Flashback

by Amanda Carpenter

  Sara’s older brother, John, her only other sibling, certainly wasn’t about to fly in from California for the sale.

  Sara knew she’d have to steel herself in order to present a good front for her parents. The older couple felt badly enough over losing the fertile acres that had belonged to their family for more than a hundred years. Unfortunately, selling the farm had been the only option left.

  Thank goodness a few years ago she’d had the foresight to purchase her great-grandparents’ original 1870s stone house situated further down the road. Sara might have been able to buy more land than the four acres surrounding the old house if only she’d had more time to save money from her teacher’s salary.

  But how could she have known that the bleak economic climate would force her parents into hopeless debt in only a few years?

  Thinking about low stock market prices, unrealistic agricultural programs, and whatever else she could blame for the farmers’ current problems, Sara cursed silently. She made a sharp left turn into the driveway and angrily gunned the old Chevy over the frozen ruts. Her heart almost leaped into her throat when a figure suddenly stepped out from behind a pickup and into the middle of the roadway.

  “What the—!” Sara exclaimed, slamming the brakes so hard that the Chevy skidded a few feet on the drive’s frozen, rocky surface.

  Her pulse pounding, she glared through the windshield at the tall, dark-haired man who stared back at her in surprise. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit over which he wore an equally well-cut topcoat, the man had cleanly chiseled features, a level gaze, and a wide mouth that was curving into a tentative smile. Who was he? Some new bank official? A well-dressed auctioneer? Sara could hardly believe it when he raised his hand as if to wave a friendly greeting.

  Not feeling up to dealing with banks, auctioneers, or any kind of officialdom, Sara yelled, “Move it, will you?” then beeped the Chevy’s horn for emphasis.

  She regretted her hostile action almost immediately, however, and tried to make amends by pasting a tense smile on her face. By that time the man was already moving out of the road, casting a wry glance her way as he slipped and slid in his fancy leather shoes. Still embarrassed by her rudeness, Sara drove quickly to the large white farmhouse.

  The stranger had gotten into his own car and was pulling out of the driveway as she walked down the narrow sidewalk across the yard. The sleek gray BMW that sported Illinois plates looked as out of place on a southwestern Iowa farm as had its duded-up driver. As she mounted the steps of the house’s wide porch Sara wondered briefly about the stranger’s identity until her thoughts were interrupted by her mother’s enthusiastic greeting.

  “Sara Sue, I’m glad you made it.”

  Alice McFarland swung open the door for her daughter, then gave her a hug and a kiss. The older woman’s bright blue eyes sparkled in a lovely face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a smooth complexion that made her look younger than her sixty-one years. Alice’s once-blond hair was now silver, but in most respects, mother and daughter looked very much alike.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Sara apologized, hanging her down jacket on one of the hooks to one side of the door. The huge kitchen and the dining room beyond seemed overflowing with familiar faces. She glanced around nervously. “Did the auction go well?”

  “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll all live through this,” Alice replied with her usual philosophical cheerfulness. “The auction went just fine. And look what our friends and neighbors have done for us.” She motioned to the central table loaded with a variety of appetizing dishes. “I told them not to bring food, but I should have known they’d do it anyway. We’re having a big potluck supper.”

  “Did you sell everything?”

  Alice didn’t answer. She led Sara across the crowded kitchen, smiling and nodding to various individuals who were helping themselves to fried chicken, baked beans, homemade rolls, salads, and several kinds of pie. Alice halted near the counter where the electric coffeepot sat and picked up a cup from a stack of dishes.

  “Can I pour you some coffee?”

  “Sure.” Sara took the beverage, then asked again, “Did you sell the farm?”

  “Yes.”

  Despite her preparation for this moment, Sara felt her heart sink. “To whom and for how much?”

  “You don’t know the man, but he’s buying the land plus most of the equipment,” Alice explained reassuringly. “And the money will cover our debts.”

  “Well, I should hope you’ll also have something left over for savings.”

  “Your father and I are satisfied with the sale.”

  “Satisfied?” Tom Landsburg, a young farmer whose land bordered the McFarland place, had been listening as he stood nearby. Holding a plate of food, he waved a half-chewed drumstick at the women. “How can you be satisfied with three hundred dollars an acre when this farm is listed at nine hundred? And exactly what is the city slicker who bought this place going to do with it, I’d like to know? Build condos out in the country? Buy more of our land and set up a corporation farm? We could all be endangered around here.”

  “A corporation farm?” murmured Sara, aghast at the idea. It was bad enough the land had passed out of the McFarland’s’ hands.

  “Now, Tom,” Alice admonished, “don’t spread rumors. We don’t know anything about Mr. Wyndham’s intentions.”

  “He’s got to be up to no good, if you ask me,” Tom insisted.

  “Maybe the man only bought the land for a tax write-off,” suggested Lloyd Simmons, the local mailman, joining the discussion. “Who could be serious about going into farming nowadays? We’re in a depression out here. My rural route keeps growing smaller and smaller as farmers sell out and move away.”

  Tom persisted, “I tell you, this means trouble—”

  “And you’re going to cause trouble by running off at the mouth.” A pretty, plump young woman with thick chestnut hair suddenly silenced Tom’s discourse by firmly grasping his arm and staring him down. Judy Landsburg, Sara’s best friend since grade school, cautioned, her husband, “We should be pleased the McFarlands were able to get the price they needed today.”

  “That’s absolutely right, Judy.” Filling the double doorway that led to the dining room with his large, slightly stooped form, George McFarland entered the kitchen. “Alice and I are happy to pay our debts and retire. And we hope you all will be happy for us, too. We don’t need the headache of dealing with a farm like this in our old age. We’ll be better off living in Summerdale.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Tom muttered.

  “We’re glad things worked out,” Lloyd chimed in.

  “Let’s talk about more pleasant subjects, folks,” Judy urged, smiling at Sara and Alice. Then addressing the room, she asked, “Hey, do you think the Summerdale Tigerettes will go to the state tournament this year?”

  The rousing discussion that followed, detailing the strengths and weaknesses of the town’s high school girl’s basketball team, was still not enough to lift the pall that had fallen over the gathering. As Sara gazed around at people she’d known all her twenty-eight years, she was sure she could sense a definite unease. Normally sociable, Tom Landsburg helped himself to a second plate of food, then moved off to a corner to eat alone. She’d heard he’d been having trouble getting financing for his crops the coming spring.

  Sipping her coffee, Sara turned when George McFarland’s laugh boomed out a little too heartily. Glancing in his direction, she noticed her father’s eyes slide away from her curious gaze. He was uncomfortable, too.

  Despite George’s apparent congeniality with the crowd tonight, Sara knew her dad hated being forced off his farm.

  She also knew he wouldn’t admit his true feelings to her, the child to whom he’d planned to bequeath the McFarland land.

  Sara, on the other hand, wished she could voice her own emotions. For days, she’d been feeling, by turns, sorrowful, helpless, and absolutely furious. Why were the McFarlands being robbed of the
ir land? How was it that an outsider could latch onto acres that had belonged to her father’s parents and their parents before them?

  Unable to stand another moment in the room full of what seemed to be well-meaning but prying eyes, Sara left her coffee cup on the counter and hurriedly escaped out the kitchen door.

  The air outside was cold and still. She hugged herself, as if the physical gesture could warm her chilled and wounded spirit. At sunset the eastern sky above the barn was already growing dark. Pale twinkling stars appeared in the deepening blue as Sara stared into the distance. The wooded hills cradling the open pastures and fields rolled sinuously toward the horizon.

  When she was a child, Sara had wondered if those hills continued onward to eternity. At that time, believing the McFarland family would always live on the land they owned and loved, she’d been able to consider the idea of immortality. Now, older and wiser, she feared eternity might be a lie. It seemed to be change that dominated her world.

  At least change itself could be trusted to be constant. Perhaps the new owner of the McFarland acres would have problems keeping the land, too. Might that be possible?

  As the stars grew brighter in a darkening sky a slim ray of hope filtered through the darkness of Sara’s thoughts. Her inheritance had been taken away from her, but why did she assume there was no way of getting it back again?

  Quickly, she considered the option of taking on a second job and saving every dollar she could, stopping in frustration when her stressed-out brain refused to work out the details. But the coming days would give her plenty of time to think.

  She could be patient. Before her lay historic land with hills and fields she knew almost as well as the curves and planes of her own body. It wasn’t fair that a stranger should lay siege to them. Her ancestors’ spirits called to her for justice. It was a cry she couldn’t ignore. Someday, some way, Sara would get the McFarland land back again, if it was the last thing she’d ever do.

  Flashback

  Amanda Carpenter

  Is her talent a gift…or a curse?

  Forced to live with the constant nightmares caused by her psychic abilities, Dana Haslow begins to think that death might be the only respite from her unwanted powers. Isolated and alone, she finds herself unwittingly drawn into contact with her new neighbor, David Raymond.

  Experiencing his tortured past via dreams and nightmares, Dana knows that David must confront his demons—before they drive her mad! Resistant to her efforts to help him, David wants to go his own way…until Dana draws the attention of a dangerous man and David realizes just how much he needs her healing touch.

  But when a local brute terrorizes her, he comes to the rescue and they secure their bonds.

  This Retro Romance reprint was originally published in January 1984 by Mills & Boon.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  Flashback

  Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Carpenter

  ISBN: 978-1-61921-789-8

  Edited by Heather Osborn

  Cover by Angela Waters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Original Publication by Mills & Boon: January 1984

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2013

  www.samhainpublishing.com