by Becky Avella
“We’ve got a long road ahead of us, Dee. We’ll have to testify. Against Blake and Austin, too, and probably even in Canada.” His bloodshot eyes searched hers. “The trials could go on for months. Can you forgive me for dragging you into all of this?”
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” she said without hesitation. When he started to protest, she interrupted him, forcing conviction into each word. “No. I mean it.” Deanna’s heart pounded. She wanted to tell him everything. She needed to say aloud what she’d confessed to herself in those dark moments when she’d thought she’d lost him forever. “Sean, you make me want to stay on the ground.”
She groaned and let her head drop back. “I’m so bad with words.”
Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “I’ve spent my whole life chasing some elusive thing I couldn’t define, on the back of a horse or in my airplane.” She shrugged. “But I could never really outfly my life. I’m my father’s daughter for sure. Whenever anything gets complicated, I bolt. I did it to you in high school. I was so scared of my feelings and then when your dad was gone...” She licked her lips, searching for the right words. “After this one day with you, I’ve changed. The old me would be itching to fly. I don’t feel that way now, because I’m not afraid anymore. I just want to be with you, facing whatever’s coming together.”
She leaned her forehead against his chest. It would be easier to say this if she wasn’t looking at him. “What I’m trying to say is that I love you, Sean. I love you so much it hurts. I hate that I can’t take this pain away for you. And I can’t see how you could possibly love me back. Not this much, anyway.”
He was quiet for a long time, stroking her hair. He was weighing his words like he always did. When the suspense was about to do her in, he finally leaned down and kissed the crown of her head.
“Welcome to my world, Deanna Jackson,” he whispered, tipping her face up. “Now you know how I’ve felt for the last seventeen years. I’m sure I’ll still be feeling it when I’m eighty.”
Then his mouth found hers and he kissed her. It was a powerful kiss. A kiss that left no more room for doubt.
EPILOGUE
One Month Later
Roundup Rodeo, Kinakane, WA
The brightly lit Ridge to River course was lined with spectators who had to stagger their feet to keep from sliding back down the incline they’d just climbed. Sean stood atop Suicide Hill, fueling himself on the crowd’s excitement. He could hear the carnival goers’ squeals and the crashing waves of cheers rising up from the arena below. Were they cheering for Deanna yet? Her other horse, Star, had been confiscated along with the rest of Blake’s possessions. She was riding Sean’s stallion tonight, whom she’d finally given a name: Firestorm. As heartbreaking as it was for her to lose Star, Firestorm and Deanna were an unbeatable duo. Sean pitied her competition.
He could also hear the drums lifting uphill from the Native American encampment. Closing his eyes, he savored the coursing connection with his people. Most of the riders up here raced because of that very feeling. They risked themselves and their horses because participating in tradition was an honor and a way to pass something important to new generations. That same conviction ran deep in Sean, too. It was why he hoped his own sons would do this someday.
But as the Ferris wheel lights winked up at him, he knew that tonight it held other meaning, as well. This race marked a new beginning and a new Sean. He’d been stalled for too long, avoiding risk to protect himself. Tonight would be a symbolic leap of faith.
Sean’s mustang, Boaz, reared, straining against the reins, its eyes wild. It didn’t appreciate being held back at all.
A jockey behind him let out a joyful call to battle that was echoed by the others. Sean grinned. They were working up adrenaline.
And guts.
Sean needed some of that, too. “You play it too safe,” Deanna had told him after a practice earlier this week. “You’ve got to quit holding back.”
Boaz tugged, whinnying.
“Soon. We’ve got to wait for Deanna to win first.”
Sean wished he could watch her. “Go, Deanna, go,” he whispered as he swung up onto Boaz’s back. He could see the whole valley stretching below him, where the sun had dipped behind the western horizon—nothing more now than a fiery glow of red and gold melting into twilight.
The fires wouldn’t be completely out until winter’s snow extinguished them, but they were mostly contained and were no longer a threat to Kinakane or to his ranch. The winds had cleared the smoke away and everyone seemed to be breathing easier now.
Not many people had escaped without scars, though.
Sean thought of his own scars. They went much deeper than the charred acres on his property or the cost of the livestock he’d lost.
There were scars of betrayal and grief that would take more than a handful of weeks to heal. But just as the green shoots of regrowth would burst through the burnt ground soon, healing would come to these places inside him, too. He knew it was true. A wave of bittersweet conviction rolled over him. He would no longer be defined by his losses.
He pumped his fist into the air and let loose a loud, powerful war cry of his own before he lined up at the start line, fifty feet back from the edge of the cliff. Cheers and more cries rang out from the men beside him. Sean tightened the strap on his helmet and life jacket. There was nothing left to do but listen to Bo’s heaving and wait for the signal.
“This is for you, Dad,” Sean yelled into the night.
Then the starting pistol cracked and they were off, sprinting to the edge. Sean was the first one to crest it. He rode straight downhill through a tangle of men and horses, of dust and spitting rocks. They raced to the soundtrack of pounding hooves, the shouts of the riders and the call of the crowd below them beckoning them into the arena.
As they crashed into the river at the bottom, Sean hardly felt the cold, wet spray or his soaked pant legs. He leaned forward, hollering encouragement into Bo’s ear as the horse swam. They had only seconds to take the lead.
“Come on, Bo! We’ve got this!”
They exited the river at the same moment the palomino beside them did, putting them neck and neck, scrambling and fighting their way up the embankment. Only five hundred feet separated them from the finish line. The vision of Deanna on Firestorm played across Sean’s mind. She wouldn’t accept defeat and neither would he.
“Win!” Sean cried.
They ran through the arena doors, the two glistening horses side by side. Sean rocked forward, flattening himself against Bo’s neck to reach for the goal. He could see the orange finish-line flags, was vaguely aware of the people jumping up and down cheering them on.
One last burst of energy from Bo and then it was over.
“And Boaz ridden by his owner, Sean Loomis, comes in first by a nose. Next we have...” But Sean didn’t hear the rest of the riders’ names. The cheering was almost as deafening as the roar inside his own head.
Then he caught a flash of white-blond hair in his periphery. Deanna stood by the arena gate, hollering his name, her grin so brilliant it almost knocked him off his horse. Almost made him doubt what he had to do next.
Kicking Boaz forward, Sean thundered to Deanna’s side. He reached out a hand to her, smiling at the absolute shock on her face.
“What are you doing?” she laughed.
“Get on,” he demanded. “You’re doing the victory lap with me.”
She grabbed his hand and swung on behind him. The crowd ate it up as they circled the arena. Deanna had one arm wrapped around his waist and used her other hand to salute the crowd with the traditional rodeo-queen wave.
“I didn’t know you had this kind of showmanship in you, Loomis,” Deanna yelled.
“I’m not done yet,” he called back.
“Looks like we’ve got ou
rselves a double treat,” the velvet voice of the announcer said. “Our Ridge to River victor has kidnapped our barrel-racing champ. Ladies and gentlemen, why don’t you put your hands together and let these two winners know how much you appreciate them.”
The crowd responded, clapping and stomping the bleachers until their lap ended. Sean aimed Bo for the arena’s center, slowing only enough to hop off in a jog.
“What’s this? It doesn’t seem like Loomis is done, yet,” said the announcer, amused. “Whatcha doin’, cowboy?”
Sean faced Deanna and offered her his hand again.
“What are you doing, cowboy?” she asked, hopping down beside him.
Sean dropped the reins and slapped the horse’s backside. Boaz galloped away as Sean took a knee.
There was a collective intake of breath from the stands. Deanna gasped and clutched her clasped hands to her mouth. Tears welled in her gray eyes, making them look greener than ever.
“Deanna,” Sean said in a voice that only she could hear. “I have loved you my whole life. I can’t promise I’ll do this right, but if you’ll let me, I’ll die trying.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “Will you marry me?”
Deanna blinked rapidly, unable to find her voice. He watched the emotion dance across her face. She couldn’t speak, but she nodded her head vigorously and pulled him to his feet. She almost knocked him over as she jumped into his arms and buried her face in his neck.
“Ladies and gents, I don’t know about you, but that looks to me like a yes!” cried the announcer.
The crowd went wild, and Deanna found her voice.
“Yes,” she whispered. Then she threw her hat high into the air and whooped, “Yes! Yes! Yes! A hundred times, yes!”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from SHATTERED SECRETS by Jane M. Choate.
Join Harlequin My Rewards today and earn a FREE ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading this story. I celebrated with Deanna as she learned that trusting God made her stronger not weaker, and ached for Sean as he faced such deep betrayal and loss. I hope you were rooting for them as much as I was and that they earned a tender place in your heart.
This book was the most challenging story I’ve written to date. I felt a huge pressure to get it right because I wanted it to be a love letter to a place that is dear to me. The fictional town of Kinakane was inspired by the small towns of Okanogan County in North Central Washington State where my family calls home. I know I didn’t do it justice, but I hope I somehow conveyed a small taste of the rich culture, the amazing strength of the people who live there and the rugged, high desert beauty that make the Okanogan Valley so striking. You can visit my Crash Landing board on Pinterest to see more.
I love to hear from readers. You can find me online on Twitter (@BeckyAvella) and my “Becky Avella, author” Facebook page. I look forward to connecting with you.
May God bless you,
Becky Avella
We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.
You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.
Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired Suspense every month!
Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!
Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com
Join Harlequin My Rewards & Instantly earn a FREE ebook of your choice.
Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever & whenever you shop.
Turn your points into FREE BOOKS.
Don’t miss out. Reward the book lover in you!
Register Today & Earn a FREE BOOK*
*New members who join before December 31st, 2017 will receive 2000 points redeemable for eligible titles.
Click here to register
Or visit us online to register at
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010001
Shattered Secrets
by Jane M. Choate
ONE
A hiss of energy brushed her face as the deadly blade cleaved the air a scant inch from her cheek.
Olivia Hammond forced herself to remain still. To move even a fraction would cause the knife to slice open her skin. She dared not breathe until the need for oxygen forced her to take a noisy gulp of air.
“Ah, I see I have your attention. Now you will tell us where you hid it. Maybe we will kill you quickly rather than taking our time about it.” The heavily accented voice held no particular menace, as though the man who pressed the weapon to her face was discussing a business transaction rather than taking her life.
“Or we will be forced to encourage you to tell us.” This was from the second man who had said little during the interrogation.
The two intruders had already ransacked the law offices of Chantry & Hammond. It had been her misfortune to return for a file and run into them.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How many times had she uttered those words? The effort of not moving and the fear of what the men intended to do to her had dulled her energy and her wits.
Don’t give up. The small voice inside her head had her sitting up straighter despite the duct tape binding her to the chair. She was far from beaten. Her passion for defending the underdog had earned her a reputation for taking no prisoners, both in and out of the courtroom. She called upon that now.
It was up to her to free herself. No one was coming to her aid. Immediately her mind rejected that. There was always One who was at her side.
Lord, I’m in a fix here. I need Your help. The silent prayer said, she tried once again to reason with her captors. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re looking for?”
“Enough!” Impatience shimmered in the single word. The first man, whom she’d identified as the leader, nicked the delicate skin of her cheek with the blade.
Blood trickled down her cheek. The metallic scent of it stung her nostrils and sickened her stomach.
“You know what we want. Do not play the innocent. You are part of this, along with your boss, trying to cheat us out of what is ours.”
“Calvin?” What did this have to do with Calvin Chantry, the head of the law firm where she was an associate? And where was Calvin anyway? He hadn’t shown up for work yesterday or today.
“Yes. Calvin. Your boss. He could not pull this off without help. You, his partner’s daughter, are the logical choice.”
Though the man spoke English, she struggled to understand his thick accent that gave a hard jab to every syllable. “Please... Calvin didn’t tell me anything. I don’t—”
A key turned at the office door. Teresa, the cleaning lady.
Olivia held on to a breath of hope. Just as quickly, the sliver of hope died. Teresa, sixtyish and stout, would be no match for two armed men.
An exclamation in the woman’s native Portuguese was quickly followed by the clump of her sturdy shoes down the carpeted hallway outside the office. Seconds later, a fire alarm shrilled. Teresa must have pulled it.
Thousands of gallons of water spilled from the sprinkler system above.
“This is not over,” the first man said just before he and his partner fled.
Drenched, Olivia waited for help and said another silent prayer, this one in gratitude for the Lord’s intervention.
An hour later, after the fire depa
rtment had arrived and departed and the EMTs had checked her over, she was still answering questions from the Savannah police, some in uniform, some in plain clothes. She didn’t fool herself that she was that important. The Chantry & Hammond law firm, a Savannah institution, carried a lot of weight.
“I don’t know what they were looking for,” she repeated. “They kept saying I knew where it was. And then they accused me of being in on it with Calvin Chantry.”
“Did the men say what it was they wanted from Chantry?”
“Like I said, no.”
Olivia shivered in her wet clothes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go home and change.”
The older of the detectives, whose suit bore the stains of a quickly eaten dinner, nodded. “Sure.” He handed her a card. “If you think of something, anything at all, give us a call.”
After promising to do so, Olivia headed home. Though a long shower helped to rid her skin of the memory of the knife and the stench of her own fear, she admitted what she hadn’t wanted to just an hour earlier: she needed help.
She picked up the phone and punched in the number of the man she had thought never to see again. She needed the kind of help that only Salvatore Santonni could give.
* * *
At core, Salvatore Santonni was still a soldier. He shoved a hand through his hair. Though he’d left Delta several years back, he had only recently exchanged the military haircut for a nonregulation one. He missed the buzz cut that had been his for more than a decade.
Now an operative for S&J Security/Protection, he took the jobs assigned him with the same dedication to duty with which he had carried out missions for his country. Individuals contacted S&J only when circumstances had turned dangerous and they needed a bodyguard.
When he’d gotten Olivia’s call, he’d driven through the night, unable to wait until morning. He knew she wouldn’t have called unless she was terrified. He rapped on the door of the Savannah law offices of Chantry & Hammond.