room, but one look at her host’s marble face warned her that a choice of accommodations wasn’t an option.

A quiver of fear crept up her spine as he stood there, barring her way to the open door. His domineering, muscular frame filled up the small floor space, and she wondered if the brief pleasantries in the kitchen had been intended to lull her into a false sense of security.

She had never felt so totally helpless and vulnerable in her whole life. Here she was, trapped in a dead woman’s room and wearing her clothes. No chance to flee. No one to hear her cries. Outside the raging storm mocked any attempt to reject the questionable hospitality offered her.

“Good night, Miss Ashford,” he said, politely. In the dim light, she thought a flicker of something like amusement eased the firm muscles in his cheeks as he added, “You’ll be sure and lock the door, won’t you? Sometimes my grandfather walks in his sleep.”

After that unsettling announcement, he disappeared into the hall, and she heard his firm steps as he went back downstairs. She quickly shut the door and turned the skeleton key in the lock. Like the old bathroom door, it didn’t look strong enough to keep anyone like Josh Spencer out if he decided to come in. She consoled herself with the thought that a feeble old man wouldn’t be able to break it down.

Fighting against a rising claustrophobia as the stifling closeness of the tiny room crowded in on her, she went to a window and pulled back a dusty heavy drape. Dirty streams of water ran down the glass pane, and the raging storm outside warned that it would be stupidity to try and open the window.

Leaving the dangling ceiling light on, she lay down on the small bed still wearing the purple robe. Her body remained rigid for a long time until slowly her mental and physical exhaustion claimed her. Finally, with the smell of cheap perfume invading her nostrils, she relaxed, and slept.

THE ROOM WAS STILL in shadows when she woke, but a thin line around the window draperies told her it was morning. Eight o’clock, to be exact, she realized as she checked her wristwatch. She lay there for a moment, unconsciously listening for the noisy fury of the storm that had been in her ears for so many hours.

Stillness. No lashing rain. No thunder. The storm was over. Breathing a prayer of thanksgiving, she went over to a window, drew aside the faded curtain, and peered outside.

The weather was gray and dank, and the scene that greeted her eyes instantly dissipated her sense of well-being. Heavily wooded mountains rose to jagged and barren peaks against the colorless sky.

She could see a line of rustic cabins stretched along the river. All apparently empty. No smoke wafted from any of the chimneys, no cars were parked in the adjoining carports and no hint of anyone moving about.

He had lied to her. The place was closed down. A cold chill prickled the back of her neck. No one was around except him and his crazed grandfather.

Turning away from the window, she crossed the room and cautiously opened the door. She blinked in disbelief as she looked down at the neat pile of her own clothes, lying there washed and dried. The swell of gratitude was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She even blinked back grateful tears as she picked them up and made her way to a central bathroom a short distance down the hall.

She hurriedly took off the purple robe and socks and threw them in the corner. Once she was dressed again in her yellow slacks and summer top, she almost felt in charge of herself and the situation.

Her sense of confidence was short-lived, however. When she came into the kitchen, the old man was sitting at the table, eating. The minute he saw Stacy, he began jabbing his fork in her direction, shrieking, “Out! Out of my house.”

“Stop it, Gramps!” Josh ordered as he swung around to face his grandfather. He’d been standing in front of the stove, tending to a sizzling skillet. “If you’d wear your blasted glasses, you’d see the lady doesn’t look anything like Glenda.”

“I ain’t eatin’ with the likes of her,” his grandfather retorted. With the belligerent stubbornness of a child, the old man shoved back his chair, lumbered to his feet, and stomped his way out of the kitchen with a loud thumping of his cane.

“Sorry about that,” Josh said with an apologetic smile. “Are you ready for breakfast? Come on, sit down. Would you like some scrambled eggs and bacon?”

“No, thank you. I…I’m not much of a breakfast eater.” If she’d had any appetite it had been squelched by his grandfather’s hostile greeting. More than anything, she wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible.

“I’d like to use your telephone, make arrangements for recovering the car and getting a ride to Timberlane.”

“Sorry, the storm knocked out service. Probably won’t be back in use for a couple of days. The telephone company takes its time getting to us.”

“Don’t you have a cell phone?”

“Nope, I’ve tried using one, but it kept breaking up and wasn’t any good in these mountains.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down and have a cup of coffee.”

As Stacy glanced at the back door, Josh suspected that she was considering walking out of the house right then and there. Not that he blamed her. His grandfather’s explosive tirades would put anyone on edge, and she’d handled herself better than he would have expected any woman caught in these circumstances.

“It wouldn’t do much good to call a towing company if your car has already been swept miles down the river,” he said gently.

“I was driving a rental car, and it’s important I inform them about the accident.”

He nodded. “Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast, Miss Ashford? Then I’ll get out the pickup, and we’ll head down to the river and assess the situation.”

She noticed that he didn’t volunteer to drive her into Timberlane so she could use the phone there. At the moment, she had no alternative but to go along with his suggestion. She sat down and accepted the cup of coffee he offered.

“You’re sure about breakfast?”

“Well, the bacon does smell good. Maybe a couple of pieces and a piece of toast.”

He turned away, so she couldn’t see his smile of victory. He realized for the first time, as he watched her eat, that she was a damned attractive woman. More than just pretty, in his judgment. Even without any makeup, her full, nicely curved mouth, slender nose and heavily lashed soft blue eyes commanded a natural beauty. He’d become so used to women in mannish shirts and denim pants he couldn’t help but notice how her thin summer top revealed the soft smoothness of her neck and accented the firm fullness of her breasts. He did his best to keep his gaze from lingering there.

What was a woman like her doing alone in these parts? She hadn’t offered anything but her name and the fact that she had family in Timberlane. It puzzled him. As far as Josh knew there weren’t any Ashfords anywhere in the immediate area. He kept his curiosity in check, and as soon as she finished eating, they left the house.

He led the way to a pickup truck with more mud than paint showing on it. The interior was scarred and the upholstery on the seats worn.

As they drove away from the house and passed some of the empty cabins, Stacy couldn’t help remarking, “Business must be bad.”

The muscles in his cheeks tightened. “August is usually our busiest summer month, but recent repairs on the bridge have closed us down for six weeks now.” He shot her a stern look. “If your car has damaged some of the new bulwark, our hopes for a busy September may be shot.”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she stammered, realizing for the first time how her accident might affect him and his livelihood. No wonder he’d been gruff and distant with her. Under the circumstances his attitude was understandable. She felt guilty for having endowed him with all kinds of unfounded motives for rescuing her. She’d certainly imposed upon him enough. If he took her as far as the road, she could, perhaps, flag someone down and catch a ride into Timberlane.

When they reached the bridge, Josh’s worst fears were realized. Her rental car was still there and resting against a cement reinforcement that had been knocked out of position. The bridge shook as Josh drove the pickup over it, making it clear that it wouldn’t be safe for general traffic until it could be repaired.

He stopped the pickup, got out, and surveyed the abandoned car. Swollen waters had engulfed the front of it, but the back doors seemed free. “I’ll take a look and see if I can get some of your things. Is the trunk locked?”

“Yes, but I put my two suitcases on the back seat, and my purse is in the front.” She swallowed hard. “Are you sure it’s safe to try and get them?”

“We won’t know until I try.” His blunt tone cut off all argument. Reaching into the back of the truck, he took out a pair of hip waders and pulled them on over his jeans. Then he waded down the embankment to the muddy swath her car had cut when she missed the road.

As she watched him, the terror of the storm came back with its shrieking wind, clawing torrents of rain, and the lashing darkness. Remembering the strength of his embrace and the warmth of his body as he held her against his chest, she was painfully aware of how much she was indebted to this stranger. When Josh reached the car, he opened the back door, leaned in over the front seat, picked up her purse and slung the strap over his shoulder. Then he picked up the two matched suitcases lying on the back seat and eased out of the car.

As Stacy watched, the illusion of rapidly flowing water made it seem as if the car was moving and slipping away. Her breath caught and choked cries crowded her throat. Get out! Get out!

She was weak with relief when he moved away from the car with the suitcases in his hand. Bending forward, his strong legs took him through the sucking mud and water. He was breathing heavily when he reached the pickup and slung the suitcases in the back. Then he shed the muddy rubber boots and climbed into the seat beside her.

“I guess I got everything,” he said as he handed her the leather purse.

“Oh, yes,” she said, grasping it gratefully. “I really appreciate what you’ve done. If you’ll just take me as far as the main road, I can flag someone down and catch a ride into Timberlane.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped. “I’ll take you into Timberlane. No telling who might pick you up.”

She had trouble controlling a swell of laughter and covered her mouth to muffle it.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just that…that…” She didn’t know how to explain that it was likely that anyone picking her up would have frightened her as much as he had.

“Oh, I get it.” His brown eyes suddenly darkened with black flecks. “You’d rather take your chances with anyone but me.”

“No, not now,” she countered quickly. “I’d appreciate the ride. I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m really in your debt.”

“Yes, you are, aren’t you?”

The way he said it gave her a strange feeling that he might collect on that debt sometime in the future.

When they reached Timberlane, Stacy’s heart sank. If it had once been a busy logging settlement in the early forties, now only a hodgepodge of old buildings remained. Any hint of prosperity was gone on the rundown two-block main street, and the few rustic homes clustered on the nearby mountain slope.

Stacy tried to cover up her shock.

Seeing her expression, Josh explained that modest summer tourism, activities in a nearby National Forest and a limited local economy barely enabled the town to limp along.

“I wonder why my uncle bought property in a place like this,” she said.

“What kind of property?”

“It’s called the Haverly Hotel.” She wasn’t prepared for the surge of color that swept into his face.

“Haverly Hotel?” he repeated as if the name was like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, my uncle left it to me. Do you know it?”

He gave an ugly laugh. “Know it? Hell, yes, I know all about the Haverly Hotel.”

Her mouth suddenly went dry. “I don’t understand.”

“My sister, Glenda, fell to her death off one of the balconies.” Then he added bitterly, “Only she didn’t fall. She was pushed!”

“Who…who pushed her?” she asked as her heart jumped. Please God, not weird Uncle Willard.

“If I knew,” Josh answered bitterly, “the bastard wouldn’t be drawing his next breath.”

“That was two years ago?” Stacy said, remembering Josh had said his sister had been dead that long.

Josh nodded as his hands tightened on the wheel.

Stacy’s breathing eased. Uncle Willard had only owned the hotel for a year. “Who had the Haverly Hotel before my uncle bought it?”

Josh’s mouth tightened. “Malo Renquist. He left town the same night Glenda was killed, and the bastard has eluded the authorities for two years. The property was sold to cover delinquent taxes.” He shot her a quick look. “The place was a haven for drugs, drifters and all kinds of scum. What are your plans for it?”

She took a deep breath and told him about her uncle’s will, which stipulated that she couldn’t collect her inheritance until a certain amount of the bequest was spent on renovating the property.

“The place should be torn down,” Josh stated flatly. “What in the hell was your uncle thinking?”

Stacy gave him a weak smile. “We didn’t call him Weird Uncle Willard for nothing. He never seemed quite normal. Much to everyone’s astonishment, he sold one of his inventions for big bucks and ended up with more money than the rest of the family put together.”

“What was he going to do with the place?”

“I don’t know. I think some renovation work has already been done. Where in town is the hotel located?”

“It isn’t. It’s up Devil’s Canyon about five miles.”

Stacy’s mouth was suddenly dry. “Why was it built there?”

“God only knows. The Haverlys were a well-to-do couple from Tennessee. They built a modest hotel in the style of southern architecture, and I guess they planned on doing a thriving business with affluent summer visitors to the area. Unfortunately, the resorts of Vail and Aspen were too much competition for the small logging town of Timberlane. When the Haverlys couldn’t make ends meet, they gave it up.

“A series of owners after them left the place more dilapidated than before. Then Malo Renquist bought it and turned it into a hang-out for modern-day hippies.” His jaw hardened. “After Glenda’s death the place was closed until your uncle came along and bought it.”

“Well, I guess I have my work cut out for me,” she said with as much bravado as she could manage.

“Isn’t there someone else in your family who could help you out. A brother—?”

“I lied. I don’t have any family in Timberlane. I’m an only child. My father passed on from a lingering illness when I was five, and my mother never married again. I lived at home until she died. There’s just me. I had a fairly good job with a marketing company until a few weeks ago. And now I’m here.”

Josh could hear the uncertainty in her voice. And for good reason, he thought as he stopped the car in front of a tall brick building on Main Street.

“I need to make a quick stop and talk to the men who have been repairing the bridge. I’ll call the service station and ask Hank to see if he can pull your car back on the road with his tow truck. It’ll only take a few minutes, and then I’ll drive you up to the hotel and let you off.”

The blunt way he said it gave her the impression he was intending to set her suitcases on the front steps and get away as quickly as possible. Not that she could blame him. The place must open some deep wounds.

As Stacy waited for him, a feeling of being totally displaced in this crude alien place came over her. The physical trauma of the last twenty-four hours had completely dispelled any feelings of excitement or anticipation. She wondered if Josh Spencer’s attitude toward her and her inheritance was indicative of what she could expect from other people in the town. What if he wasn’t the only one who had a personal vendetta against the place her uncle had left her? She knew that some houses and places seemed to harbor bad luck and evil miasma despite attempts to change the karma. Was the Haverly Hotel like that? Was her accident a warning?

Foreboding settled on her so heavily that she couldn’t just sit there any longer. Across the street, she could see a saloon, a general store, a café and a filling station on the corner. Not much to see, but anything would be better than just sitting here getting more and more depressed. The thought of being stuck in this run-down place for God only knew how long wasn’t doing much for her sense of well-being.

She slung her bag over her shoulder and had just taken a few steps away from the pickup when Josh came out of the brick building.

He wasn’t alone. Walking beside him was an attractive brunette wearing tight western jeans, a man’s shirt, and a belt that flashed a large silver buckle. Almost as tall as Josh, her well-rounded figure suggested an athletic firmness. She had a casual arm linked through his, and Stacy knew with feminine certainty that there must be some romantic history between them. Josh frowned when he saw that Stacy was out of the car. Where was she going? He’d taken care of his business as quickly as he could, explaining to Marci’s boss what had happened and what needed to be done right away to keep the whole bridge from collapsing.

He’d even told Marci that he was in a hurry, but she’d insisted on walking out with him to meet the woman who had crashed into his bridge. When he’d told her that Stacy Ashford was the new owner of the Haverly Hotel, Marci’s hazel eyes had nearly popped out of her head.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Does she resemble that kooky Willard?”

“I’ll let you judge for yourself,” Josh answered with a slight smile.

When he introduced them, Josh could tell Marci was astounded to find kooky Willard’s niece to be a petite, shapely young woman whose steady blue eyes regarded her with clear assessment.

Marci quipped in a light, not-so-amused way, “So Josh played the hero and waded through rain, wind and lightning to save you.”

Stacy nodded, thinking that it didn’t take a psychic to know that Marci Tanner wasn’t pleased about her having spent the night at Josh Spencer’s house. There was jealousy sparking every word. Impulsively Stacy gave Josh a smile that could mean anything. “Yes, he was very hospitable.”

“Oh, Josh doesn’t pay any attention to what people think, do you, handsome?” Marci came back with deadly aim. “He was one of the few townspeople who didn’t go around talking about your uncle’s stupidity when he had a heart attack carrying a huge hunk of marble up the hillside all by himself.”

Stacy knew that her uncle had died of a heart attack, but the lawyer hadn’t elaborated. What else didn’t she know?

Josh gave Marci a silencing look as he urged Stacy back in the truck.

“I’ll see you later, Josh, won’t I?” Marci queried in a suggestive tone.

“Don’t know,” he answered shortly. Marci was still standing there, watching as they pulled away from the curb. Damn, he silently swore. Women!

He saw Stacy swallow hard as if trying to get control of her emotions. Marci’s remarks about her uncle had hit home. No telling what she was going to have to face when he delivered her to that abominable hotel. Josh had sworn he never wanted to lay eyes on the place, and he had purposefully avoided it after Sheriff Mosley had concluded his halfhearted investigation into Glenda’s death and Malo Renquist’s disappearance.

“Time for a midmorning coffee,” he said as much for himself as for her. Without waiting for her nod of agreement, he pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant at the western edge of Timberlane named Alice’s Pantry.

“I’ll wait for you,” she said with a determined lift of her chin.

“Is that what you plan to do? Hide out and run scared?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then you’d better figure it out,” he said flatly. “Unless you forge your own path and reputation, you’re going to be stuck with your uncle Willard’s. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t care what other people think or say about me.”

“Maybe you should,” he answered flatly, wondering why in the world he was bothering to try and steer her into making her own impression on the town. Just because she’d plowed into his bridge didn’t mean that he had any responsibility toward her. He’d never been one to stick his nose in other people’s affairs, and what happened to Stacy Ashford and her blasted inheritance was none of his business. “Have you ever lived in a small town?”

“No, I was born and raised in Garden Grove, a suburb of L.A. After I graduated from Stanford with a business degree, I took a job in a California marketing firm.” She gave her dark head a toss. “And that’s where I’ll be heading back as soon as I fulfill Uncle Willard’s will and claim my inheritance.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” he agreed, “but small towns can be vicious sometimes when it comes to outsiders. Why don’t you let me introduce you around? Might make your stay more pleasant. Better to let everyone have a look at you before the grapevine gets hold of the news that you’re in Timberlane.” Without waiting for her answer, he got out of the pickup, walked around to her side and opened the door.

Stacy hesitated, then straightening her shoulders, she gave him a wry smile. “All right. Lead me to the slaughter.”

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