“Go on inside and lock the doors.
You never know who could
be lurking around here.”

“You’re very good at giving me new things to worry about,” Jasmine said.

Eli gave her a smile. “I’m also very good at keeping people safe.”

“Sarah and I don’t need you to keep us safe. We’re fine on our own.”

“Are you?” He leaned in close to stare into her eyes.

She wanted to move away, but she was frozen in place, fascinated by this strong, handsome man.

“Yes, we are. We’ve both been on our own for a while and managed just fine.”

“That was then. This is now. There’s real trouble here, Jasmine. If you’re not careful, it will find you.”

His words chilled her to the core, but she didn’t want to let him know how much, or just how desperately she wished she did have someone to count on besides herself and her ailing mother-in-law. “If it does, I’ll deal with it.”

“And I’ll be right here to help you out.”

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

SHIRLEE McCOY

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and she began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of four, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Maryland and share their house with a dog and a guinea pig. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com.

Lakeview
Protector
Shirlee McCoy

“Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,” says the LORD, who has compassion on you.

—Isaiah 54:10

To Aunt Jessica, who knows more than most

what it means to grieve and go on.

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 SEVENTEEN

Chapter EIGHTEEN

Chapter NINETEEN

Chapter TWENTY

Chapter TWENTY-ONE

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

EPILOGUE

ONE

Frozen rain fell from steel-gray clouds, pinging off the blacktop and pattering into Smith Mountain Lake. Aside from that the day was silent, the summer bustle of guests replaced by winter solitude. Jasmine Hart was glad. People brought cash, but they also brought baggage, and she wasn’t talking the kind that held clothes. Marital strife, teens with secrets, men and women hiding from the world and from their problems. She’d dealt with them all during her time at Lakeview Retreat, but that had been years ago.

Now she had her own baggage, her own secrets, her own reasons to hide, and dealing with people wasn’t something she wanted to do. It seemed, though, that she had no choice in the matter. One phone call in the middle of the night, one brief conversation with her mother-in-law’s best friend and Jasmine had been on a plane and flying from New Hampshire to Lakeview, Virginia. Three days later, she was caring for her mother-in-law and readying the neglected retreat for the first renter it had had in seventeen months.

Which just went to show how quickly things could change.

“Jazz! Hey, Jazz!” Karen Morris hurried across the slippery pavement, her round cheeks flushed, her brown eyes filled with youthful exuberance. A college student who worked part-time at Lakeview Retreat, Karen had enthusiasm and peppiness to spare. Jasmine tried hard not to hold that against her.

“What’s up?”

“Ms. Sarah. She’s awake and asking if the cabin is ready yet.”

“Tell her I’ll have it ready before our guest arrives. Then you’d better head home. The weather doesn’t look like it’s going to clear.”

“Ms. Sarah said I should give you a hand cleaning the cabin.” Even as she said it, Karen’s gaze was darting toward the rusty Impala she’d driven to work that morning.

“She probably didn’t know how bad the weather was getting.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t afford to get fired from this job.” Karen glanced at the car again. Obviously, the thought of leaving appealed to her. Jasmine couldn’t blame her. The once-bustling retreat had become a lonely place, haunted by memories and silence. Or maybe that was only Jasmine’s perception of it. Maybe to others it was the same peaceful lakeside resort it had always been.

She forced her maudlin thoughts away, refocusing on Karen. “Sarah isn’t going to fire you for going home when the weather is like this.”

“I guess you’re right. And it is getting slippery out here. If you need me to come this weekend, I can. It might be good to have an extra set of hands since you’ve got a renter now.” It might be, but there wasn’t money for it. At least not in Sarah’s coffers. Since Jasmine’s mother-in-law didn’t believe in taking handouts, even from family, that was the only way the extra help could be paid for.

“I’ll give you a call if I need you. Now hurry up and tell Sarah you’re leaving. I don’t want you out on the roads when it’s this slippery.” She forced a smile, waving Karen back toward the house, her stomach churning with anxiety and frustration. Things were bad. Worse than she ever could have imagined when she’d agreed to come help Sarah recover from surgery. Payback for staying away so long? Probably. And probably Jasmine deserved it.

Icy wind sliced through her thick sweatshirt and heavy parka, stealing her breath and reminding her of home. New Hampshire would have snow this week. Here in Lakeview, there’d be frozen rain, drizzle, thick clouds. The lake. Memories of Christmases and laughter. The girls dancing around the living room of Sarah’s modest home. John. Solid. Dependable. All three frozen in time, suspended in her mind as they had been, not as they might have become.

Three years tomorrow.

Maybe she shouldn’t keep track.

She forced the thoughts and images from her mind, refusing to dwell on the past or to contemplate the empty future. One moment at a time. One day at a time. That was the only way she’d survive.

The first of Sarah’s five guest cabins was just up ahead. Small, cozy, great view of Smith Mountain Lake, it was the perfect place for solitude and peace. It wasn’t what the renter had wanted though. He’d done his research online and called with a particular rental in mind. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, set on a hill overlooking the lake, Meadow Lark cabin had always been reserved for large families. In years past, a single-occupant renter would have taken a smaller cabin or looked for a rental somewhere else. Things were different now. Sarah couldn’t afford to turn business away, and Eli Jennings was welcome to Meadow Lark.

Wind buffeted the cabin, shaking windows and shutters as Jasmine stepped inside. January wasn’t kind. It brought gray clouds. Cold weather. Loneliness. Death. Maybe Jazz was in the minority thinking that, but she doubted it. There had to be plenty of other people who’d just as soon skip the month.

She pulled linens from the closet, inhaled staleness and age. They’d have to be washed. She’d do the curtains in the bedroom while she was at it. No sense doing a partial job. It was an adage her mother had lived by. One she’d taught Jazz. Lately, though, doing nothing seemed preferable to doing anything at all.

Three years. Ticking by. One slow moment at a time. Drifting through her fingers like air. Gone.

And now she was back where it had all begun. Back where she’d met John, where he’d proposed, where they’d spent every vacation for thirteen years, where the girls had laughed and giggled, learned to fish, to boat, to dance in the moonlight and in the sun.

Jazz blinked back tears and shoved the linens into the small washing machine, started the water and realized too late that she didn’t have detergent with her.

“Wonderful. Now I’ve got to go back to the house.” Back to the modest rancher and its memory-filled rooms. Back to Sarah and her broken hip and strangely blank eyes. As much as the retreat had changed, Sarah had changed more, fading, shrinking, becoming a shadow of the vibrant woman she’d been.

Jazz shoved the cabin’s door open with more force than necessary, stepping out onto the covered front porch and nearly walking into a tall, broad-shouldered he-man. Dark blond hair cropped short, hazel eyes surrounded by lashes any woman would be proud of, a scowl that sharpened the hard edges of his jaw and cheekbones.

Handsome.

She shoved the thought away as quickly as it came. Noticing men and what they looked like felt too much like a betrayal. “Can I help you?”

“That depends.” He had a deep Southern drawl that was much warmer than his expression.

“On?”

“On whether or not you’re Jasmine Hart.”

“That depends.” She leaned back against the door.

His scowl deepened. “On?”

“On who wants to know.”

A tiny smile flicked across his hard features before it disappeared. “Eli Jennings. I’ve got reservations.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Jennings. I’m glad you made it here with the weather being so bad, but, as I told you last night, check-in is at three.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me check in early. Mrs. Hart down at the main house didn’t seem to think you would.”

“Sarah would be right on most occasions, but the cabin hasn’t been used in a while. It needs to be aired out and cleaned. I’ll need time to do it.”

“I’ll take care of it.” The finality in his tone refused any further argument, and Jasmine shrugged.

“You’re welcome to move your stuff in now, then.”

“Glad to hear it.” There went the tiny smile again, a subtle tilting of his lips that softened his hard features, but didn’t ease the coldness in his eyes.

He’d said he was a writer when he’d called the night before, but his broad, muscled frame and taut expression belonged on a military man, a cop. A career criminal. Whatever he was, whoever he was, that was his business. As long as he paid the rent on time, she’d leave Eli Jennings and his secrets alone. “I’ve started the linens and curtains. I’m just running down to the house to get detergent.”

“I’ve got everything I need in my truck.”

Jazz pushed away from the door. “Here’s the key then. You’ve got a phone line. Dial-up Internet access. Television with cable. Nothing fancy.”

“If I wanted fancy I’d be at the Hilton.” His smile took the sting out of the words and stole the breath from Jasmine’s lungs. Not a tiny smile this time. A full-blown, melt-a-woman’s-heart smile. No man should have a smile that warm, that decadent.

She blinked, took a step away. It was definitely time to leave.

She strode toward the porch steps, forgetting the icy rain until her foot slipped and she fell backward.

Hard hands wrapped around her waist, jerking her upright, reminding her of what a man’s touch was like—strong, steady, sure.

“Better watch your step, ma’am. The ice is making things treacherous.”

Ma’am? She was thirty-three. Not ninety. And unless she missed her guess, Jennings was a few years older. “Jazz is fine. Or Jasmine.”

His cold hazel eyes raked her from the tip of her scuffed boots to the top of the knit cap she wore. “Jasmine.”

Warm honey. Sweet tea. Deep South manners wrapped in six foot two of attitude and trouble.

Jazz looked away, disconcerted, guilty and angry at herself for being both. “If you need anything, call the house. The number’s near the phone.”

“Will do.”

“If you decide to extend your stay another month, rent is due on the first. You leave before the month is up, there’s no refund.”

“So you told me last night.”

“Just making sure we’re clear, Mr. Jennings.”

“Eli. And we’re very clear.” He smiled again, the fine lines near his eyes deepening, his muted hazel gaze now forest-green.

Definitely handsome.

Definitely trouble.

Definitely someone Jazz should stay far away from.

She took her time retreating down the stairs, absolutely sure she didn’t want Eli’s hands on her waist again. It was bad enough that she could sense his steady gaze following her as she maneuvered the slippery path that led to the gravel drive. She didn’t need to feel the warmth of his fingers pressing into her sides.

A large SUV was parked on the driveway, and Jazz bypassed it, noticing the details even as she told herself they weren’t important. Black tinted windows made it impossible to see inside. Was he hiding something in there? A pet? A person? Something else? If he hadn’t been watching, she’d have given in to curiosity and peeked in the front window.

She sidled around the car, her feet slipping out from under her again. She slid forward, banging into the door of the SUV and grabbing on to the hood to steady herself.

“Seems like you’re having a little trouble with the ice. Maybe I should give you a ride back to your house.” Eli spoke close to her ear, his voice so unexpected, Jazz’s heart leaped to her throat.

She straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze, and ignoring the quick flutter of her stomach as she did so. “Thanks for the offer, but I can manage.”

“Suit yourself.” He moved past, popped open the back door of the SUV and pulled out two brown paper bags. A box of Froot Loops peeked out of the top of one. It was almost enough to distract Jazz from the rifle case lying across the backseat.

Almost.

She didn’t like firearms of any kind, and was pretty sure she didn’t like the idea of her new renter having one in the cabin. “Planning to do some hunting?”

He followed the direction of her gaze, and flashed straight white teeth. “My dad is the hunter in the family. I’ve got camera equipment in there.”

“Strange place to store camera equipment.”

“You should see where I keep the rifle.”

“Should I ask?”

“Not unless you really want to know.” He threw another smile in her direction and started back up to the house, leaving Jazz to wonder if he was serious or kidding.

That was the trouble with keeping people at a distance. You stopped picking up subtle clues about their thoughts and feelings, about their truthfulness or lack thereof. That wasn’t a problem when you chose to hide away from life. It became one when you stepped back out into the world.

Or when you were yanked kicking and screaming back into it. Which was pretty much how Jazz’s reemergence had happened.

She shook her head, trudging back toward the rancher. Sarah would be waiting for breakfast, probably sitting in the kitchen, her too-thin fingers wrapped around a book, her soft-eyed gaze eating up the fairy-tale story written on its pages. No doubt she’d glance up when Jazz walked in, smile that easy smile of hers that was so much like John’s, ask what Jazz thought of their new renter.

Act as if no more than time had passed between Jazz and herself even though they both knew that the truth was much darker and uglier than that. Three years since Jazz had last set foot on Lakeview Retreat land. She’d grieved during that time. Alone. Concerned only for herself. While Sarah had struggled on her own.

Guilt had a taste. It was bitter and hot. Jazz swallowed it down as she stepped into Sarah’s house.

TWO

Like everything in Jazz’s life, the rancher seemed to have faded since she’d lost her husband and daughters. She couldn’t decide if her pain-shadowed perception was to blame or if the once-cheerful living room really had grown dim and dreary. Bright blues and crisp whites seemed muted and dingy, the once-pristine area now cluttered with magazines and books.

Jazz picked up a few as she stepped through the room, sliding them back into place on the bookshelves that lined one wall, barely glancing at titles or photographs. She knew what they were. Celebrity rags, romance novels, nothing academic. None of the autobiographies or biographies Sarah had once loved reading. Jazz couldn’t blame her mother-in-law for burying herself in romanticized tales. If she could have, she would have done the same. But for Jazz there was no comfort in fantasy and fairy tale, only the grim reality of life lived without those she loved.

“Is that you, Jasmine?” Sarah called out, a hint of anxiety coloring her words. Jazz wanted to ignore it, but ignoring the paranoia that her mother-in-law seemed to suffer from was nearly impossible. Over the past three days, Jazz had waged constant battle against Sarah’s fears.

“Who else would it be?” She hurried into the kitchen, a smile firmly in place.

“You never know, dear. You just never know.” Sarah’s answering smile was exactly as Jazz had known it would be—John, Maddie, Megan, all rolled into one, squeezing Jazz’s lungs and stealing her breath.

“Well, this time, you do. It’s me. Back to make you breakfast.”

“Coffee will be fine.”

“You need more than that, Sarah. How about some eggs? Bacon? Pan-fried potatoes?”

“Coffee.” Sarah’s tone brooked no argument, her fingers tapping against the paperback book that sat in front of her on the table, her shoulders hunched and bowed. Too thin, too frail.

This time it was Jazz’s heart that clenched. “You have to eat, Sarah.”

“Do I?” Sarah smiled again, but the look in her eyes was flat and dead, as if modern medicine had trapped a soul that should have already departed.

Jazz reached for her hand, squeezing. “You can’t heal if you don’t eat. How about just a piece of toast?”

It looked as if Sarah would refuse, the tilt to her chin, the tightness of her pale lips reminding Jazz of other times—John and Sarah equally matched in stubborn determination and standing on opposite sides of an issue, staring each other down, neither willing to concede. In the end they’d always come together again, laughing about their stubbornness, teasing each other in the timeless mother-son dance of affection.

Without John as a foil, it seemed Sarah’s stubbornness had faded. She shrugged. “Toast then.”

“And a banana?”

“Don’t push your luck, dear.” The response was more Sarah-like than any other in the few days Jazz had been there. She hoped it was a good sign.

“Toast. Coffee. And later I’m going out for a dozen of Doris’s éclairs.”

“In this weather? Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m used to this kind of weather. Besides, I’ve been craving éclairs since I got here.”

“You’re hoping to tempt more calories into me, is more likely the case.”

“That’s true, too.”

“Then feel free to bring a dozen éclairs home. I may just have it in me to eat one. While you’re at it, maybe you could stop by Kitty’s Little Book Shoppe. I’m almost out of reading material.”

“I can definitely do that. Or we can go together tomorrow.” Jazz set coffee and toast on the table in front of her mother-in-law, then took the chair across from her. “After the doctor’s appointment you’ve got in the morning.”

“Don’t remind me about the appointment. More poking and prodding. It would have been better if the person trying to murder me had been successful. No doubt, he’s enjoying my slow torture.”

“Don’t talk like that, Sarah. Of course it wouldn’t have been better if you’d died.” Jazz shifted in her seat, wishing she could turn the conversation to a safer subject. Sarah claimed she’d been shoved down a flight of stairs during the grand opening of a Civil War museum housed in a restored mansion. The local sheriff disagreed. He had witnesses who had seen Sarah’s fall. Jasmine was inclined to believe his version, the fact that she doubted her mother-in-law’s account proving just how much their relationship had changed.

She covered Sarah’s hand with her own, trying to convey a calm she didn’t feel. “You seem down, Sarah. Maybe I should call the doctor. Have him come over and make sure you’re okay.”

“Down as in loony and paranoid, right?” Sarah scowled, her eyes flashing, slashes of pink coloring her pale cheeks.

“No. Down as in depressed. The doctor said trauma can cause that sometimes.”

“Well, not in me. I’m about as far from depressed as a person can get. What I am is angry. Angry that the sheriff doesn’t believe I’m in danger and angry that you don’t. Angry that everyone would rather believe I’m paranoid than believe the truth.”

“Sarah—”

“Don’t, Jasmine. I know what the doctors have told you. They think I’m losing it. They’ll be proven wrong eventually. Of course, by that time it might be too late.” Sarah lifted her book, pretending to turn her attention back to the story, but Jasmine could tell from her frown that the conversation wasn’t over.

“I know you’re frustrated, but a half a dozen people saw you fall down those stairs. No one saw you being pushed.” The words slipped out before Jazz thought them through, and she regretted them immediately.

“There were hundreds of people at the grand opening of the museum. No one was watching one old lady walking down the stairs, so how could anyone know for sure what happened? Anyone but me, that is.” Sarah’s gaze speared into Jazz’s, flecks of gold and green standing out against the dark blue. John’s eyes looking into Jazz’s, accusing, pleading.

She lowered her gaze, fiddling with a napkin, searching for just the right words, but knowing she wouldn’t find them. Words used to come easily. Not anymore. She struggled and searched and still came up wanting. “I believe you.”

Simple. Direct. Not quite the truth.

Wanting to believe didn’t mean a person actually did believe.

She’d learned that the hard way over the past years as she’d fought to hold onto what little faith she’d had.

“No. You don’t, but it’s all right. I love you anyway. I’m going to rest for a while. Tell me before you go out, okay?”

“Okay.”

The house fell silent as Sarah shuffled away, leaning on her walker—bent, older than her years, faded in some indefinable way.

That was what grief did—it aged the body, stole from the mind, made every hour into a hundred, every day into an eternity.

Jasmine grabbed the empty toast plate and the still-full coffee mug from the table, forcing somber thoughts away. She’d come here to help. Her sadness could only make things worse, her doubts feeding rather than assuaging Sarah’s paranoia.

If it was paranoia.

The doctors seemed to think so. Jazz was…undecided. Exactly the way she was about everything in her life.

She lifted Sarah’s book from the table, the cover’s pastel colors highlighting a man, a woman and a little girl who danced between them. Jazz’s life had been like that once—sunlight and shadows, laughter and tears, balanced out by love, affection, companionship.

Now it was different.

Not bad.

Not particularly good.

Just different.

Many of her friends thought she should get back into the dating game, start seeing people. Others suggested she adopt, bring children into her home, let laughter chase away the sorrow.

Jazz knew she could do both, but she couldn’t replace what was lost and had no desire to try. Instead, she lived life on her own terms, ignoring her friends’ suggestions. Even though that meant facing her life alone.

The business line rang, and she grabbed it, thankful for the distraction. “Lakeview Retreat, can I help you?”

“May I speak to Mrs. Jasmine Hart?”

“This is she.”

“My name is Keith Sherman. I’ve heard that your mother-in-law is having some financial difficulties.”

“Heard from whom?”

“Friend of a friend. I’m a real-estate investor, and I’d be very interested in purchasing her property. I’m sure you can see what a good idea that would be. Medical expenses for the elderly can be quite high.”

“Sarah isn’t elderly, and she’s not interested in selling.”

“Whether she’s interested in it or not isn’t the point. She’s probably got an emotional attachment to the place, but I’m sure you could help her see past that.”

“I’m not going to talk her into something she doesn’t want, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“So, you’d rather see her lose the property to the bank?”

“She’s not going to lose the property to the bank.”

“That’s not what I’m hearing.”

“It is now. Thanks for your query, Mr. Sherman.” She hung up before he could say more, her heart hammering a quick, hard beat.

Lose the property to the bank?

Were things really that bad?

Jazz had looked through the past year’s books when she’d arrived, had realized how little revenue had come in, but she hadn’t bothered opening the mail piled up on Sarah’s desk, or checking her mother-in-law’s bank statements. Sarah was a private person. She didn’t believe in sharing burdens or responsibilities, and would never allow others to look into her finances. She had a strict code of ethics. Honesty, hard work, repaying debts; those were principles Sarah lived by. Jasmine couldn’t believe that had changed.

She hurried into the office, sat down at the desk, grabbing the pile of mail and sorting through it. Bills were piled to her left, correspondences to the right, junk mail in the trash can. It took three hours, but she finally finished, her heart sinking as she reread the letter threatening foreclosure.

The caller had been right. Sarah was about to lose her property. Jazz reached for the phone, hesitated, knowing her mother-in-law wouldn’t be happy with what she was about to do. If John were alive, he’d have prayed, approached his mother with a plan of action, then followed through in whatever way he felt led while Jazz watched in awe, wishing her own prayers could be answered as quickly and decisively. She’d thought that once she matured as a Christian they would be, that she’d hear God’s voice more clearly, understand more easily the direction she was supposed to take.

Somehow, though, spiritual growth had never happened. While John’s faith had flourished, hers had stayed in infancy. Even as she’d prayed with Megan and Maddie, rejoiced as they’d taken their own fledgling steps of faith, she’d wondered and doubted and worried and questioned and asked herself if what lived in her soul was less real than what lived in John’s and her daughters’.

At the time of their deaths, she still hadn’t found an answer. Now, she didn’t care to try. Being part of their faith experience wasn’t necessary anymore. What was necessary was action. She’d let Sarah down too many times in the past few years. That was obvious. Whether her mother-in-law would thank her or not, Jazz intended to make up for that in the only way she could. She lifted the phone and dialed the number of the bank.

THREE

Nighttime was the worst for Jasmine. The empty space beside her in bed. The silence. The hollowness of the house. The best thing, Jazz found, was to keep busy until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, then fall into a restless, dream-filled sleep. Often John and the girls would be waiting for her there, their laughter following her from dreams into daylight. That was when she understood how deep and true love was, how impossible it was to measure or to confine. It reached beyond time, beyond death, filling the heart even when arms were empty.

Tonight, with Sarah settled into her room and the tap of icy rain hitting windows and roof, Jazz still felt the aloneness of the night, the emptiness that yawned beside her in bed. At a little after midnight, she was still awake, sketching illustrations for an alphabet book. A tiger. Friendly-looking to go with the cute little rhyme that would be on the page. The only problem was Jazz’s tiger looked more ferocious than friendly, his snarling face and jagged stripes enough to scare even the bravest toddler away.

“Focus, Jazz. This thing is due in ten days.” She muttered the words as she ripped the drawing from the pad, tossed it into the trash can and tapped her pencil against the bed. This should be easy, so why was she struggling with it?

Maybe because being bombarded with photos of John and the girls that sat on every table and shelf in Sarah’s house had stolen her ability to concentrate. Maybe because she was still worried about the financial help she’d given Sarah and what Sarah’s response to that would be. Maybe because she was still thinking about the guest in Meadow Lark cabin—his rifle case, his warm smile, his hard eyes.

Maybe all of the above.

And maybe she should just forget all those things and finish the tiger, the umbrella bird, the vixen, the walrus, the yak and the zebra so she could mail the assignment out.

She smoothed a hand over a clean page, glancing at the storyboard she’d been sent. An easy assignment. Get it done. Get it out the door. Decide if this was really what she wanted to spend the rest of her life doing—drawing pictures for someone else’s stories while her Danielle Donkey stories were reprinted over and over again. That was all she needed to do. Simple.

A line. Two. Curves. Shapes, coming together to form the sketch. She’d just finished the tiger’s smiling mouth when a scream rent the air, high pitched and terror filled, heartrending in its fevered intensity.

“Sarah!” Jazz ran across the room, the sketch pad falling from icy fingers, her heart tripping in her chest as she raced for her mother-in-law’s room, shoved the door open.

The light was off and she flicked it on, inhaling the musty scent of age and medicine, and the coppery scent of fear. Her mother-in-law pressed up against the headboard of her bed, her eyes wide and feverishly bright against pale skin, her gaze fixed on the window.

“Sarah? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It’s out there, watching me.” The hoarse whisper was almost as terrifying as Sarah’s scream.

“What? What’s out there?” Jazz moved toward the window, fear quivering in her throat and belly, images flashing through her head. Bogeymen, ghosts, other things that didn’t exist except in the imagination.

“The thing that’s trying to kill me.”

“There’s nothing there.” Was there? Jazz pressed her face against the glass, peering into the darkness and trying to see shapes in the shadows.

“Call the police. Call them now before he gets in.”

“You saw a man outside the window?” That made more sense, though the idea of a man lurking outside seemed almost as unbelievable as a phantom creature. Even a serial killer would hesitate to be out on a night like this.

“I saw something. A shadow with milk-white eyes.”

“Sarah…”

“Someone was out there. Call the police before he gets away.” She sounded more rational now, more believable, and Jasmine grabbed the phone from the bedside table, dialing the sheriff’s department rather than 911. No sense tying up the emergency line for something that probably wasn’t an emergency. Maybe her mother-in-law had had a nightmare, or maybe she’d really seen something. One way or another, Jazz was pretty sure they were safe inside the house.

Sirens drew Eli Jennings to the living-room window of his rental, their screaming frenzy carrying over the sound of the winter storm. Outside, ice still fell, collecting on the grass and trees and sparkling in the light that spilled out from the window. Down the hill and to the left, blue and white lights flashed. Unless he missed his guess, they were near the small rancher he’d visited earlier. Not that it was any of his business. Then again, he’d never cared too much about whether things were his business. That was why he was in Lakeview, Virginia, instead of at home in Atlanta. And that was why he was about to take a midnight walk in icy rain.

He grabbed his jacket from the coat closet and stepped out the front door. Probably this was a bad idea. Probably he shouldn’t be doing it. But two women lived down in that rancher, one too frail to protect herself, one so brittle Eli thought a strong wind might shatter her.

Not his business, sure, but Eli was hardwired to protect. The weak, the fragile, the frail. Those who couldn’t fight for themselves. It was why he’d joined the military and why he’d still be in it if he could. Unfortunately, the choice had been taken out of his hands. A roadside bomb and suddenly he was Stateside, near deaf in one ear, and sporting a roadmap of scars and a pronounced limp. Seeing as how five of his buddies hadn’t survived the attack, Eli figured he had more to be thankful for than to complain about.

He made his way down the steep slope that led away from the cabin, moving past his SUV and along the gravel driveway that led to the Harts’ house. He’d done his research before he’d arrived, knew exactly who his landlords were. At least who they were on paper. Jasmine Hart—well-known children’s book author and illustrator, faded to obscurity after the death of her husband and daughters, living a quiet life in New Hampshire until her mother-in-law fell down a flight of stairs and fractured her skull and her hip. Sarah Hart—owner of Lakeview Retreat. Widowed young. Raised a son. On the verge of losing the property she’d worked so hard for.

Those were the facts.

Reality was different. Reality was the frail, older woman who’d shuffled along with a walker while offering him tea, and the younger woman who’d looked like more trouble than Eli had time for. From the tip of her multicolored knit cap to the soles of her scuffed brown boots, she had the kind of can’t-hurt-me attitude that could put a person into all kinds of dangerous situations. Tough. Strong. A survivor. But brittle, too. Like overstressed glass, she might shatter at any moment.

He’d met other women like her. In Africa, Afghanistan and Iraq. Different places. Same stories. Military life had put him in contact with plenty of people whose lives had unfolded in horrifying tableaux. Jazz was no different.

Except for her eyes.

Not blue. Not green. A mixture of colors that reminded him of Asia’s deep valleys and lush jungles, of hazy mornings and strong, dark coffee. The fact that he’d noticed just proved how much trouble she was going to be. He had a job to do, and that job didn’t include comparing a woman’s eyes to foliage.

Two police cars were parked in front of Sarah’s house, and he skirted around them, stopping when a harsh voice called from the open doorway of the rancher. “You looking for someone, friend?”

“Just making sure everything is all right.” He waited until the officer moved into sight. “I’m Eli Jennings. One of the Harts’ renters.”

“Must be a pretty new one. As far as I know, none of the cabins have been rented in over a year.”

“I just drove in today.”

“Staying long?”

“At least a month.”

“For?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Not the kind that’s going to cause you any trouble, Officer.”

“Sheriff. Jake Reed.” The man offered a hand, but his scowl said he wasn’t happy with Eli’s response. Too bad. It was all he was getting. Until Eli got a better sense of which Lakeview residents were important to his investigation, he planned to keep his purpose for being there close to the cuff. If the sheriff questioned him privately, he’d tell all. Otherwise, he had nothing more to say about his “business.”

He plastered a good-old-boy smile onto his face and leaned a shoulder against a porch post. “Good to meet you, Sheriff. So, is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Mr. Jennings. Sorry for the disturbance.” Jasmine emerged from the house, drowning in gray flannel pajamas, her hair a halo of wild curls around a sharp-angled face, her eyes huge pools of uncertainty.

Fine?

Eli doubted it. “It seems that if everything were okay you wouldn’t have two police cars sitting in front of your house.”

“Sarah thought she saw someone outside her window. I’m sure—”

“That she’s a crazy old fool who’s too muddled in the head to know what she’s looking at.” Sarah Hart appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on her walker, her lined face pale, her knuckles white with tension.

“You know that isn’t what I think.” To her credit, Jasmine sounded hurt at her mother-in-law’s accusation, though Eli wondered if she actually did believe Sarah’s thinking was muddled.

“I know what I saw and what I saw was a face staring in the window at me.” Sarah sagged a little as she spoke, grimacing and in obvious pain.

Jazz put a hand on her shoulder. “You need to sit down, Sarah. Jake will handle things out here. Give me a few minutes and I’ll come in and make you a cup of tea.”

The older woman’s shoulders stiffened and her chin went up. She reminded Eli of a younger version of his grandma Fern. Soft as warm butter until someone got her back up, then she was hard as steel.

“I can handle making tea myself, and I’ll handle this investigation myself, too, if no one is willing to take me seriously.” She shot the sheriff a hard look that was only slightly less effective because of her frailty.

Eli turned his attention to Jake, watching for his reaction. The way he saw it, a man could be measured by the way he treated a lady. In his estimation, anyone who didn’t treat a lady right didn’t deserve to be called a man.

Apparently, the sheriff had the same philosophy. Despite Sarah’s obvious anger, Jake’s response was gentle, his words calm. “I’m taking you very seriously. If someone was here, we’ll find out who and why.”

“If?”

“Sarah, I’ve known you enough years to know that you’d rather hear the truth than a pretty lie, so I’m going to tell you what I think. I think you saw something. Whether or not that something was a person still has to be determined.”

Good answer, Reed. Not too coddling, not too gruff. The truth. Plain and simple. Eli’s opinion of the sheriff rose, and he pushed away from the porch pillar, ignoring Jasmine’s quelling look, the sheriff’s scrutiny, and the voice inside telling him to mind his own business. “Did you see a face, Mrs. Hart? Hair color? Eyes?”

“I’ve already taken her statement, Jennings. There’s no need to go over it all again.”

“Just wondering why she thought it was a person.”

“I saw eyes. White eyes.” Sarah shuddered, and Jasmine put a hand on her arm, aiming a dark look in Eli’s direction.

“Let’s go have that tea, Sarah. Would you like to join us, Sheriff?”

“Thanks, but I’m going to join my men, look around some more, then be on my way. If we find anything, I’ll stop back in.”

“Thank you.”

“If you see anything else that has you worried, give me a call. Doesn’t matter how trivial it seems.”

“We will.”

The sheriff nodded, then headed out into the rain, rounding the side of the house and disappearing from view.

“I guess you’ll be heading back to the cabin now.” It wasn’t a question. As a matter of fact, Eli was fairly confident it was a request.

“Am I?” He purposely drawled the words. “And here I was hoping to join you two for a cup of tea.” His mother would smack him upside the head if she knew he’d just begged an invitation, but something was going on here, and he wanted to know what.

“Since when do men drink tea?”

“We’d love to have you.”

Jasmine and Sarah spoke simultaneously, and Eli answered both. “Thanks for the invitation, Mrs. Hart. I’ve spent a lot of time overseas and picked up the habit there.”

“Overseas? Are you military, Mr. Jennings?” Sarah shuffled back into the house as she spoke and Eli followed, passing by Jasmine, who hovered near the open door. She looked confused, her blue-green eyes wide with anxiety as if she wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up in the house and wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to do about it.

“I was military. A marine. I’m retired now.”

“My husband was a marine. Went to Vietnam and never came home.” Tears pooled in Sarah’s eyes, and Eli wished he’d left the two women alone. He’d wanted to find out what was going on, not dredge up Sarah’s painful past and bring her to tears.

Which, by the way, he wasn’t very good at dealing with. Sure he had four sisters, but they were more likely to cry on each other’s shoulders than his.

He cleared his throat, put a hand on Sarah’s thin shoulder, wondering why it was taking Jasmine so long to follow them into the kitchen. “That must have been painful for you, Mrs. Hart.”

“Call me Sarah. And it was painful. It was also a long time ago. I shouldn’t be getting teary eyed about it anymore. Chalk it up to fatigue and pain.” She offered a watery smile, and Eli smiled back, thinking again that Sarah was a lot like his gran. Tough and soft all at the same time.

“I imagine that’s to be expected after hip surgery.”

“Hip surgery? How do you know she’s had hip surgery?”

He turned to face Jasmine, surprised at the quick leap in his pulse when he met her gaze. She wasn’t pretty in the conventional sense of the word, but there was something about her that commanded attention. Commanded his attention, anyway. The strong line of her jaw, the wide blue-green of her eyes, the dark arched brows and full lips made him want to look again and again. “My grandmother had hip surgery two years ago. She used a walker for a while. I just assumed that might be the case.”

“Did you?” Jasmine’s eyes bored into his, her suspicion obvious. Good instincts, but he wasn’t going to admit the truth. Telling her he’d paid a fair amount of money to find out everything he could about the Hart women wasn’t on Eli’s agenda for the night.

“Did your grandmother have an easy recovery?” Sarah’s question saved Eli from doing some verbal backpedaling, and he smiled in her direction.

“She sure did. Gran was riding horses six months later. Seeing as how she’s probably a decade older than you, I’d say you’ll be back to your normal activities in no time.”

“I’ll be back to my normal activities if I survive long enough.”

Survive long enough? Now they were heading in the direction Eli wanted to go. “Is there some reason why you wouldn’t?”

“Someone is trying to kill me.”

“Why would someone want to do that?”

“If I knew maybe I’d be able to figure out who it was. As it is, I can’t get anyone to take me seriously.”

“The sheriff seemed to be taking you seriously.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m going to start the tea,” Jasmine interrupted, grabbing a teapot from the stove and making a loud production of filling it with water, her tight, short movements the equivalent of a three-minute lecture titled: You Shouldn’t Be Having this Conversation with My Mother-in-law.

Too bad he didn’t agree. A woman had gone missing two months ago. Probably it had nothing to do with Sarah Hart’s belief that someone was trying to kill her.

Probably.

On the off chance it did, Eli figured conversation on the subject wasn’t out of line. “Has someone threatened you, Sarah?”

“Threatened? Pushed me down the stairs, that’s what someone did. Broke my hip, gave me a concussion. It’s only by the grace of God I’m still alive.”

“Grace of God? If He was really gracious, He would have kept you from falling.” Jasmine pulled teacups from a cupboard, her shoulders stiff, the bitter words surprising Eli. According to the report he’d received, Jasmine attended church every Sunday, gave copious amounts of money to charity, illustrated children’s books for a Christian publishing company.

“I didn’t fall. I was pushed.”

The conversation had a well-worn feel to it, and Eli suspected the subject had been hashed out more than a few times. Might as well stick his nose into it and see where that took him. “Pushed by the same person who was at your window?”

“Probably.”

“No.”

Once again, the women spoke in tandem. This time, Eli focused his attention on Jasmine as she poured steaming water over tea bags. “It is possible, you know.”

She raised her gaze from the tea, her feelings hidden in the blue-green depth of her eyes. “Of course it’s possible, but is it likely? Ice is spitting from the sky, the ground is slick, only a fool would come out on a night like this. A fool couldn’t push a woman down the stairs with dozens of people around and not be seen.”

“A fool couldn’t, but someone very, very smart and very, very determined might be able to.”

Her eyes widened at his words, tea sloshing over the rim of the cup as her hand jerked. “That’s not very comforting.”

“Comforting is hot chocolate on a cold day. It’ll warm you, but it won’t keep you safe.”

“What will?” She sized him up, her eyes moving from his head to his feet and back again. “A big strong hero?”

“I’m flattered.” He grinned, not at all bothered by her sarcastic tone and more than willing to volunteer his services. “But I was thinking more along the lines of knowledge. And a good security system.”

“A security system. That is a good idea. We should call someone tomorrow, Jasmine. See about putting one in.” Sarah lowered herself into a chair, took the tea Jasmine had set on the table.

“Sure. We can do that.” Jasmine passed a cup of tea to Eli, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her. A zing of warmth ran up his arm, lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his chest and made his heart race.

What was it about this woman?

Her eyes?

Her lips?

The toughness that barely hid her vulnerability and sadness?

Yeah. That was probably it. Eli was a sucker for the downtrodden. This time, though, he was going to have to keep his distance. He’d come to Lakeview to do a job. Getting distracted was a surefire way to be certain it didn’t get done. He’d gotten the information he’d come in the house for, found out what had happened, made a practical suggestion for keeping the women safe. It was time to go.

He took a few sips of weak tea, then rinsed his cup and set it in the sink. “I’d better be on my way so you ladies can get some rest. Thanks for the tea.”

“Anytime.” Sarah smiled and started to rise, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place.

“No need to get up, Sarah. I can see myself out.” With that, he strode from the room, determined to get back to planning his strategy for finding Rebecca McKenna. Grown women didn’t just up and disappear. Not unless they were running from something. Or someone.

According to Eli’s friend and former commander, Marcus Trenton, Rebecca wasn’t the kind of person who’d have enemies or reasons to hide. Maybe he was right, or maybe Marcus just wanted to believe his sister innocent of what her husband had accused her—falling in love and running off with another man. One way or another, Eli was going to find out what had happened to Rebecca. He owed Marcus a lot. Even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have turned his back on a friend.

Cold wind blew across the lake, slapping icy rain into Eli’s face as he made his way to the cabin. He’d come to Lakeview to find Rebecca. That was where his focus needed to be. But even as he told himself that, his mind was at the Harts’ house, his brain replaying the conversation he’d had with Jasmine and Sarah. Something was going on there. Not just something. Trouble. Whether it was part of the plan or not, Eli had a feeling he was going to be seeing a lot more of the Hart women.

FOUR

“Afool couldn’t push a woman down the stairs with dozens of people around and not be seen.”

“A fool couldn’t, but someone very, very smart and very, very determined might be able to.”

The words ran through Jasmine’s mind again and again as she poured Sarah another cup of tea, unloaded the dishwasher and placed her mug and Eli’s into it.

Eli had been right, and she wasn’t happy about it. Imagining someone staring in the window was bad enough. Imagining that that person was an evil mastermind determined to harm Sarah made her want to put bars on the windows and doors.

“He rinsed his cup.” Sarah’s words drew Jasmine from her thoughts, and she turned to face her mother-in-law.

“What?”

“Eli rinsed his cup.”

“Should we give him a medal?”

“How many men do you know who clean up after themselves?”

“About the same number whose cleaning habits I know. None.”

“My husband didn’t clean up after himself. I remember spending the first three months of our marriage trying to get him to pick up his socks. I bet you had the same problem with John. I know he wasn’t neat when he was living at home.”

At the mention of John, Jasmine’s throat tightened. This was why she’d avoided Sarah for so long. Shared memories demanded voice and discussion, but only made the hurt that much harder to bear. “You’re right. He wasn’t neat after we married, either.”

“See? That’s my point. A neat man is something a woman doesn’t find very often.”

“So?”

“So Eli is handsome, strong, charming, neat. That’s a powerful combination.”

“What are you getting at, Sarah?”

“You’re young, Jasmine. Maybe it’s time—”

“It’s not.” She cut Sarah off, not wanting to get into a discussion about John, Eli, time passing. She knew it was passing. She felt it slipping away every moment of every day. That didn’t mean she was ready to jump into another relationship.

“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. I just think we have more important things to discuss.”

“Like faces in the window? Security systems? Doctor’s appointments? I’d much rather spend the time before I go back to my room talking about more pleasant things. Things that aren’t going to keep me awake in bed.” Sarah sipped her tea and fingered the paperback book that still sat on the kitchen table, her skin parchment thin and lined with age, worry and sorrow.

Jazz’s heart clenched, her stomach churning with anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to give Sarah more to worry about. “It’s my turn to apologize. I wasn’t thinking about how scared you must be. How about we bunk together? I can sleep on the love seat in your room.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jazz.”

“Then it’s good you don’t have to.” She wiped down the counter and hung the dishrag to dry. “I’ll go get my pillow and a blanket. Then we’d both better get to sleep. We’ve got to be up and out early.”

Sarah agreed, standing with difficulty and heading toward her room, the click and shuffle of her retreat fading, then stopping altogether. Jazz took her time rinsing Sarah’s cup, loading it into the dishwasher. She didn’t mind sharing a room, but she didn’t want to talk anymore. Not about what had happened tonight and not about the past. Certainly not about men and dating. She was past those things. Way past them. She might only be thirty-three, but she felt older. Ancient even.

She sighed, grabbed her pillow and a blanket from her room and quietly entered Sarah’s. The deep, even sound of her mother-in-law’s breathing was a relief. No need to say good-night, no need to make conversation. Maybe she’d fall asleep just as quickly as Sarah had.

Or maybe she’d lie there until dawn listening to the house settling, staring into the dark room, wishing she could go back in time, relive all the moments that were still such a vivid part of her memories.

She blinked back unwanted tears, and moved to the window, pulling back the curtains. Night was already fading, the sky gray-blue and streaked violet with the first fingers of dawn. The rain had stopped, the silence beyond the window broken only by the soft tap of water dripping from the eaves. If she listened hard enough, Jazz imagined she could hear her daughters’ laughter drifting on the morning air, caught between here and there, the time before and the time after. Not quite audible, but not silent either.

Memories. That was what other people would say. To Jazz, the phantom sounds were imprints of lives lived with joy and vigor. Sometimes she thought if she tried hard enough, she could reach out and touch the images that had been hardwired into her brain from the moment her daughters had been born. She’d had so many hopes and dreams for them, so many memories she’d still wanted to make.

By the time dawn tinged the world with silvery-gray light, Jazz was stiff from lack of sleep, her body squeezed onto the love seat, her legs curved close to her chest. The room was lighter now, the cluttered dresser with its million and one photos of John and the girls seeming to mock Jazz’s efforts to sleep. Finally, she stood, folded the blanket and left the room, determined to put the long sleepless night behind her.

She brewed a pot of coffee, left it warming as she got dressed, pulled on a coat and stepped outside. A short walk. A little time away from the house. A few minutes to regroup. She’d feel better then. Later, she’d take Sarah out to breakfast, try to get both of their minds off what had happened the night before. They’d go to Becky’s Diner, have omelets and hot chocolate before they went to Sarah’s doctor’s appointment. It was a plan anyway, and that was a lot better than sitting around moping about what might have been but wasn’t.

Ice crunched under her feet as she walked down to the lake and stepped onto the rickety dock. Wood boards wiggled as she walked, and she frowned. She’d have to call around, see who she could find to fix it before the next vacation season. Maybe get someone to landscape the overgrown yard. The way she saw it, she was already in trouble for paying off Sarah’s mortgage. She might as well dig herself in a little deeper.

Ignoring the icy wood and the frigid wind, Jazz lowered herself onto the end of the dock, letting her feet hang over the edge. The lake was peaceful this time of the day, silent as the sun rose to bathe it in gold. In a few hours, she’d have to get to work, calling for the security system, calling around for a handyman, bringing Sarah to breakfast and to the doctor. Right now, though, all that she needed to do was sit and listen to the quiet.

Her fingers traced the weathered wood at the end of the dock, unconsciously searching for the deep indentations she knew would still be there, her mind drifting to another time, to bright sunlight and excited giggles, to the deep rumble of John’s laughter. Her heart yearned to rewind the clock, go back and live those moments one more time.

“It’s not such a good morning to be on the lake.” The words were as soft as a butterfly’s kiss, but still loud enough to make Jazz jump.

She turned, saw Eli walking toward her—his long legs and broad shoulders making him look like some action hero come to life—and felt something stirring to life. Interest? Attraction? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it, and scrambled to her feet to face the man. “You’re out and about early.”

“Seemed a shame to waste any of the day.” His deep Southern drawl washed over her, inviting her to relax into the moment as he moved closer.

She took a step back, one foot slipping off the edge of the dock, her arms windmilling as she tried to regain her balance.

Eli grabbed her hand, yanking her toward him, then holding her steady. “You okay?”

“Dandy.” She tugged her hand away, resisting the urge to wipe it against her jeans. There was no way, after all, that she could wipe away the lingering heat of his touch.

“You look awfully tired for someone who’s feeling dandy.”

“Nice of you to notice.”

“I also noticed that your eyes are more green than blue this morning and that your cheeks are the color of Gran’s prize roses—the most delicate shade of pink I’ve ever seen—but I figured you’d be none too happy if I mentioned it.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “Did you go to school to learn lines like that, or do they just come naturally?”

“Depends on who you talk to. I’d like to say I’m just naturally charming. Gran would probably say she whipped gentlemanly charm into me.”

“Did I say I found you charming?”

“Don’t you?” He smiled and the warmth of it spread through Jazz, melting ice that had surrounded her heart for three years, the feel of it new and exciting and horrifying all at the same time.

She looked away, told herself she was imagining things. “Maybe we better get off the dock. It needs some maintenance.”

“I was thinking the same.” Before she could move past, Eli wrapped a hand around her elbow, escorting her off the dock and back toward the house, the gesture courtly and charming. “You didn’t tell me why you look so tired this morning.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“So now I am.”

“Sarah nearly screaming the house down, the sheriff’s visit and tea with a stranger didn’t leave me much time for sleep.”

“Now, I wouldn’t say we were strangers.”

“I wouldn’t say we were friends either.”

“Maybe we will be.” He smiled again, but this time his eyes were sharply focused and Jazz caught a glimpse of the hardness she’d seen in his gaze the day before.

Southern charm and warm smile aside, Jazz was pretty sure Eli had an agenda. One that wasn’t as simple as spending a month alone writing, as he’d claimed when he’d made reservations. “I doubt either of us will be here long enough for that to happen.”

“It doesn’t take long for friendships to form.”

“I guess you’ve traveled around enough to know that.”

“I sure have.” He grinned, but it didn’t ease the hard angle of his jaw.

“Last night, you said you’d been in the marines.”

“That’s right.”

“And that you’re retired.”

“That’s right.”

“You didn’t say how you went from military to writing.”

“You didn’t ask.” His amusement was obvious. It might have been directed at her, at himself, or at the situation they were in. Probably, he was just the kind of guy who was amused by most things. The immature, unreliable type that Jazz’s mother had always been attracted to.

Even as Jazz told herself that, she knew it wasn’t the truth. There was something very solid about Eli, something that begged to be relied on. Not by her, of course. She had no intention of relying on anyone but herself. That would be asking for heartbreak and Jazz had definitely had enough of that to last a lifetime. “So, I’m asking. How does a person go from a military career to a writing career?”

“He gets half-near killed by a roadside bomb, gets shipped home, nearly goes crazy thinking about the good…no, the great…guys who died that day and then he decides he’d better find something edifying to do with his time, or he’ll end up wandering the streets with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.” He said it so matter-of-factly Jazz almost didn’t register the horror of the words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“How could you have? My scars are pretty well hidden.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“It was a tough time, but I’m healing.” They were still walking, Eli’s arm brushing hers. Despite the poignant story Eli was telling, it felt nice to share the moment with him. Dawn had always been her favorite time of day, and she’d much rather spend it with a flesh-and-blood man than with a memory. Maybe she shouldn’t feel guilty about that, but she did.

She shoved the emotion to the back of her mind, not wanting to dwell on it, and turned her attention to the conversation. “What kind of writing do you do?”

“Human-interest stories. Mostly about injured veterans who’ve returned from the war and made something of themselves. Men and women who haven’t just survived, but thrived.”

“And you came to Lakeview to write a story?”

He hesitated, and she knew before he spoke that he wasn’t going to tell her the truth. “I’m researching.”

“That could mean a lot of things.”

“It could.” Before she could question him more, he released her elbow, stepped away. “It looks like we’ve made it back to the house. I’d invite myself in for tea, but I’m more a coffee kind of guy in the morning.”

She almost invited him in. Almost. Then common sense and the need for self-preservation prevailed, and she nodded. “Have a good day, Eli.”

“You, too.”

She started up the porch stairs, but was pulled up short by his hand on her arm. “If you have any more trouble, you know where to find me.”

“We won’t.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Jasmine. Your mother-in-law is a pretty savvy lady. If she thinks she’s in danger, she probably is.”

“I hope you’re wrong about that.”

“Until you know for sure, be careful. A woman went missing in the next town over a couple of months ago. I’d hate for the same to happen to you or Sarah.”

Jasmine went cold at his words. She’d thought Sarah’s claims of danger exaggerated. At least she’d hoped they were. But if a woman had disappeared, maybe there was more to Sarah’s claims than she’d thought. “What woman?”

“Her name was Rebecca McKenna.”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

“She hasn’t made the news, but she is missing. Her brother hasn’t heard from her in two months. He’s not sure he ever will again.” He let the words hang in the air before releasing her arm and stepping away. “Get a security system, Jasmine. Make sure you keep it on. I don’t think I need to tell you what an ugly world this can be.”

Before she could comment, he strode away, moving across the lawn and down to the driveway that led to his rental, leaving Jazz alone in the still morning air, his words whispering through her head. I don’t think I need to tell you what an ugly world this can be.

No, he didn’t need to tell her.

She knew.

And she’d do everything she could to make sure that ugliness didn’t touch her or her mother-in-law again.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.