Tattered Stars

by Catherine Cowles

  Tattered Stars

  Catherine Cowles

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Everly

  2. Hayes

  3. Everly

  4. Hayes

  5. Everly

  6. Hayes

  7. Everly

  8. Hayes

  9. Everly

  10. Hayes

  11. Everly

  12. Hayes

  13. Everly

  14. Hayes

  15. Everly

  16. Hayes

  17. Everly

  18. Hayes

  19. Everly

  20. Hayes

  21. Everly

  22. Everly

  23. Hayes

  24. Everly

  25. Hayes

  26. Everly

  27. Hayes

  28. Everly

  29. Hayes

  30. Everly

  31. Hayes

  32. Everly

  33. Hayes

  34. Everly

  35. Hayes

  36. Everly

  37. Hayes

  38. Everly

  39. Hayes

  40. Everly

  41. Hayes

  42. Everly

  43. Hayes

  44. Everly

  45. Hayes

  46. Everly

  47. Hayes

  Epilogue

  Please Enjoy This Preview Of Falling Embers

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Catherine Cowles

  Stay Connected

  About Catherine Cowles

  Tattered Stars

  Copyright © 2021 by The PageSmith LLC. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Susan Barnes

  Copy Editor: Chelle Olson

  Proofreading: Julie Deaton and Janice Owen

  Paperback Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Designs

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  Cover Photography: Michaela Mangum

  Prologue

  Everly

  PAST

  Be brave. For sixty seconds. Twenty breaths. I could do anything for twenty ins and outs. The springs on my mattress squeaked as I swung my legs over the side of my bed. I froze. And listened.

  There were lots of things I hated about growing up here. But there were things I loved, too. Things I was grateful for. Like how attuned I was to every whisper. I’d know in an instant if a sound didn’t belong.

  I waited. Heard the screen door rattle in the wind. The call of an owl. Even the hum of our refrigerator in the kitchen. I didn’t hear my brother or dad. Mom had been gone for days, helping a baby come into the world. But I wished for her now. She was the only one who had a chance of stopping the craziness. But she wasn’t here, and I wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.

  I pushed to my feet, praying my mattress would stay quiet and not give me away. The springs didn’t betray me again. I moved to my closet, careful to avoid any floorboards that creaked. Pulling a pair of worn jeans from a shelf, I slipped them on. I tugged the nightgown over my head and reached for a t-shirt.

  The breeze picked up through my open window. It had been unbearably hot today but just a few hours into the night and a chill had settled. I grabbed a flannel just in case. Slipping on socks, I picked up my boots. I knew better than to put hard soles on this floor.

  My dad had taught me how to move without a sound to avoid any kind of predator. And tonight, I was thankful for each and every lesson—even the ones where I’d had to roll in mud to disguise myself.

  I reached for the doorknob, but my hand stilled on the metal. I could just go back to bed. Forget my attempt at being brave and wait for Mom to come home. To bring my dad down from his paranoid state where everyone was the enemy and we were at risk from it all—the government, neighbors, even my teachers.

  I’d watched as our lives got smaller and smaller, with fewer and fewer people to trust. I didn’t remember a lot of the normal. But I remembered some. The second grade and Miss Christie before Dad had pulled Ian and me out of school. Visiting Mom’s family in Portland before he’d decided they were heathens. The town fair before he became convinced that it was evil.

  I closed my eyes and turned the knob. Stepping out into the hall, I listened again. Nothing out of place. I created a dance to avoid every problematic board in my path, sometimes tiptoeing, other times stretching my legs to the point I worried I’d tip over.

  Finally, I reached the front door. Our old dog, Bruiser, raised his head, but I held a single finger to my lips, begging for silence. Feeding him table scraps must’ve paid off because he lay back down and let out a soft snore.

  I eased open the door and stepped through to the first true rebellion I’d ever embarked on. One that might make me like my older sister—an outcast. I closed the door behind me with a soft snick, but it was deafening to my ears, echoing off the mountain itself. I let the screen door fall closed, too, only a small rattle in my wake.

  I hopped over the porch steps entirely, knowing each and every one would give me away. I landed with an oomph but held in my cry of pain. Slipping on my boots, I glanced at the shed in the distance. The motion lights on its exterior meant I didn’t dare try for it. So, I started for the barn instead.

  One of the doors was open a hair to let some of the night air in, and I pulled it a bit more, just wide enough so Storm and I had a path. As I moved down the aisle, our few horses nickered or lifted their heads to see who was about. I paused at the tack room, picked up a bridle, and then continued until I reached Storm’s stall.

  She must have scented me coming because her head was already over the stall door. I gave her nose a rub and then urged her back. “Gotta let me in.” She did as I asked, and I left the door open, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere…not without me.

  I eased the bridle over her head, and she accepted the bit without complaint. “What do you say we go for a ride?” She seemed to nod her head in agreement. It would’ve been so much simpler if we were just taking off for one of our afternoon adventures, exploring the mountains.

  I led her out of the stall and towards the exit. We made our way out, and I hoisted myself onto the fence so I could climb onto her back. She stayed steady as I threw a leg over and adjusted my grip on the reins. “Nice and easy.”

  I guided her down the path that stayed far away from the house. One that led to the mountain switchbacks. I glanced up at the sky, thanking the heavens for a nearly full moon. I just prayed my sense of direction was as good as I thought.

  I’d never ridden all the way to town before. It was at least fifteen miles, and several paths ebbed and flowed. But I knew where I was headed. I’d memorized these mountains every day of my life. They were both a refuge and a prison. Solace and tormentor.

  Tonight, they were on my side. Each trail’s crossroads seemed to give me the next logical step until switchbacks turned to wide, worn paths, the dirt packed by hikers and riders. Soon, I reached the road into town. I stayed just off it, my heart hammering against my ribs as the forests turned to neighborhoods.

  I adjusted my grip on the reins, seeking out a peek at the lake on the outskirts of town. The moon made the water almost glitter. “Just a few more minutes,” I whispered to myself. I coul
d be brave for a little longer.

  I moved Storm onto the blacktop, her hooves echoing against the buildings along Aspen Street. Every store was dark with limited streetlights so residents and visitors alike could see the stars. Normally, I loved seeing them, too, but tonight I fought a shiver. Wolf Gap felt like a ghost town.

  I slowed Storm as we approached the street I knew held my next battle for bravery. I wondered if I was already past the point of no return or if I could guide Storm back up the mountain and go home. I turned her onto Spruce.

  The light from a building poured out into the night. It wasn’t harsh, more like a soft beacon, guiding me home. Only if I walked inside, I had a feeling I’d never see home again.

  I halted Storm in front of that soft light and slid off her back. My hands trembled as I tied her reins to a lamppost. Patting her neck, I nuzzled in close. “I’m doing the right thing. Right?” She pushed into me as if to agree. “I’ll see if we can get you some water.”

  I didn’t want to step away from Storm’s warmth and comfort. I wanted to stay there forever and ignore the rest of the world. Instead, I took a giant step back and turned. “Twenty more breaths.” It would all be over in just twenty more breaths.

  I felt the harshness of each concrete step through my boots. I paused as I reached the glass doors, glancing to my left, seeing a bulletin board with all sorts of notices. Missing pets. Town functions. An event at the library. But one piece of paper made my chest tighten.

  I reached out and plucked it from the board. My empty hand reached for the door, but when I pulled, I found it locked. A young man behind a desk looked up at the rattle of metal and glass. His eyes widened for a moment, and then he must’ve pushed a button because the door made a sound.

  I pulled again, and it opened with ease. The soles of my boots echoed on the linoleum floor. Just a few more breaths.

  “Are you okay?” the man asked.

  I laid the paper on his desk, the photo on it staring up at us, the stark letters—Missing—a glaring accusation. The face on it was only a little younger than mine, but it was smiling and carefree. It had been a long time since I’d been that. It was too exhausting trying to read Dad’s moods or being on alert for one of his drills that could happen at any time.

  I touched a finger to the side of the photo, not wanting to get dirt on the girl’s face. “I know where she is.”

  The man’s mouth opened and closed. “Where?”

  “At my house. In the shed with the green roof.”

  His eyes narrowed on me. “How old are you?”

  “Eleven.”

  His gaze traveled over my shoulder, out the glass doors. “Did you come here alone? This isn’t something to joke about. Is that a horse?”

  A side door opened. “What’s all the fuss out here, Nick?”

  A man with tanned skin and salt-and-pepper hair appeared, and his gaze immediately moved to me. “Now, who’s this?”

  Nick scowled. “She says she knows where Shiloh Easton is. Probably a prank. You know how these kids are.”

  The older man came towards me and crouched. “What’s your name, little one?”

  “Everly. Everly Kemper.” I did my best to keep my voice from shaking.

  The man shared a look with Nick. “You live up on the mountain?”

  I nodded. “The girl. She’s there. My dad…he said he had to save her from the evil and that she would be in our family now. But she doesn’t want to be there. She wants to go home. And Mom’s gone. She had to go midwifing, and no one can talk Dad down when he’s like this. But it’s been five days, and the girl…she won’t eat or drink. And Dad keeps getting madder. I didn’t know what to do.”

  All the words tumbled out of me. It wasn’t anything like I’d practiced on my long ride into town. I fisted my hands, my nails biting into my palms, to keep from letting everything else fly.

  The man’s jaw looked as if it were carved out of granite, but he patted me on the shoulder. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I’m Sheriff Hearst. I’ll figure everything out.” He turned to Nick. “Let’s call in our team. As fast as they can get here.”

  Nick jumped on the phone, and Sheriff Hearst guided me towards the side door, but I halted halfway there, looking towards the doors. “Storm, my horse. She needs some water.”

  “Did you ride all the way here?”

  I nodded. “She’s probably thirsty.”

  “And I’m sure you are, too.” The sheriff waved at Nick. “Get the horse some water.” Nick gave a lift of his chin, and the sheriff looked down at me. “Let’s get you something to drink and maybe a snack, too.”

  He seated me in a room with two vending machines and a little kitchen. “Have a seat.”

  The chair made an ugly sound as I pulled it back, and by the time I sat down, the room was getting a little fuzzy. I barely registered Sheriff Hearst placing an array of items in front of me. Water and a soda. Some crackers, and a candy bar.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had packaged food. Maybe when I was seven? About the time Dad pulled me and Ian out of school. He’d demanded that we live off the land as much as possible. Nothing store-bought. Those companies were trying to poison us.

  But I remembered the chips Mom used to pack in my lunch, and they were my favorite. My hands trembled as I went for the crackers. But I could barely taste them.

  Everything went in and out of focus as a female deputy came to sit with me. I watched from my spot at the table as officers assembled in the main room. They donned vests and guns. My stomach cramped, and I squeezed my eyes closed. I did the right thing. I said it over and over in my mind, just hoping I might believe it.

  When I opened my eyes, the armed men and women were gone. I toyed with the crackers as the woman asked me questions. “Has your dad ever hurt you?”

  I shook my head. He’d been strict, but his punishments were training. Teaching us to go without because we might not always have access to the comforts of home.

  The woman shifted in her chair. “Has he ever touched you anywhere that made you feel uncomfortable?”

  I blanched. “No. He’s not like that. He just…” I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “His mind plays tricks on him.”

  It was the best way I could think to explain him. His brain told him lies. Like the one that decided a family was evil because they were going to a town fair, but their daughter could be saved because she hadn’t wanted to go. So, he’d stolen her away.

  I tuned the deputy out and stared into the main room, letting my eyes go unfocused. That same side door opened, and a group of people filed in—a family. The mother was red-eyed and panicked, while the father tried to calm her and hold onto the girl in his arms, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven.

  Two boys followed, looking around the room. The oldest was probably in high school. His fists clenched and flexed, and anger lit his eyes. But the younger wasn’t more than a few years older than me. Worry lined his face. He looked from the room back to his parents, taking his mother’s hand and squeezing it.

  It had to be the little girl’s family. Shiloh Easton. I said the name in my mind, shaped it with my mouth. She would go home to this family who loved her.

  I watched as the mom kissed the boy on his head. He didn’t dodge away like Ian did when my mom showed him affection. This boy let her love on him, seeming to understand that she needed it.

  Our gazes locked from across the room. There were a million questions in his eyes. I wasn’t sure I had any of the answers he needed, but I couldn’t look away. I stared into those dark depths as if he held me hostage.

  The bang of the door against the wall broke our trance. The entire Easton family was on their feet in a flash, surrounding Sheriff Hearst. He held Shiloh in his arms. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the mother wept, and I caught tears streaming down the father’s face, as well. The siblings hugged their sister tightly. But the boy with the haunting eyes kept looking back at me where I sat. All alone.


  1

  Everly

  PRESENT

  My hands tightened on the wheel as I guided my SUV onto Aspen Street. Everything looked remarkably the same. The slight Old West feel still clung to the buildings and antique lampposts. Many of the institution spots like The Cowboy Inn and Wolf Gap Bar & Grill were still here, just with a fresh coat of paint.

  But while it looked as if there were some new restaurants and shops, as well, I knew hoping for a spot to order my favorite Thai dishes might be too much to ask. There was no question that coming back to eastern Oregon meant I’d be giving up some things.

  My older sister, Jacey, thought I was crazy. Sure, that I’d step back into town limits and get sucked back into all the drama that surrounded our family. I understood her fear. Especially since she’d been more mother to me than a sister, taking custody of me after my father went to jail, and I’d begged my mom to let me leave this place.

  All that determination to break free, and here I was, a decade and a half later, coming right back to where I started. My pulse picked up speed as I drove past Spruce Street and caught sight of the sheriff’s station. I knew Sheriff Hearst had to be far into retirement, but I wished I’d have at least one friendly face to count on.