Книга - The Lawman’s Nanny Op

The Lawman's Nanny Op
Carla Cassidy






The Lawman’s Nanny Op

Carla Cassidy






















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#ua750d91c-4810-5286-a744-3378d7bac2fd)

Title Page (#u83af4de7-a9af-5e69-b608-8a185493e869)

About the Author (#udc981c31-0b79-5c6f-8151-9ee0382d108e)

Dedication (#u6d7da77e-fafd-5f32-8ecd-34c04010e8c3)

Chapter One (#u766f67be-2d42-5a59-9e3a-a154cdd85d3f)

Chapter Two (#ud9b92226-c0f8-57b8-8c23-9cfe39bc6822)

Chapter Three (#ua7c4a7ec-ea62-5655-ac4c-4ee97ad7545f)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




About the Author


CARLA CASSIDY is an award-winning author who has written over fifty books. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.


To Ann and Bruno,

for finding love again after all these years.




Chapter 1


Four cartons of crayons, a ream of construction paper, ten glue sticks and a dozen boxes of tissues. Portia Perez smiled to herself as she pulled up in front of the discount store.

Her best friend Layla West would think it was pathetic that Portia’s shopping list didn’t include a pair of three-inch red heels and something skimpy and sparkly, but Layla had never spent eight hours a day entertaining twelve little kids.

As the owner and operator of Portia’s Playpen, a day-care facility, Portia would much rather have enough crayons and glue sticks than shiny high heels any day.

As she got out of her car, the hot, early-morning August air felt like a slap in her face. There were times she didn’t think the sun shone any brighter in any other town on earth than it did in August in Black Rock, Kansas.

The concrete pavement beneath her sandals already radiated with heat and she reminded herself to add a couple of tubes of sunscreen to her shopping list.

She was almost to the store when she saw the first flyer. It hung on a light pole and as she glanced at it she froze. Her own face stared back at her.

“What the heck?” She moved closer to read it and as she did her heart banged hard in her chest and all her breath whooshed out of her body. Portia Perez—Baby Beater and Child Abuser. If You Love Your Kids, Don’t Use Her Day Care. The words swam before her eyes, for a moment making her nauseated.

She yanked it from the pole and then looked down Main Street, stunned to see more flyers on other poles. Shopping forgotten, she hurried down the street, taking down the flyers as she fought against the angry tears that threatened to erupt.

Who would do this to her? Who would be so cruel? This wasn’t just cruel; it was criminal. Somebody was trying to destroy her business, her very livelihood.

It took her fifteen minutes to take down all the flyers she saw in the immediate area. She held them in a trembling hand and stared across the street at the sheriff’s office.

She needed to report this. It was slander at its worst. Surely Sheriff Tom Grayson would do something, find the person responsible.

Who could be behind this? Her head whirled as she marched across the street and into the sheriff’s office. The minute she opened the door and stepped inside the tension that already coiled tightly in her stomach increased as she saw who sat behind one of the desks.

Deputy Caleb Grayson.

For almost ten years of her life Portia had gone out of her way to avoid any real interaction with the man. In a town the size of Black Rock they’d had occasions to run into each other, but any conversation had been polite and impersonal.

It amazed her that after all these years just the sight of him created a faint twinge in her heart. But she couldn’t think about that now. She had more important things on her mind than an old heartbreak.

“Portia,” he said in obvious surprise and stood from the desk.

“Is Tom in?” she asked.

“No, it’s his day off. What’s up?” He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his cologne, a familiar scent that would always remind her of high school prom and things she’d never wanted to think about again.

“This is what’s up … up all over town.” She handed him one of the flyers.

He frowned as he read it aloud. “Portia Perez neglects and abuses your children that you put in her care. Portia’s Playpen is a place of pain for little ones without a voice. Don’t let this woman watch your kids.” He whistled low beneath his breath and looked at her once again. “You’ve apparently made somebody very mad.”

“You have to do something,” she exclaimed. “They’re everywhere, each one more slanderous than the next.”

“Did you see who posted them?” he asked.

“No, but it’s … it’s all lies.” Once again she felt the pressure of tears welling up, but the last person in the world she would cry in front of was Caleb Grayson. “I want whoever did this arrested.”

“Unfortunately this is more of a civil matter than a criminal one,” he replied. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone saw somebody putting them up, but there’s really nothing more I can do.”

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. In fact his apparent lackadaisical attitude about the whole thing irritated her. She wanted him outraged on her behalf. She wanted him out beating the streets to find the guilty and she wanted that person lynched at high noon in the hot sun.

More than anything she wished Caleb wasn’t so darned handsome. She wished that his shirt didn’t stretch so neatly over his broad shoulders, that his slacks didn’t hug the length of his long legs and that that lock of his dark brown hair on his forehead didn’t look as if it were begging for female fingers to gently push it back into place.

“You’ll call me if you find out who did this?” she asked curtly.

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t wait by the phone if I were you. These were probably put up sometime in the middle of the night and I doubt that anyone saw who hung them.”

“So that’s it?” she asked, not attempting to mask her anger.

Caleb shrugged. “Sorry, there’s not much else I can give you.”

Portia whirled around on her heel and left the office without another word. Still stunned by the flyers, irritated that she had to have any dealings with Caleb Grayson, she stalked across the street and down the block to Black Rock Realty.

Even though it was early, Layla would be in and Portia needed to talk to somebody who would be properly outraged and lend support. Her best friend since childhood would do just that.

As she entered the office Layla looked up from her desk with a smile. “Hey, girl, what are you doing in town so early? Most Saturdays you aren’t even dressed until noon.”

“I came to pick up some supplies. Take a look at these.” Portia threw the flyers on the desk then flopped down in the chair facing her friend.

Layla scanned a flyer then looked up at Portia, her green eyes wide. “Where did you get these?”

“They were taped to light poles around the discount store.”

Layla looked back at the piece of paper in her hand. “But who would do something like this? Have you had a fight with any of the kids’ parents?”

“No, nothing like that. I can’t think of anyone who would have a reason to put them up.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I already did it. I marched myself into the sheriff’s office.”

“What did Tom say?” Layla twisted a strand of her long blond hair between two fingers.

Portia frowned. “Tom wasn’t in. I had to talk to Caleb.”

Layla raised a perfectly formed blond eyebrow. “And how did that go?”

“He told me it was a civil matter, not a criminal one. I think he just didn’t want to be bothered with the whole thing. He probably couldn’t work my crime into his busy schedule.”

Layla smiled at her knowingly. “Now that wouldn’t be a little ancient history aggression coming into play, would it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t harbor any ill will toward Caleb. What happened between us happened a long time ago. I’ve certainly moved on since then.”

“Yeah, right, and I’m going to be six feet tall when I wake up in the morning,” Layla replied dryly. “Admit it, you’ve carried a torch for Caleb Grayson ever since high school.”

“That’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever said,” Portia exclaimed.

“Really?” Layla dropped the strand of hair she’d been twisting. “You think it was more outrageous than that time I told you I had sex with Ralph Davidson in the front of his pickup and my hip bumped the shift knob so we ended up in his pond?”

Portia laughed, which she knew had been Layla’s intention all along. “You’re crazy,” she said.

“And that’s why you love me.” Layla leaned forward and covered one of Portia’s hands with hers. “Don’t worry about the flyer nonsense. Everyone in town knows those kids at your day care are your life and you’d never do anything bad to any of them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Portia said.

Layla grinned. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right. Now get out of here. Go buy your supplies. I have a client due to arrive any minute and I’m hoping to schmooze him into buying the old Miller property.”

“That old dump?” Portia said as she stood.

Layla grinned. “By the time I finish with my sales pitch my client will think it’s Buckingham Palace.”

Portia was still smiling as she left the realty. Layla was always good for cheering her up no matter what the circumstances.

Of course, that whole thing about Caleb and a torch was utterly ridiculous. If she had a torch and Caleb came too close to her, he’d definitely get burned. She’d given him not one, but two chances years ago, and he’d blown them both.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,” she muttered as she headed to the store to pick up her supplies.

Caleb Grayson was as much a part of her past as teenage blemishes and pep rallies. She’d outgrown all of them, most of all the very hot, handsome Deputy Caleb Grayson.

He dreamed about her Sunday night. A wild, hot dream that combined part past and part fantasy and woke him with a yearning he hadn’t felt in years.

Caleb Grayson pulled himself out of bed Monday morning, irritated that Portia Perez had invaded his sleep in any way, shape or form. Minutes later, as he stepped into his shower, he tried to shove thoughts of her out of his head, but they kept coming.

She’d been his first love and he’d never loved like that again. A year ago he’d thought he’d finally found love with Laura Kincaid, but that had ended so badly he still felt a burn of anger when he thought of her. A swell of grief threatened to sweep over him, but he consciously shoved it away and instead focused back on Portia and her current problem.

The flyers had been a nasty piece of business, but he’d spent most of the morning on Saturday asking around to see if anyone had seen who’d posted them and as he’d suspected, nobody had a clue who might be responsible. There wasn’t much else he could do about the situation.

Stop thinking about her, he commanded himself as he got dressed in his khaki uniform. Besides, all the Grayson men had more important things on their minds than ugly flyers hung around town.

Their sister, Brittany, had been missing for almost five weeks. Caleb strapped on his gun and grabbed his keys from the kitchen table and tried to still the thundering in his chest that began whenever he thought of his younger sister.

She’d disappeared the week of the sixth anniversary of their parents’ death and for the first two weeks or so Caleb and his brothers Tom, Benjamin and Jacob had just assumed she’d gone off alone to get through the difficult anniversary. But too much time had gone by without any of them hearing from her.

His brother Tom, the sheriff of Black Rock, had been doing what he could to find some answers. He’d issued a BOLO alert on her vehicle and was monitoring her bank account and credit cards. There had been no sign of her car anywhere but what was more troubling was that her accounts hadn’t been touched since the day of her disappearance.

This wasn’t the first time Brittany had disappeared, but before it had always been only for a few days, a week at the most, then she’d turn up with explanations and apologies.

Caleb knew all his brothers felt the same as he did, that they didn’t care about apologies or explanations; they just wanted to know that she was okay.

He got into his car and headed for the office. Caleb lived in a small rental house in the heart of the small town of Black Rock. He’d moved there seven years ago from the family ranch when he’d gotten the job as deputy when he turned twenty-one.

Law enforcement in Black Rock was definitely a family affair. Tom was the sheriff, and Caleb, his brother Benjamin and his sister, Brittany, were deputies. His brother Jacob had been an FBI agent, but had returned home almost two months ago and shut himself up in a small cottage on the ranch property.

He refused to talk about what had brought him home and didn’t want anyone except family to know he was there. It was bad enough when Caleb just had Jacob to worry about, but now he had Brittany, as well.

No wonder he couldn’t get Portia out of his head.

She was the least of his worries. Despite the fact that they shared the same town, he rarely saw her.

Still, there had been a moment yesterday when she’d first stepped into the office when his heart had done a little dance in his chest.

“Indigestion,” he muttered as he pulled up in front of the two-story brick building that was his home away from home. Surely that was all that he’d felt when he’d seen Portia.

It was only a few minutes before seven in the morning but already the sun was warm on his shoulders as he got out of the car.

“Good morning, Sam,” he said as he entered the office.

Deputy Sam McCain gave him a sleepy smile and raised his coffee cup in greeting. “Coffee’s fresh and I brought in some homemade cinnamon rolls that Loretta baked this morning.”

“You’re a lucky man, Sam,” Caleb said. “Not only is your wife gorgeous, but she cooks, as well.”

Sam’s teeth flashed white against his cocoa-colored face as he grinned. “You stay away from my Loretta. You with your legendary charm might turn her head.”

Caleb laughed. “You know I save my charm for the single women in town. Besides, for reasons I can’t understand, Loretta seems to be madly, crazy in love with you.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I can’t explain it, either.”

At that moment the phone rang and Sam answered. Instantly his broad forehead creased in a frown. “Okay, all right. We’ll get somebody right over there.”

He hung up the phone and looked at Caleb. “That was Portia Perez. Somebody broke into her day-care center last night.”

“I’ll go,” Caleb said. “First those flyers and now this. I wonder what’s going on?”

Minutes later he was in his car and headed to Portia’s place. She lived on the north edge of town, not far from the house where she had spent her childhood.

Caleb had spent many nights of his high school years visiting Portia and her mother. In fact, he and Portia had been inseparable all through high school.

On warm summer nights he’d sat on the porch swing with Portia and they’d talked about their future together, made plans for a lifetime of happiness. They’d been best friends, and on the night of their senior prom they had become lovers.

He thought of the dream of her he’d had the night before. It had been hot and wild and when he’d finally awakened he had imagined he could smell the scent of her still lingering in the sheets, on his skin.

Crazy, he thought. Crazy that after all these years she should invade his dreams. And just as crazy that the thought of her could still bring the taste of bitterness to the back of his throat.

Her house was a small ranch, painted the color of cinnamon and with gingerbread trim in beige that gave it a fairy-tale look. Colorful flowers lined the sidewalk leading up to the front door and baskets hanging from the porch ceiling spilled blossoms of red and purple.

He turned in to her driveway and followed it to the detached garage where he knew her day-care facility was housed.

As he pulled up he noticed several things. Melody Markfield, Portia’s assistant, was in a fenced play area next to the building with several toddlers, and Portia stood at the front door, her face unusually pale in the early-morning sunshine.

He parked the car and as he opened his door to get out, she approached him. He couldn’t help but notice the way the sun sparked on her copper-colored hair and that her legs beneath her denim shorts were just as shapely as they’d been when she’d been a cheerleader in high school.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Somebody broke in.” Her voice trembled slightly and her hazel eyes appeared larger than usual. Her chin tilted upward. “And if you tell me this is a civil matter I might just punch you in the stomach.”

“Let’s take a look inside,” Caleb said. As he walked toward the door of the building he was conscious of her just behind him. The floral scent of her perfume eddied in the air and reminded him of his dream of her.

But all thoughts of dreams fled from his head the moment he stepped into the day care. Destruction and vandalism were everywhere.

The mattresses on two of the cribs had been slashed and the stuffing pulled out. Books had been thrown from shelves and toys had been smashed and littered the floor in colorful plastic shards.

“Not civil, definitely criminal,” Caleb murmured as he walked around the room and tried to take it all in.

He checked all the windows looking for a point of entry and finally found it in the small bathroom. The window had been broken inward and pieces of glass glittered on the floor in the sunlight.

He left the bathroom and returned to the main room. A laptop computer sat on the adult-size desk in the corner, along with a stereo system, letting him know that robbery hadn’t been the intent.

It was a malicious crime scene. Whoever had broken in had been hell-bent on causing damage and nothing else. Who would have done this and why?

He turned to look at Portia, who leaned against one wall with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her eyes held the hollow look of someone who had taken a hard hit to the head and wasn’t quite sure where she was or how she had gotten there.

“When was the last time you were out here?” he asked.

She raised a hand to her temple, as if she had a headache. “Last night. I came in around six to make sure everything was ready for this morning and then I went back into the house.” Her voice still held a faint tremor.

“And you didn’t hear anything out here?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Do you have any idea who might be responsible for this? Have you had a fight with somebody? Maybe one of the parents of one of the kids?”

She shook her head again, this time more forcefully. “No, nothing like that. Layla asked me the same thing Saturday morning when I found those flyers, but I can’t imagine who might do something like this.”

Caleb pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “I’ll get some of the boys over here to fingerprint the area around the broken window in the bathroom. Maybe they can lift some prints that will let us know who’s responsible.”

“I hope so,” she said. He turned his back to make the call and then when he had finished turned back around to face her. She looked small, and tears brimmed in her eyes.

He wanted to reach out to her, to take her in his arms and soothe the tears away, but he knew better. He knew he was the last man she’d want to hold her for any reason.

She wrapped her arms around her middle once again, as if trying to warm an insidious chill. “I know it sounds crazy, but I have this awful feeling that this is just the beginning.”

“The beginning of what?” he asked.

“Something terrible,” she replied, her voice a mere whisper.




Chapter 2


It was just after nine when the deputies Caleb had called in finished up what little they had been able to do. There had been no fingerprints around the window, although they’d found a black thread stuck on one of the shards of glass, a thread they assumed was from whatever the intruder had been wearing when he’d broken in.

Portia knew there was no way they’d be able to figure out who had smashed the window and crawled inside by a single thread of cotton.

As Caleb walked with the other men out of the day care, she looked around the room and wanted to weep. She’d worked so hard to make this a place of fun and love for the little ones who were in her care, and now it was all nothing but a big mess.

Melody had all the kids outside in the play area, but she needed to get them inside before the sun grew too hot and at the moment this was no place to bring children.

Caleb came back inside. “You have a broom?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “Cleaning up a crime scene isn’t your job.”

He shrugged. “You’ve got a yard full of kids out there who are going to need to get inside pretty soon. Two sets of hands will make the cleanup go more quickly.”

“They aren’t coming back in here,” Portia exclaimed. “I’ll make arrangements for Melody to have them at her house until we figure out what’s going on.”

“You still need this mess cleaned up, now where’s the broom?”

As he began to sweep the floor Portia went outside to speak to Melody. All the children had arrived for the day and she gave Melody the keys to the minibus they used for field trips to transport the children to Melody’s house.

Melody assured her the children would be fine at her place for however long it was necessary and Portia knew she could trust her assistant with all the details.

By the time she returned to the garage, Caleb had finished sweeping up the floor. “You sure you can’t think of anyone who’s mad at you?” Caleb asked as he stopped pushing the broom and leaned on the handle.

She frowned and bent down to pick up the picture books that had been thrown off the toddler-size bookshelf. “I spent all day yesterday trying to figure out who might have hung those flyers, who might have such a big problem with me that they’d want to hurt me like that.”

She straightened and looked at Caleb. She’d spent most of her time since high school trying not to look at him, trying not to think about him, and most of the time she’d succeeded.

She’d finished college with a degree in early childhood development and had devoted herself to her business, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t had time to date.

“Joe Castle,” she said.

Caleb frowned. “What about him?”

“He’s the only one I can think of who might have an issue with me.”

“Why? What did you do to him?”

Portia felt the heat of a blush filling her cheeks. “It’s not what I did to him, it’s what I didn’t do with him.” She broke eye contact with Caleb to place the books on the shelf. “Joe and I have been seeing each other for the last month. You know, dinners out or an occasional movie, nothing serious. Last week at the end of one of our dates he tried to take things to the next level, but I told him I wasn’t interested. I told him I thought it best if we didn’t see each other anymore.”

“How did he take it?”

She met his gaze once again. “He was irritated, told me if I didn’t intend to get in a serious relationship then I shouldn’t have wasted his time.”

Caleb frowned, his expression inscrutable. “I’ve known Joe for a long time. I know he’s got a hot temper, but this definitely doesn’t feel like something he’d do.”

“I know, that’s why I hadn’t mentioned him until now, but he’s the only person I can think of who I’ve had any kind of issue with.”

“I’ll have a talk with him, see if he knows anything about this.” Caleb swept the last of the plastic trash into a pile and then grabbed the dustpan.

They worked for another few minutes, putting some of the things back where they belonged and not speaking. Tension gripped her and she told herself it was because of Caleb, because this was the first time in years that they’d spent any time together.

The old saying was that you never forgot your first love and Portia knew it was true. She’d never completely been able to distance herself from the love they’d shared in high school.

Despite the fact that he’d broken her heart years ago, she still remembered how it had felt to be held in his arms, how his mouth had plied hers with a heat she’d never known before or since.

“That’s good,” she finally said. “I’ll call a carpenter and see about getting the bathroom window replaced and things will almost be back to normal.”

“Except that you’re afraid.” Caleb stepped closer to her, so close she could see the golden flecks in his dark brown eyes, so close she could smell the dizzying, familiar scent of him.

His words gave the tense feeling inside her a name. Fear. She’d thought it was because she was close to Caleb, but since the moment she’d walked in here and seen the senseless destruction she’d been gripped by a simmering fear.

“This feels like such hatred,” she said. “It’s creepy to think that somebody could possess this much hatred directed toward me.”

He reached out and touched her chin, a familiar gesture that might have ushered in a million memories if she allowed it. “Maybe you’re taking this all too personally,” he said softly.

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “It’s hard not to take this personally.”

He dropped his hand back to his side. “It could be kids, some teenagers with too much time on their hands looking for a little excitement. If that’s the case somebody will talk to somebody else and eventually I’ll hear about it.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said and for just a moment she wished he’d pull her into his arms and hold her, take away the chill that refused to go away.

And for just a minute she thought she saw in his eyes the desire to take her into his arms. It was there only a moment, a soft yearning that quickly disappeared and made her wonder if she’d only imagined it.

“I’ll have a talk with Joe and see where he was last night and if he had anything to do with this,” Caleb said, all business as he started to back toward the door. “And if you think of somebody else who might want to cause you trouble, call me.”

“I will, and thank you for all your help in cleaning up,” she said.

He nodded once and then walked out. As she watched him go she felt a small stab in her heart, a faint echo of the way she’d felt years ago when she’d watched him walk away that final time.

Crazy.

They’d had their chance at making it work and he’d blown it. He’d obviously moved on. She knew he’d been engaged a year ago to Laura Kincaid, a statuesque blonde who was two years younger than Portia and Caleb. The engagement had fallen apart and Portia had just assumed it had been Caleb who had called it off, who had probably cheated on her. After all, that was what he’d done to Portia—cheated on her and broken her heart and there was nothing to indicate to her that over the years he’d changed his ways.

Laura had left town soon after the broken engagement and Portia had heard through the grapevine that Caleb was once again playing the field.

Portia wasn’t sure now if her rapid heartbeat was because she was still just a little bit afraid or if it was because Caleb Grayson still had the capacity to touch her in a way no other man ever had.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. For the first time in years the day care was silent on a weekday. No childish laughter, no sloppy kisses, just a silence that pressed in on her as she finished trying to clear up the last of the mess. The carpenter arrived late in the afternoon to put in a new window.

Maybe it would be best to keep the kids at Melody’s for the next couple of days until they could figure out who was behind all this. She could take the time and give the walls a new coat of paint, she thought as she closed and locked the door.

She’d been wanting to put a fresh coat of paint on the walls for a while now, but had never found the time. There was no way she could have the children come back until she was certain there was no danger to them.

She hoped Caleb solved this issue quickly so she could get the day care back up and running, but in the meantime she’d use the time with the children absent to do some grunt work.

It was just after five when she went inside her house. She would sleep with one eye and her bedroom window open tonight to make sure she’d hear anyone who tried to break into the garage again. On second thought, she’d keep her windows closed and locked. Anything that was destroyed in the day care could be replaced, but she couldn’t be.

The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh oranges and the chicken salad she’d made early that morning for the children’s lunch. She tossed her keys on the table and then walked from the kitchen through the living room and into her bedroom.

What she wanted more than anything was a quick shower, her favorite robe and maybe a quart of chocolate ice cream for dinner. She positively didn’t want to think about break-ins or vicious flyers—or Caleb Grayson.

Minutes later as she stood beneath the warm spray of water she found thoughts of Caleb creeping into her mind. She wondered who he was dating at the moment.

He’d promised to love her forever, had promised she was the only one he wanted in his life, and then she’d gone out of town for her grandfather’s funeral and the rumors had begun, rumors of his betrayal.

She frowned and shut off the faucets, then reached for the fluffy towel that awaited her. Ancient pain, she thought. She wasn’t that naive young woman anymore, and she’d learned her lesson well where Caleb was concerned.

Once she was dry she pulled on her short, green silk nightgown and a matching robe. It was not quite seven when she settled on the sofa in front of the television with a tray holding a plate of chicken salad and a tall glass of iced tea.

She’d just finished eating and carried the tray back into the kitchen when the doorbell rang. She went to the front door and peered out, surprised to see Caleb standing on the porch.

Maybe he had news, she thought as she cracked open the door. “Caleb,” she said in greeting.

“Hi, Portia. Mind if I come in?”

She unfastened the chain and opened the door to allow him entry. As he walked into her living room, he looked around with interest.

She followed his gaze, wondering what he thought of her bright color scheme, the oversize throw pillows on the gleaming wooden floors and the bookshelf jammed full of books, knickknacks and pictures of kids who had passed through her care.

“Nice,” he said as his gaze went first around the room, then slid down the length of her body, making her unsure what exactly he thought was nice. He sank down in the overstuffed chair next to the sofa.

Self-consciously she belted her robe more tightly around her waist and sat on the edge of the sofa.

“What’s up? Please tell me you’ve solved the crime and the vandal is behind bars.”

“Not even close,” he replied with obvious reluctance. “I just wanted to let you know that I talked to Joe this afternoon. He insists he had nothing to do with the flyers or what happened here last night. I also talked to several high school kids to see if they knew anything about it, but nobody seemed to have any information.”

“You didn’t have to make a trip here for that. You could have called me,” she replied. She wasn’t at all sure she liked him being here in her personal space. She didn’t want to smell his cologne when he was gone, didn’t want a mental picture of him sprawled in her chair as if he belonged here.

“You were upset when I left here earlier. I wanted to stop by to make sure you were okay.” His gaze was too warm as it lingered on her, on her throat, on her lips.

“You know me, Caleb, I always bounce back from things.”

One of his dark eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s just the thing, Portia, I don’t know you. We’ve been sharing this small town for a long time and we never talk.”

She shrugged. “We say hello, we talk about the weather. There’s never been a reason for us to have a real conversation before now.”

“We definitely need to have more than a passing conversation now. Joe told me that you were dating Eric Willowby before you dated him.”

“Eric and I dated for a little while,” she agreed. “But that was months ago. Surely you can’t imagine that he’d have anything to do with this.” She rose from the sofa, unwilling to share anything else personal with him. “I appreciate you coming by to check on me, but as you can see, I’m fine.” She looked at the door, giving him the nonverbal message that she was finished with the conversation.

Caleb rose slowly from the chair, as if reluctant to leave. She walked with him to the front door and he turned back to face her.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You still look upset,” he said.

She was upset, but it had less to do with the break-in and more about how his presence affected her. “I’m fine,” she replied, surprised to hear a slight tremor in her voice.

He reached up and touched a strand of her hair. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

For a moment they simply looked at each other and Portia felt the past rising up between them. A mix of emotions cascaded through her. A snapping electricity combined with a heady rush of desire and mingled with a bittersweet pain.

His eyes darkened and softened and as he stepped closer to her she knew with a woman’s instinct that he intended to kiss her.

Her brain told her to step back, to stop it from happening, but her feet remained frozen in place and as he leaned down to taste her lips, she raised her head to receive the kiss.

Hot and half-wild, that’s how she remembered his kisses, and this one was no different. His lips were soft and yet commanding, but as he raised his arms to embrace her, she broke the kiss and took a step back from him, angry that he would try to kiss her, even angrier that she’d let him.

“That was stupid,” she exclaimed.

He grinned, the boyish smile she’d once loved to see. “Maybe,” he agreed. “But sometimes stupid tastes good. Good night, Portia.”

As he stepped out on the porch she slammed her door and locked it behind him, angry that he could still make her want him after all these years.

She was right. It had been stupid to kiss her, but she’d looked so damned kissable in that sexy green robe that allowed the tops of her creamy breasts to peek out and displayed her gorgeous legs.

He got into his car and gripped the steering wheel with both hands to allow the wave of desire that gripped him to slowly ebb away.

When he felt more in control, he started his car and pulled out of her driveway. He’d spent much of his day not only trying to find out who had broken into her day care, but also asking questions about Portia, trying to get a feel for the woman she’d become.

Loving. Generous and kind: those were words that had been used again and again to describe her. So why hadn’t she married and started a family of her own?

Yes, it had been foolish to kiss her, but he’d wanted to taste her mouth, see if she still had the capacity to stir him. The answer was a definitive yes.

But years ago he hadn’t been enough for her. She hadn’t trusted him, hadn’t trusted in his love, and there was nothing to indicate that another round with Portia would have different results.

He wouldn’t put his heart on the line with her again, but he definitely wouldn’t mind laying her down in a bed of fresh, scented sheets and making love to her until they were both gasping and sated.

She’d allowed him the kiss, but he had a feeling there was no way she’d be agreeable to a night of wild, mindless sex.

She’d thought he’d cheated on her when she’d been out of town and then again when she’d left for college. She’d allowed rumors and innuendoes to crack them apart. It hadn’t mattered that he’d proclaimed his innocence loud and long; ultimately she hadn’t believed him.

He’d never quite been able to forgive her for that, and that betrayal from her, coupled with the killer blow that Laura had delivered to him, made him wary of attempting any serious relationship ever again.

As he entered his small house, the first thing he thought about was how gray and dismal his surroundings appeared compared to the rich, bold colors of Portia’s living room.

Her living room had been filled with life, as if a burst of laughter was ready to resound within the walls. He threw his keys on the coffee table and sank down on the gray sofa.

Gray. That was how he’d felt lately, as if he were just going through the motions of life without any real emotion or joy.

Over the last month he’d watched his oldest brother Tom find love with a beautiful woman and her infant daughter, and Caleb had been surprised by the yearning his brother’s happiness had pulled forth in him.

With a grunt of dissatisfaction, he pulled himself off the sofa and went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.

He popped the tab and took a long swallow as he eased down into a chair at the kitchen table. As always when he had a quiet moment to himself, thoughts of his sister jumped into his mind.

“Brittany, where are you?” he muttered aloud.

He knew with gut instinct that she was in trouble, although he refused to believe she might be dead. A missing persons report had gone out to all the news outlets in a four-state area and the brothers had checked her house for any signs of foul play, but there had been none. They had conducted search parties for days that had yielded nothing. The worst part was not knowing what happened and not knowing where to begin to look for her.

With a sigh he took another sip of his beer. His cell phone rang and caller ID let him know it was his brother Benjamin. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”

“Tom wants us to meet him at the Miller place as soon as possible,” Benjamin said.

“The Miller place?” Caleb said in surprise. “Why?”

The Miller place was an abandoned farmhouse on the north edge of town. It had been a foreclosure that had been for sale for a couple of years.

“He said Layla was showing the place to some out-of-towner and called him a few minutes ago to tell him there’s a vehicle parked in the old barn. That’s all I know, but Tom wants us there.”

“Be there in ten,” Caleb said and clicked off.

Caleb set the beer on the table, grabbed his car keys and headed out. It wasn’t unusual for the Grayson men to act as backup for each other when something came up that didn’t sound right.

Tom was a cautious man, which was one of his strengths as sheriff. Caleb, on the other hand, had a tendency to be impatient. He knew it was a fault of his, one that he’d have to work on to become the kind of deputy he wanted to be.

Even though it was almost eight in the evening when he pulled down the dirt lane that led to the Miller place, the sun was still warm and bright, although lowering in the western sky.

Tom’s car was already parked in front of the house, along with a car he recognized as belonging to Layla West, Black Rock’s most aggressive real-estate agent and Portia’s best friend since high school.

“What’s going on?” Caleb asked as he approached where the two of them stood in the front yard.

“Layla was just about to tell me,” Tom said.

“I had an out-of-town client, and I brought him here on Saturday to look at the house. Today he wanted to come back and check out all the outbuildings.” Layla pointed to the barn in the distance. “We went into the barn and in the back of it, underneath some blankets, is a car.”

“What kind of a car?” Caleb asked.

“I’m not sure. It freaked me out and I got my client out of the barn and called Tom.” She looked at Caleb’s brother. “Nobody should be parked in there, Tom. This property belongs to the bank and it definitely wasn’t there when I showed this place a couple of months ago.”

At that moment Benjamin pulled up and Tom quickly filled him in on what had occurred. “You go on home, Layla,” he said. “We’ll let you know what’s going on when we know something.”

It was obvious she would have preferred to linger and find out the scoop. “Come on, Layla, I’ll walk you to your car,” Caleb said. Tom shot him a grateful smile.

“Portia told me about the break-in,” she said as they walked across the tall grass. “Are you going to find out who did it?”

“I’m doing my best,” Caleb replied.

“You need to do better than your best,” Layla said with a touch of censure.

Caleb opened the driver’s side door of her car. “We’ll figure out who’s bothering Portia, but in the meantime we need to figure out what’s going on here.”

“Be sure and let me know,” she said as she slid into the driver’s seat. “And be nice to Portia,” she added as she started the engine with a roar.

Caleb didn’t wait to watch her drive away, but rather turned and hurried back to Tom and Benjamin. “Shall we check it out?”

Tom nodded and the three brothers walked side by side to the barn. “I haven’t received any reports of stolen vehicles,” Tom said as he pulled open the doors.

“Maybe somebody just didn’t want to pay to have it hauled away,” Benjamin said.

“Or it’s being hidden from creditors,” Caleb added. “Nobody likes the repo man.”

They found the car in the very back of the barn, and just as Layla had said, it was covered with old blankets. Only the grill was showing and the sight of it sent a chill through Caleb.

As Tom and Benjamin yanked the blankets off, the chill deepened. Brittany’s car. For a moment none of them said a word.

It was Benjamin who broke the silence. “I’ll go get some gloves,” he said and hurried out of the barn.

Caleb peered into the driver’s window, careful not to touch the side of the car. “Her keys are in the ignition, but I don’t see her purse anywhere.”

Caleb felt sick and one look at Tom let him know his brother felt the same way. Tom’s face was pale and his jaw clenched tightly.

There was no way to believe there wasn’t foul play involved. Brittany wouldn’t hide her car and just walk off with somebody.

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the closed trunk and a rising fear thickened in the back of his throat. As Benjamin came back into the barn, half out of breath from running, he handed each of them a pair of latex gloves.

Caleb pulled his on and opened the driver’s side door. Carefully he leaned in and pulled the keys from the ignition.

His feet felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds apiece as he walked to the back of the car. Benjamin and Tom joined him there as he carefully put the key into the trunk lock.

For a moment it was as if the entire universe held its breath. He could smell the fear in the air. Caleb twisted the key and the trunk lid popped open.

He nearly fell to his knees in relief.

It was empty.

“I’ll call the men,” Tom said, his voice deeper than usual. “We need to process this car and see if we can find anything that will let us know what’s happened to Brittany.”

None of them spoke of the fact that it might be too late, that if the car had been hidden here right after Brittany disappeared, then it had been five weeks since anyone had seen their sister alive.




Chapter 3


At ten the next morning Portia was back in town to buy paint. She hadn’t slept well. Every creak and groan of the house had put her on edge, but thankfully the night had passed without further incident.

It was Ed Chany in the hardware store that told her about Brittany’s car being found at the Miller place. Her heart ached for what all the Graysons must be going through.

Portia knew what it was like to have somebody disappear from your life, to wonder where they had gone and if they were still alive. Her father had walked out on Portia and her mother when she’d been twelve and for years she’d wondered where he’d gone, what he was doing and if he were still alive.

She’d never tried to find him, had believed that if he had wanted a relationship with her, he would have contacted her.

She hoped there was a logical explanation for Brittany’s disappearance, but the fact that they’d found her car hidden in a barn at the Miller place certainly didn’t promise a happy ending.

She’d just loaded the cans of paint into the trunk of her car when she heard Caleb call her name. As he hurried toward her she couldn’t help but notice the shine of the sun in his rich, dark brown hair, how he walked with a confident stride that was instantly appealing.

“Caleb, I heard about Brittany’s car. I’m so sorry,” she said when he stood just in front of her.

His eyes darkened and he nodded. “Thanks. We’re doing what we can to find her, but so far all the leads go nowhere.”

Portia fought the impulse to reach out and take his hand, to offer comfort to the man she’d once loved with all her heart and soul. “Hopefully she’ll turn up safe and sound,” she replied.

“We can only hope. Tom is still out at the Miller place conducting a search but he sent me back here to hold down the fort with Sam.” An edge of frustration tinged his voice and she knew he’d rather be out actively involved in the search than on duty in town. “And speaking of Sam,” he continued, “he thought he saw somebody this morning who might be behind the trouble you’re having,” he said.

“Who?” she asked curiously.

“Dale Stemple.”

The name blew a cold wind through her. “Oh, my God, I hadn’t even thought about him.” She frowned. “But isn’t he in prison?”

“After Sam told me he thought he’d seen him drive by I did some checking. He was released from prison two weeks ago.”

“What about Rita? Where is she?” The sun overhead seemed less bright, less warming as Portia thought of the couple she’d turned in to Child Protective Services two years before.

“Who knows? The minute Dale was arrested she left the area. I imagine Rita has probably remarried. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would be okay on her own.”

Portia nodded and had a hard time summoning up a vision of Rita Stemple in her mind. The woman had been thin and mousy and had rarely been seen in town.

“I just wanted to give you a heads-up that he’d been released and might have come back into town to give you some grief. I’m going to try to find out where he is, but you need to keep an eye out, too.”

“Thanks, Caleb. I can’t believe he didn’t even cross my mind. I guess because I just assumed he was still in jail. You’ll let me know what you find out?”

“Of course.”

“And I hope Tom and the others find out something about Brittany.”

His eyes darkened with pain and his shoulders slumped forward. “Thanks. Me, too.” He straightened and drew a deep breath and then glanced into her trunk. “Planning a little work, I see.”

“I decided with the children at Melody’s for the time being, it was a good time for me to do a little redecorating in the day care.”

“So you’ll be home all day?” he asked.

“Off and on. I’m planning on stopping by Melody’s on my way home to see the kids, then I’ll be home until this evening. Tuesdays I always have dinner with my mother. But, if you find out something and need to get hold of me, let me give you my cell phone number.”

He wrote the number on a small notepad and then shut her trunk for her. “There’s no reason to believe that you’re in any imminent danger,” he said. “No threats have been made on you and it’s possible it wasn’t Dale that Sam saw. Sam said he just got a quick glance at the driver. I just wanted you to know that I’m on top of it and you need to be aware.”

“Thank you, Caleb. I appreciate it, especially with you having Brittany’s disappearance on your plate.”

He smiled, although the gesture didn’t reach the brown depths of his eyes. “At the moment Tom is working Brittany’s disappearance and I’m doing everything possible to fix your world. Besides, I’m afraid if I don’t you’ll sic Layla on me.”

She laughed, and it felt good. “Layla is a good friend.”

“She’s like an attack pit bull when it comes to you,” he replied. He jammed his hands into his pockets. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about Dale. I’ll be in touch if I find out anything else.”

“Thanks, Caleb.”

She watched him walk back toward the sheriff’s office and couldn’t help but notice that he looked as good going as he had coming.

As she got into her car she told herself that the tingly feeling she got whenever he was near was nothing more than an old memory playing itself out in her mind.

Did anyone ever really forget their first real love? Their first sexual awakening? Did the memory of that person always evoke the kind of yearning, the kind of electric sizzle that Caleb still managed to pull from her?

They’d both moved on. She knew he dated often and so did she, although no man had ever been as important to her as Caleb had once been.

She dismissed thoughts of him as she pulled away from the curb and headed home. Instead her head filled with thoughts of the Stemples. Dale and Rita had had two children, a three-year-old little boy named Danny and a four-year-old little girl named Diane.

The two children had only been in Portia’s care for two days when she saw the signs of abuse. There had been bruises on Diane’s forearm in the distinctive pattern of fingers and when Danny had called for her help in the bathroom on the second day, Portia had seen that his bottom was not only marked with lines from a belt, but also scabbed over in several places.

She’d immediately called Child Protective Services and a woman had shown up at the day care and had taken the children into custody. Portia had never seen Dale or Rita again.

She’d heard through the grapevine that Dale had been arrested for threatening a social worker and for keeping illegal guns in his house. Rita had left town and Portia had put the whole incident out of her mind except for occasionally wondering what had happened to Danny and Diane.

There had been some speculation that Dale’s parents might step in and request custody, but at the time Dale’s mother had been battling cancer and so the children had disappeared into the foster care system.

After a visit to Melody’s where she got enough hugs and kisses to last for the day, she drove home. She unloaded the paint into the day care and then went into the house for lunch. Her plan was to spend the afternoon moving everything into the center of the room to prepare for painting the next day.

She supposed she was probably overreacting to the break-in by moving the children to Melody’s, but she’d rather err on the side of caution where their safety was concerned.

Besides, she’d been wanting to repaint the interior of the day care for months and this seemed like a perfect opportunity to get it done.

When she left her house to return to the day-care facility, she carried with her a knife from the kitchen drawer and her cell phone. She felt slightly foolish with the knife in her hand and wasn’t even sure she could use it on anyone, even to protect herself. But she was reluctant to be there with no weapon at all while she worked.

At five o’clock she knocked off working and went inside to shower and change for dinner with her mother.

As usual, a faint edge of dread coursed through her as she thought of spending time with her mother.

Doris Perez was a bitter woman who had never gotten over her husband walking out on her and with each year that had passed, her bitterness had grown.

It was duty that drove Portia to the weekly dinners. Her mother had no friends, her health was failing and Portia was an only child. She loved her mother, but there were times she didn’t like her very much.

At six she got into the car to head to her childhood home eight miles away. As she drove she thought of the brief kiss she’d shared with Caleb. It had stunned her to realize that after all these years there was still magic in his kiss. His lips had held an intoxicating warmth, a faint edge of hunger that had excited her.

Although she’d halted it before it had gotten too deep, too breathtaking, there had been a part of her that had wanted to pull him back into her house, take him to her bed and make love with him. But the rational part of her knew that would be inviting heartache back into her life.

As she turned down the tree-lined, narrow country road that would eventually lead to her mother’s farmhouse, she couldn’t help but admire the play of the evening sunshine through the trees.

It wouldn’t be long and the leaves would begin to turn red and gold and fall to the ground. Portia loved autumn, but it was always in that time of the year when she thought of the babies she wanted—not babies who belonged to somebody else that she watched during the day, but rather babies that were from her heart, a twenty-four-hour part of her life. The fall always reminded her that another year was about to pass and she still wasn’t pregnant.

“You have to find a husband before you can have babies,” she said aloud. Although she knew some women chose to be single moms, that wasn’t a choice she wanted to make.

As the daughter of divorced parents and as someone who hadn’t had a relationship with her father since he’d walked out on them, she wanted her children to have something different, something more.

Her mother sat in a rocking chair on the front porch. The swing where Caleb and Portia had spent so many nights of their high school years had been taken down years ago.

As Portia pulled up in front of the house and parked, her mother stood. Doris Perez would be an attractive woman if bitterness hadn’t etched frown lines into her face.

“Hi, Mom,” Portia said as she got out of the car.

“About time you got here. I imagine the salad is soggy by now.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. I told you I’d get here around six-thirty.” Portia joined her mother on the porch and gave her a quick hug.

“Come on in and let’s eat,” Doris said. “When your father was here we always ate at five o’clock sharp. I’m not used to eating this late.”

It was the same litany every time Portia had dinner with her mother. She swallowed a sigh as she followed Doris into the cheerless kitchen, where the table was already set.

As Portia slid into the chair where she’d sat every night for meals while growing up, Doris opened the oven door and took out a homemade chicken potpie.

“How’s work?” Portia asked once they were both seated at the table and eating.

Doris scowled. “I never thought I’d have to work. If your father hadn’t left I would be spending my days having lunch with friends and puttering around the house instead of selling cosmetics to snotty teenagers at the local five-and-dime.”

“You only work four days a week. That still leaves you three days to putter around and have lunch with friends,” Portia countered.

Doris didn’t reply, but Portia knew the truth: her mother had chased off all her friends long ago with her negativity.

“Did you hear about them finding Brittany Grayson’s car in the Miller barn?” Portia asked.

“I heard.” Doris shook her head. “Terrible thing. You know that poor girl is probably dead.”

Portia’s heart constricted as she thought of Caleb grieving for his sister. “I hope not.”

“Have you heard any more on the break-in at your place?”

“I spoke to Caleb this morning about it. He mentioned that Dale Stemple just got out of prison. Remember him? I turned him and his wife in for child abuse.”

Doris nodded. “A nasty piece of work, that man was. I always thought he probably beat up on Rita, too. She acted like she was half-scared to move or talk whenever I saw her.”

“Of course we have no idea if Dale is even back in town or not,” Portia replied.

“I’m sure Caleb has other things on his mind with his sister’s car being found,” Doris replied with a knowing gaze. “But the way I remember it you were always on a back burner when it came to Caleb Grayson. He’s just like your daddy. Loves the women.”

“Mom, please, that was all a long time ago. Why don’t we talk about something a little more pleasant?” Portia exclaimed. The last thing she wanted to do was rehash Caleb’s betrayal of so long ago.

For the rest of the meal they talked about the kids in Portia’s day care, local gossip and the winter months that weren’t so very far away.

After eating, Portia helped her mother clear and wash the dishes. “You aren’t leaving right away, are you?” Doris asked when the dishes were finished. “I thought I’d fix some coffee and you could maybe help me on my newest puzzle.”

Although the last thing Portia wanted to do was spend another hour or so working on a jigsaw puzzle with her mother, she agreed. In truth, Portia felt sorry for her mother, who spent her evenings working puzzles and hating the man who had left her so long ago.

There had been no secrets in the Perez family. Doris had shared with her daughter at a very early age that her father, Pete, had not been faithful. There was a part of Portia that resented that her mother had made her party to adult issues when she should have been a carefree, happy child.

She remembered her father as a big, affable man with a booming laugh and big, strong arms. When she’d been young she hadn’t understood why when he’d left her mother, he’d also left her. As an adult she suspected that her father had been unable to sustain a relationship with Portia because that would have meant he’d have had to deal with his ex-wife.

He’d paid child support every month until Portia turned eighteen, and to this day Portia wondered if she would ever see him again.

It was almost ten and dark outside when her mother walked her out on the porch to tell her goodbye. Portia hugged her mother and wished things could have been different for her, wished that Doris had found some sort of happiness in her life, but she’d clung to her bitterness like it was a warm familiar lover and had refused to let it go.

“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” Portia said as she headed to her car.

It was a beautiful night. The temperature had dropped to a pleasant level and as Portia started her car she rolled down the windows for the drive home.

The road she travelled between her mother’s house and her own was a narrow two-lane stretch of highway that was rarely used and lined with thick-trunked old trees.

The night air drifted through the window and caressed her face. She turned the radio on and tuned it to her favorite oldies station.

Portia hadn’t gone far when she noticed the headlights of another vehicle approaching quickly behind her. Irritation surged up inside her as the truck drew close and its brights shimmered in her rearview mirror.

“Jerk,” she muttered and flipped the mirror up to diminish the blinding glare. “Dim your lights.”

Before she had her hand firmly back on the steering wheel she felt a jarring bang. “Hey!” she cried as she realized she’d been hit from behind.

She started to brake, assuming that it had been an accident, but before she could she was hit again, this time with enough force to wrest the steering wheel out of her hands.

A single moment of panic soared through her as she realized her car was out of control and one of those beautiful, big oak trees was directly in front of her.

She heard the impact just before her head snapped forward and made contact with the steering wheel and darkness sprang up to grab her.

Caleb had just shucked his jeans to go to bed when his cell phone rang. It was the deputy on duty, Sam McCain. “What’s up, Sam?” Caleb asked.

“I just got a call from Gus Swanson. He and his wife were driving down Old Pike Highway and found Portia Perez’s car wrecked and her unconscious. They’re near Doris’s place and I’ve called for an ambulance, but thought you might want to know.”

Sam had barely gotten the words out of his mouth before Caleb hung up. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them back on, his heart thundering with urgency.

He snatched his car keys and was on the road within seconds. Unconscious: that didn’t sound good. What had happened? He knew that stretch of highway was narrow, but Portia had driven it enough times to know it like the back of her hand.

So, what had happened? How had she wrecked? And how badly was she hurt? He squeezed the steering wheel tightly and stepped on the gas, unable to get to the scene fast enough.

No matter what their past, Portia had never moved far out of his heart. Even the love he’d thought he’d had for Laura hadn’t rivaled what he’d once felt for Portia.

As always, thoughts of Laura created a hot ball of anger in his chest. What she’d done to him was unforgivable and even though it had been a little over a year ago, the rage he felt toward her hadn’t diminished.

But he couldn’t think about that now. He had to get to Portia.

His heart nearly stopped as he rounded a curve and came upon the scene. The front end of Portia’s red car was smashed against a tree trunk.

Gus Swanson and his wife, Martha, stood next to the car and Portia was prone on the ground next to them. A sigh of relief escaped Caleb as he saw Portia raise a hand to her head. At least she was conscious now.





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