BIG SKY SECRETS 01: Final Exposure
Read BIG SKY SECRETS 01: Final Exposure Online
Authors: Roxanne Rustand
Tags: #Christian romantic suspense
*Snow Canyon Ranch
*Snow Canyon Ranch
*Snow Canyon Ranch
**Big Sky Secrets
“Why didn’t the intruder take anything?” Erin asked.
Jack voiced his thought. “If nothing was taken, maybe someone has a more personal reason to break in.”
In this isolated setting, a half-mile from the edge of a small, resort-area village, with a dense, dark pine forest and a lake beyond the trees, anyone could find easy cover out here.
“I haven’t lived up here since I graduated from high school. I can’t imagine who it could be,” she said.
She managed to present a casual air, yet he’d seen a flare of fear in her eyes, and the way she jammed her trembling hands into the pockets of her apron. She was sure there had been someone here…and she had an idea of who it could be.
But was it someone from her own past…or his?
Books by Roxanne Rustand
Love Inspired Suspense
*
Hard Evidence
*
Vendetta
*
Wildfire
Deadly Competition
**
Final Exposure
lives in the country with her family and a menagerie of pets that frequently find their way into her books. If not working at her day job as a registered dietitian, writing at home in her jammies, or spending time with her family, you’ll find her riding one of the family’s horses, playing with her camera or hiding with her nose in a book.
She is the author of twenty-three romantic suspense and heartwarming relationship novels. Her first manuscript won the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, and her second was a Golden Heart Award finalist. She was a
Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Career Achievement Award nominee in 2005, and won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.
She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached by snail mail at Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406-2550 or through www.roxannerustand.com.
ROXANNE RUSTAND
Send forth your light and your truth, let them guide me; let me bring peace to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell.
—Psalms
43:3
Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. If you do this, you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Jesus Christ.
—Philippians
4:6–7
For Larry, with love and thanks for all that you’ve
been to me. You are my true hero.
ONE
E
rin Cole shivered away an uneasy feeling as she unlocked the door of Millie’s Provisions and stepped into her new life. The cold. Surely it was only the cold that raised goose bumps on her arms and sent an eerie premonition racing through her mind.
A silly, city-girl reaction to the loneliness of the mountains after being away for so long.
Nothing ever happened in Lost Falls, so there was no reason to be afraid. The peaceful little village, with its few dozen touristy businesses trailing along the shore of Bear Island Lake, swelled with vacationers and bumper-to-propeller traffic during the summer, then slept quietly with only a handful of year-round residents to brave the long winters.
She’d come back to put old ghosts to rest once and for all. She was past all that, and didn’t plan to give in to the old fears that had dogged her for so many years.
Inside the little general store, the crisp scent of
northern Montana pine and the gentle sound of waves sloshing along the shore of Bear Island Lake gave way to the faint smells of leather and cinnamon and the steady tick of the old Coca Cola clock above the cash register.
It all brought back a rush of sepia-toned images from a childhood spent at this lake. Of all the times she and her cousins Laura and Megan, and their best friend, Kris, had sat on the wooden steps just outside, licking melting ice-cream cones as they decided on their next adventure. They’d been inseparable, back then.
The good memories helped settle her nerves. The bad ones she still tried to forget.
Owned by her grandparents, Millie’s had always reminded her of a magician’s hat. Small as it was, it still held everything from bait to books, from groceries to camping gear and tourist supplies.
Her favorite part had always been the little café set up in the front window, with six wrought-iron, ice-cream tables and an old-fashioned soda fountain complete with eight brass stools that could spin.
And now, this place was her future. Who would’ve thought? Brimming with emotion, she locked the door behind her and started across the pine-planked floor.
A shadow moved across a beam of moonlight at the back of the store.
She froze, the nape of her neck prickling.
The ticking of the clock slowed.
The glass-fronted pop-and-beer-cooler compressor hummed louder as she strained to listen. A sixth sense told her that the shadow had not been her imagination.
Holding her breath, she edged backward toward the front door, her heart pounding against her ribs and her palms damp.
Ten feet to go.
Five.
She reached blindly behind her for the dead bolt, not daring to turn around.
Had the intruder heard her come in? How fast could she escape? But what then?
The surrounding campgrounds and rustic cabin resorts were empty, now that the tourist season was over. The closest year-round business was a sporting-goods store at least a half mile away that wouldn’t open until midmorning.
And with her bad ankle, the chances of outrunning anyone over the age of six weren’t good.
God—I need some help here.
From the back room came the sound of something scraping against the floor…and was that the rasp of a harsh, indrawn breath?
Fear washed through her, turning her knees weak, as she fumbled with her car keys.
The back door squeaked.
Closed with a soft snick of the latch.
Which meant the intruder had left. Or did it? If she ran to her car, he could be out there. Waiting.
But if he was still inside, lying in wait for her, it could be hours before anyone noticed signs of a struggle.
Even if some early morning coffee drinkers peered through the front window, they wouldn’t be able to see the back of the store. And no one would even think to stop by until the store opened at seven, anyway.
Tell me what to do, Lord—go, or stay?
Her gaze fell on the old-fashioned desk telephone on the counter behind the cash register, then to the locked cabinet beneath, where she’d stored her grandfather’s Korean War-era pistol.
A sense of calm settled over her.
The old keepsake had been like a security blanket, given the iffy Denver neighborhood she’d lived in before sharing a condo with her friend Ashley, but she’d only brought it to this sleepy little town as a memento.
She crept to the register. Quietly she snagged the phone and pulled it down into her lap to dial 911. While whispering to the operator, she fingered through her ring of keys to unlock the cupboard and retrieve the gun.
And then, she moved into the shadows behind a display of fishing tackle and began to pray.
For the past three months Jack Matthews had slept fitfully at best. He’d greeted the dawn bleary-eyed too many times to count.
But last night he must have finally fallen asleep, because when Max screamed just before dawn, he’d launched out of bed and spun around, disoriented, sure this scream was just one of the many that filled his nightmares.
Then Max had cried out again.
Jack’s brain cleared, and he’d stumbled down the dark, unfamiliar hall to the other bedroom of the rental house, where his five-year-old nephew was sitting bolt upright in bed, the blankets twisted around him, his eyes wide and frightened and streaming tears.
No wonder, given the crimson wash of patrol-car lights spinning across his bedroom walls and the male voices drifting up from the road.
Despite Jack’s best efforts at trying to comfort him, Max had been awake since then, shell-shocked and subdued after his sobs finally subsided.
It had been a long trip up here from Lawrence, Texas, with too little sleep and three days on the road. Especially while he was still trying to learn how to be a daddy to an emotionally damaged child, who often withdrew from the gentlest hug.
A child who’d rarely smiled since the night he’d watched his parents die.
If he’d still been on speaking terms with God, Jack would have been praying. But if God hadn’t chosen to spare the lives of two of the sweetest, kindest people on the planet, why would He care about their grieving, traumatized son?
By all rights Jack, not Janie and her husband, Allen, should’ve been driving his vintage Mercedes to the gala fundraiser in downtown Dallas.
And it should’ve been Jack lying in that pretty little cemetery up in the foothills.
Shelving his melancholy thoughts, Jack wearily settled across the kitchen table from Max with a strong cup of coffee in his hand and smiled. “More Cheerios?”
The little boy pushed a piece of cereal across the lake of milk in his bowl, then poked it with the spoon and shook his head.
“I thought you liked Cheerios.”
Silence.
Could a five-year-old live on three bites of cereal and one nibble of toast? Despite coaxing and attempts at bribery, he’d only accepted Cheerios and cheeseburgers since they’d left Texas, and even then he’d only take a few bites.
Evidence of just how wrong a choice Jack was for the child’s guardian, but there was no one else left—and certainly no one else who loved him more.
“If you aren’t hungry, let’s go next door to meet our landlord.”
Darting an uneasy, sideways glance at him, Max slid off his chair and focused on the buttons of his Sponge Bob pajamas.
“We’ll look for something interesting in the store. Some new storybooks, maybe?”
With an almost imperceptible nod, the little boy shied away from the offer of Jack’s hand, but dutifully pulled on his clothes and followed him out onto the broad front porch, down the flagstone walk to the road and over to the rustic, one-and-a-half-story log building next door. Millie’s Provisions appeared to be a small general store, and the aroma of fresh-baked rolls wafted through the front screen door.
Incredible rolls, from the rich caramel-and-cinnamon scent of them.
Seeing the guarded, hopeful look Max darted at him, Jack felt his heart lift. If it took caramel rolls to see the worry and fear ease in the little boy’s eyes, they’d be here with bells on every single day.
“Are you hungry now?” he teased, waggling one eyebrow—a move that had once made the child giggle.
Max regarded him with somber eyes, but he did start up the broad wooden steps to the covered boardwalk running across the front of the building. The effect was straight out of a 1940s Western movie, with pine benches and wooden rockers lining the full length of the storefront, perfect for old folks to gather.
