From the Heart: Romance, Mystery and Suspense a collection for everyone

by Eckhart, Lorhainne

  “Don’t be nervous, Em, you’ll do just fine. And you need to give yourself some credit. You’ve got a lot of courage. I’ve watched you from the sidelines these past few years as you’ve spiraled into a downward slide. I’m amazed, and a little awed, by what you’ve done. It’s as if you’ve taken a leap off the dock without a life jacket. You have this pure faith now—everything will work out. Now hold onto that, and move forward. Don’t look back.” Gina glanced down at her small gold Rolex, a gift from her husband for their anniversary last month. “You better go. You have enough time to get your head together and enjoy the drive. Remember, don’t rush … that’s when you get flustered.”

  Emily hugged and kissed both her daughter and friend, pulled on her brown wool coat and grabbed her purse and handwritten resume. Gina was right; having extra time to find where she needed to go relieved a lot of her anxiety, as did being alone. She took a deep breath and pulled out of her driveway.

  Thick trees lined both sides of the road out of town. This was a peaceful drive. Emily realized she’d never driven west of town in the ten years she’d lived in Hoquiam. She’d grown up in Seattle and that was where she’d met Bob. Hoquiam seemed like a nice place to live, after he was offered a government job in Olympia ten years earlier. The commute was not too long, and Emily’s dream of living in a small community had never left her. Now as she drove these narrow winding roads, passing only a few cars through this private, rural and heavily forested part of the peninsula, she was reminded of that childhood dream.

  Emily balanced the hastily scribbled directions on the steering wheel. She passed the faded red barn at the second marker on the highway. Making a right turn onto a gravel road, she continued until she saw the split-rail fencing with 665 in bright green numbers embedded in the wood. A huge fir archway on two solid beams surrounded the entrance to the dirt driveway, with the name Echo Springs carved into the weathered wood. What was it about the name that stirred some nostalgic memory of longing in her tummy? History, established families, of Mom, Dad, grandparents passing down their heritage and land. She’d heard the powerful family names whispered in the community: the Ricksons, the Folleys, who were the others? She was caught now by a nervous flutter starting to pound her solar plexus as she drove down the long dirt driveway. Old growth spruce, cedar and fir trees on both sides created a dense canopy overhead, and a mixture of other bushes and trees gave the appearance of walls. At the end, the driveway opened up into a large clearing, exposing a two-story white frame house with a wraparound veranda and large post beams. It resembled an old rambling Victorian. Emily parked in front of the house beside an old Ford Escort, a dirty blue pickup truck that had seen better days, a chipped yellow digger, a fairly new black GMC one ton pickup and a flatbed trailer loaded with some mysterious goods covered with a tarp. How many people live here, she wondered?

  The wind created a chilly breeze as thick clouds cluttered the baby blue sky. Emily was far from cold when she climbed out of her van. Her underarms were damp and she prayed her deodorant was strong enough to keep her from smelling ripe. It’s nerves, that’s all. Or maybe it was the five cups of high-octane coffee she’d guzzled before Gina arrived, which wound her nerves so tight she could have bounced her way to the door.

  She paused and breathed deep the clean air. The front of the house was virtually bare of any landscaping. Patches of grass poked up here and there from the well-packed dirt in the front yard. The flowerbeds in front were littered with dead perennials, weeds and overgrown grass long and bare leaning against the house. How many acres did he have? A large barn and other outbuildings littered the property with what looked like miles of open land with a spectacular view of the mountains.

  She flexed her damp hands and climbed the four white wooden steps. She noticed the paint was chipped. Emily nearly tripped when the third step suddenly creaked and caught her off guard. She was way out of her comfort zone and this didn’t help, prompting her self-doubt to send SOS signals to confuse her already shaky insides. She was a mess. Her face ached so much, she was positive the forced smile she wore looked more like a grimace. Emily clutched a brown manila envelope, stuffed with her resume and references from her friends. On unsteady legs, she crossed the wide porch. A porch made for families to gather at the end of the day, to laugh together and share dreams and triumphs. Something families did. Well, the sort of dream family Emily yearned to be part of. She spied a wooden swing suspended by chains at the far end of the porch, beside two wicker chairs placed on each side of a large picture window, and she sighed.

  She could daydream about this imaginary family abode all day, but when she faced the classic wooden frame door, Emily’s dry throat threatened to close up. “Well, it’s now or never.” So she did it. She rapped on the door with a couple of confident firm knocks. Her heart pounded, echoing with a thud in her ears when she heard solid, heavy footsteps approach. She swallowed, and felt a bright scarlet flush flame her face.

  She wanted to hide in that anxiety-panicked second, but it was too late when the door flew open. Emily stepped back, clutching her purse to her chest like a shield, and fidgeted with her old wool coat, pulling it tight around herself. Suddenly, a tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway. She was struck speechless by this man with hazy brown eyes. He didn’t have pretty-boy features. What he had was a solid, strong jaw, a hardness to his square face, and eyes alive with some ancient wisdom, making him in fact the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His flannel plaid shirt didn’t cover any average man. This was a well-formed man who she’d swear could make a burlap sack look good. He pulled off a pair of reading glasses and gazed at her, looking confused, as if she were a door-to-door salesgirl, obviously wondering why she was on his doorstep. She hated that feeling.

  “Hi, I’m—” Then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened. She fumbled her purse upside down. It tipped open, scattering the contents of her bag, as well as coins from the unzipped coin purse inside, all over the doorway floor… along with what remained of her dignity.

  Chapter Three

  Mortified, the ringing in her ears catapulted her tingling body to what she could only explain as an out of body experience. Who was this idiot who’d taken over her body? Emily’s face burned crimson again. And she did what any self-respecting woman would do. She dropped to her knees, grabbed the coins, open wallet, crackers, Katy’s toys, and the wrapped sanitary napkin lying by this handsome stranger’s feet. Emily stuffed everything back in her purse, cursing her idiocy at not making sure it was zipped up. Wasn’t that purse rule number one?

  Retreating into her head, she prayed, maybe at some point in the years to come, she’d look back on this and laugh. Except now, to make things worse, Mr. Good-looking knelt down in front of her, nose to nose, and started scooping up her loose coins scattered across the hardwood floor. Emily glanced up; his eyes were burning into her, and she wanted nothing more than to slink away apologizing profusely, run to her van, and drive away so she could cry the tears threatening to burn a hole in her head. “I’m so sorry; I can’t believe I did this.” Why did he have to help? Why couldn’t he just ignore what she’d done? He said nothing as he handed her the loose coins. She dumped everything into her plain black purse and zipped it up. Emily then sprung to her feet without looking, smacking her head into his, which sent her tumbling back down where she landed on her derriere.

  “Wait. Don’t move. Let me help you up. Are you okay?”

  Could it get any worse? She wanted to weep right here, right now, but she was stronger than that, right? She rubbed her head, and the strong man held out a large, rough hand and with little effort, pulled her up. Back where she started from, facing this extraordinary tall man, who shoved his hands in his front pockets as he appeared to study her with amazing control, no sign of embarrassment, but an odd curiosity twinkled in those wise whiskey-colored eyes.

  Without a doubt, he must think she was nuts, a moron. Maybe he’d ask her to leave. Her forced smile pulled at he
r mouth.

  “I’m Emily Nelson. I called about the job in the paper, we spoke—” The telephone rang. He promptly turned and walked away.

  He abandoned her inside the doorway as if she were a woman of no importance and hurried in the direction of the ringing phone. Unsure of what to do, Emily shuffled from one foot to the other, this time looping her cursed bulky purse over her shoulder. He shouted from around the corner, “Come in, have a seat. Sorry, I need to take this.”

  Emily wiped her boots on the mat before stepping onto the light hardwood floor, and closed the door behind herself. The wide entryway was filled with a large gold plated mirror, something a woman who liked the finer things would have insisted upon. Emily caught her perky image in the entryway mirror along with white spots, which were most likely Katy’s milk, on the lapel of her tired old coat. Her plain mousy long hair was pulled back in her usual ponytail. She was by no means gorgeous… but her friends labeled her cute, like a shorter brown-haired Meg Ryan. She brushed at the milk stain again, gave up, stepped past the mirror, and went around the corner, which opened into a large living room done up in earth tones, with a rock-face fireplace on the east wall. The furnishings were exquisite: dark brown leather, with a lot of wood, very masculine. But the hints of a feminine touch were everywhere; in the framed artwork, carvings, floral rug and designer cushions, all coordinated and tastefully arranged. Guided by the rumble of his voice, she crossed through the living room and faced a large oval archway that opened into a square country kitchen. In the middle sat a solid oak table, surrounded by ten wooden straight back chairs, enough to sit and feed a large family. And there he was, striding back and forth, with the phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t glance up. Instead, turned his back. His scuffed black cowboy boots squeaked on the worn wood floor. Emily gazed at her ruggedly handsome potential employer who arrogantly oozed deep alpha male, a man with priorities, self-confidence, and rudeness. Give him a break, Emily mused, maybe he’s just busy.

  He hung up the phone and let out a hard sigh before turning to face Emily. He had his hands on his hips, and then gestured toward her as he stalked into the room. “Let’s sit in the living room here.”

  Emily darted a glance at the clutter-free, extremely neat living room behind her. The plump green cushions on each end of the high amber sofa added to the warm pleasant vibes bouncing off the art-laden walls. All the oil paintings had a western motif: lone cowboys, horses and western murals. Beside the sofa, but under the large picture window, was a solid oak box filled with toys neatly put away.

  As Emily walked past the large flat screen TV on her way to the three-seat sofa, she noted the tidied end tables; nothing valuable was within a child’s reach. A homemade brown and orange afghan was carelessly tossed over the back of the couch. It was pure instinct for Emily to fold it and lay it over the back of the couch. She turned and allowed the back of her legs to touch the sofa, but she didn’t sit.

  “Please sit down, Emily.” He extended out the flat of his hand, very much in control.

  “Ah, thank you.” She perched on the edge of the soft leather seat across from a man who was too damn good to look at—a man obviously comfortable in his own skin.

  Hardness set his jaw as he studied her. The tick of the wall clock seemed to echo in the silence, and Emily squirmed in her seat. Why was he looking at her like that? Maybe it was her outrageous entrance and he was wondering what kind of kook she was, whether he could entrust her with his child. Yes, that had to be it.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m Emily Nelson; I talked to you yesterday on the phone about the job.”

  He blinked before closing those exquisite eyes, as if he’d forgotten the reason she was here. When he opened them again, his hard judgmental expression seemed to have softened a bit.

  Again he extended his large hand, taking hers in a firm grip. Just the touch of his solid calloused hand and the secure squeeze was enough to teeter her nerves back to that awkward woman at the door. She wondered what it would be like to have a man like this run his hands over you. She snatched her hand back before her face burned any brighter. Finally, he introduced himself. “The name’s Brad Friessen.” Emily kept quiet. He didn’t run on with his words. He must be a deep thinker, a doer. She could relate to that… but not to him. Her sly eyes glanced down at his left hand: no gold band, no white line, no wife or significant other. Or maybe he was one of those arrogant guys who wouldn’t wear a ring, a lady’s man. He had the looks and the attitude. Now was the time to ask about the woman who answered the phone when she called. Who was she?

  “This is a working ranch I run, and I need a woman to look after my son. I’m old fashioned in my values. Children should be at home, not stuck in daycare. I’m looking for someone who’s comfortable in a kitchen and looking after children: a role that should come natural to a woman. I don’t want someone who’s got the phone stuck to their ear half the day. It’s a decent job and good pay; $500 a week, room and board, and includes all your meals.”

  Her heart sank about the same time the bottom dropped out of her stomach. It was too good to be true. She wanted to cry. “But I… I have a little girl, I didn’t realize—”

  His face hardened and he looked away. For some reason he was angry with her… no, furious. Emily didn’t know what to say when he let out a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes, rubbing his hand over the light brown shadow that appeared over his jaw. Then he faced her again, with those deep brown eyes now turned to steel. Emily saw that he could be a hard man.

  “What, not enough money for you? I can’t stand the games you women play.” He lowered his voice. But it didn’t take the bite from his words. Holy crap, what kind of trip was this guy on? Was it just her he had a problem with… or all women? “Mr. Friessen…”

  “Brad,” he cut her off, his palm held up flat, a man used to having his way.

  “Sorry… Brad. It’s not about money. Your offer is quite generous. It’s just… I have a little girl and, the thing is, I guess I just assumed I would come here to work during the day and then go home. I rent a place in town. I’m recently separated, almost, and Katy lives with me. She’s two, so I’d be bringing her with me during the day to work and—” She was babbling and knew it when he cut her off.

  “I need someone to be here all day. And there’s the matter of the cooking. It’s all three meals, and breakfast’s early.”

  “Brad, I’m a little confused, are you still offering me a job, knowing I have a child who’ll be here with me?”

  He leaned back looking much more relaxed than he had earlier, a man once more in control; his hand tapped the back of the sofa.

  “There’s room in this house, lots of unused bedrooms upstairs. This is a big job. You’d be required to look after my son and do all the cooking. I have two hired hands who eat here, well, sometimes. They live in a small house I have on the property behind the barn. I have a woman who comes in twice a week to clean, so you’d only need to keep up the house in between. Still interested?”

  Emily slid forward and raised her palms, only to press them onto her knees. “Yes, I’m interested. Are you offering me the job, I mean you haven’t even asked about my experience, references or if I’ve had a criminal record check.” Emily fumbled for the envelope and pulled out the sheet of handwritten references.

  “I’d need you to start right away.” He uncrossed his legs and reached for the paper, dropping his gaze to scan her list of names. Seconds later he peered up at her.

  “Can you cook?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a criminal?”

  “No, unless you count a speeding ticket I got two years ago.”

  “Only one?” The tension that drove this meeting just a few moments ago had changed. The lighthearted teasing burst the bubble of worry building inside Emily’s tummy. She breathed easier, anticipating that maybe there was something really good just around the corner.

  “I’d need to be assured my son would take priority. If you’re bringing yo
ur daughter, will you be able to do the cooking and still look after him, and not ignore him?”

  “I wouldn’t neglect your son, but I won’t neglect my daughter either. I can look after both easily. I’m a mother. It’s what I do.” Emily swirled her hand in the air.

  He was quiet again. For the life of her, she couldn’t read his expression. What was he thinking?

  “Could you start tomorrow?”

  Her ears were ringing. And she wondered if she’d heard him right. “Well yes, that’d be fine. But I can’t move us that quickly. I have a whole house to pack up.”

  “How about coming for the day until we can work out the rest of the details, at least then you can get comfortable with Trevor, and he you, until you move here.”

  “All right, tomorrow I’ll come with Katy. Is about eight-thirty okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  This was too easy. Brad slapped his hands on his knees, stood and, magically, he appeared even taller, like an enormous weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hovered over her. Emily glanced at her purse and gave an extra tug on the zipper to make sure it was closed before slipping it over her shoulder. She held tight as she stood before this sizeable man.

  “I have a good feeling about this Emily. There’s something about you. I think this arrangement will work for both of us. I love my boy and only want the best for him.”

  He escorted her to the door. “Tomorrow then, Brad. And thank you for the job.”

  She bumped his hand when she awkwardly turned to shake it. Lord, she truly was a klutz today. She cursed her lack of self-esteem which, at times, kept her from being fit for polite society. And making it worse, he grabbed her by the shoulders, before she could knock something over, and guided her through the door. Her face heated again, bright red. She tried to duck her head but as she stood outside the door, she was forced to face him when he held open the white screen door—which she was sure was from the 1930’s.