Peppermint Creek Inn (2 page)

In a flash, she grabbed her purse and slammed the door shut behind her. Using the truck’s headlights as a beacon she darted up the slippery wooden wheelchair ramp and dashed across the wide veranda.

She wanted to believe it was merely the storm’s fury that set her teeth to chattering uncontrollably and her body trembling like a leaf as she unlocked the front door. Or maybe it was the fact the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled with some eerie premonition as she imagined someone reaching out and grabbing her from behind.

She shook her head at the crazy thought.

The storm had spooked her. Once she got inside, she’d be fine.

A cool blast of air splashed a greeting as she opened the door. Pale yellow light from the truck’s headlights sprayed a friendly glow through the doorway illuminating her cozy French-style kitchen and splashing spooky shadows over her furniture in the adjoining living room.

Walking a few steps inside, she dropped her purse and keys onto the countertop and smiled despite all her troubles.

She was home. Home sweet home. And that’s all that counted.

Running her hand along the kitchen wall her fingers brushed against the light switch and flicked it on.

Nothing happened.

A feeling of unease swooped over her, and she stood still listening for any signs of trouble, but only the sounds of the howling wind rattling against the windows and the insistent tapping of raindrops splashing into the wood-planked veranda reached her ears.

It wasn’t unusual for the electricity to go out when the wild Spring storms of Northern Ontario hit. Lines went down all the time, due to falling trees and lightning strikes in the transformers. So why were her instincts yelling at her to back out the doorway, climb into her pickup truck and get the hell out of here? And why wasn’t she doing it?

Leaving the door wide open behind her, Sara defiantly squared her shoulders and stepped further into her kitchen. She sniffed the cold night air again, wrinkling her nose in disgust as a rancid breeze hit her nostrils.

Had something spoiled in the freezer?

She opened the refrigerator door. Inside, the air smelled cool and fresh. The electricity had gone out very recently, but where was the awful smell coming from?

Immediately she spotted the white lace curtains flailing in the wind and her broken windowpane.

And that’s when she saw it. Lying on her kitchen counter.

Bloated and ugly. Black beady eyes stared unseeing at her.

Oh, gross!

The horrific smell came from a giant dead rat! She didn’t have to ask who’d broken her window and thrown in the decaying rodent.

She knew.

It was the shadow! He’d been lurking around in the shadows vandalizing her property since her husband died.

Sara took a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady her pounding heart. It was the wrong thing to do. The disgusting smell made her stomach lurch.

She had to report this to the police. They’d probably laugh at her, pat her on the head and say, “There, there, dear, it’s only the shadow again”.

She’d heard the rumors about her. The lonely lady living deep in the wilderness, trashed her place every once in a while, just to get attention.

To hell with them! Someone had invaded her space. Again. And she wouldn’t let them get away with it. As much as she hated to do it, she had to call the police. She lifted the receiver and tensed.

Dammit! The line was dead.

Suddenly she became as angry as the howling wind outside and slammed the telephone back into the cradle.

She was so mad she could wring someone’s—

A dusky shadow splashed across the pine floor.

Sara froze.

Oh, shit!

Lifting her gaze, she spotted the tall, menacing figure silhouetted against the suddenly unwelcome glare of her truck’s headlights in the open doorway.

The shadow!

It had to be!

She opened her mouth to scream, readied herself to run but he was faster. Within a split second, he flew to her side. A strong muscular arm slipped securely around her slender waist, pulling her against his rock-hard body. A large, hot hand clamped tightly over her mouth. It was a powerful hand. Strong enough to snap her neck like a chicken’s wishbone.

She tried to fight against his grip but realized she’d only waste her strength. She stopped struggling and stiffened like a corpse in his arms.

“Don’t scream.” His voice sounded low and hoarse in her ears. Ragged, as if caught in the grips of a massive cold. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

Sara nodded weakly, wishing she could believe him.

He removed his hand from her mouth, leaving the other one to linger steadfast around her waist.

He held her close. Oh, so close. His body heat slammed into her like a furnace and his bristly cheek brushed erotically against the side of her face, making her feel as if they were chained together in an achingly seductive death dance.

Through the magical spell this man cast upon her, she felt the outline of something hard against the small of her back where he held her.

A gun? Yes! He was holding a gun!

Paralyzing panic burst into the forefront, gripping her insides with such mind-numbing terror, she almost bolted but his firm grasp on her waist anchored her.

She forced herself to breathe. To concentrate on what she should be doing to make him pay for everything he’d put her through. The bastard had finally come back. Returned to the scene of the crime.

And he knew she was alone!

She swallowed at the bile churning up her throat. The hot blood pounding in her head made her think of only one thing. Confronting this son of a bitch before he did her in. At least she’d die saying her peace.

She jumped in fright when his faceless voice suddenly asked, “Who are you?”

“Don’t play games with me!” Sara spat. “You know perfectly well who I am. Just do it!”

“What?” he gasped in surprise, a dangerous tenseness swooped through him.

“Finish the job. Get it over with. Put me out of my misery,” she cried.

“Listen, lady. I…I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Oh? And I’m imagining the gun pressing against my back? Go ahead, damn you, shoot me!”

She wanted to beat her fists against his muscular chest and cast out the demons of hatred and anger she’d been holding inside for so long. But he continued to hold her captive.

Her senses swirled as his masculine scent swarmed all around her. God, he smelled so good. A delicate combination of leather, spicy soap and a hint of tangy wood smoke.

She almost laughed. The guy was about to murder her and she liked the way he smelled?

She was nuts!

“Where would you like to start first? A bullet in the back?” she spat. “Pull the trigger. I dare you.” Hysteria sharpened her voice, but she couldn’t stop. She’d waited so long for this confrontation. “Or maybe you’d rather do it point blank between the eyes. That’s your specialty isn’t it? Right between the eyes. So you can see the pain a split second before the back of the brain gets splattered all over the walls.”

He didn’t say a word. His warm breath raked her face. His hold loosened a little. A tiny seed of hope bubbled somewhere in the back of her mind. She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady her racing heart. Maybe the murderer had a conscience after all? Maybe she could talk him out of killing her? And turn himself in?

Suddenly the shadow let go of her and her pulses roared with fear as she saw nothing but the gun in his hand, its one black eye gleamed hideously at her. Her fledgling hopes plummeted.

He was going to shoot her!

Right between the eyes, but she wouldn’t go down easily.

She prepared to nail him where the sun doesn’t shine when the stranger lowered his weapon and moved into the harsh beam of light spilling through the doorway.

“Easy,” he whispered softly. “I really won’t hurt you.”

For one brief, sweet moment, time stopped and Sara gazed directly into the most wonderful emerald green eyes she’d ever seen in her life. In that split second, she experienced the craziest idea she’d finally met her soul mate, the man of her dreams.

But something else haunted him. Something that made Sara jolt with recognition.

Confusion and pain shone in his eyes. Excruciating pain. Whether it was physical, emotional or spiritual, she couldn’t be sure. But he definitely gave her the impression he was living in the same some sort of hell she’d been living in, and he was desperately trying to find his way out of there.

The thought that she had something in common with this madman sobered her and she abruptly sized up her opponent, gathering any information she could use to her advantage.

He was a big man. Strong. Well-built. Wide shoulders donned in a tattered black leather jacket covered in mud. Slim, sexy hips with tight, dirty blue jeans, which hugged his muscular legs like a cozy glove.

He appeared to be around her age. Most of his pale face was camouflaged by a good week’s growth of scruffy, dark beard and a mustache. The rest lingered beneath a bounty of various sizes of scratches and bruises.

She found herself staring dumbly at the drying crust of crimson streaking from beneath the tangled hair draped over his right temple. The blood caked his slightly swollen eye, dribbled over his bruised cheek and disappeared into the thick mat of his mangy beard. The way he swayed slowly back and forth made her realize he was hurt.

Bad.

Like any wounded animal, he was extremely dangerous. And unpredictable.

“Do you know me?” The soothing sound in his voice had disappeared, replaced with a raw tension that frightened Sara.

Quickly she backed away from his menacing figure.

The kitchen countertop crashed painfully into the small of her back, stopping her dead in her tracks. With trembling hands she reached out behind her in a desperate effort to clutch the countertop for support as her paralyzed knees threatened to buckle.

“Sure I know you,” she said and swallowed the bitter fear threatening to suck away her remaining strength.

His eyes took on a flickering of hope. “Who am I? What’s my name?”

Was he kidding? Confused? Crazy?

Desperation tinged his voice and she sensed the fear overwhelming him. Compassion edged away her fright, but she quickly tempered it when she spotted the gun dangling in his trembling hand.

Plans quickly formulated in her mind. “I know who you are,” she spat as her frantic fingers scoured the countertop behind her for the steak knives she kept in the knife holder. If only she could get to one of those knives. She’d use it to gouge out his eyes or stab him in the ear.

Something cold and velvety brushed against her fingertips. The rat! She could throw the rat at him! Surprise him. Give her a second to get away. That’s all the time she needed.

She swallowed hard and willed herself to pick up the dead animal. But her hand just wouldn’t cooperate. She continued groping madly behind her and prayed the darkness would conceal her search.

“I’ve told the police your description,” she lied. “They’ll be looking for you if something happens to me.”

He recoiled in horror and truly looked shocked. “I told you I won’t hurt you, I just—” He stopped suddenly, clutched his gun hand to his chest and bowled over, cutting loose with a series of raspy coughs. The sounds of which led Sara to again feel a momentary compassion for the man.

She pushed her sympathy aside and shot like a bullet past him and through the open doorway, bursting out onto the veranda into the fury of the storm. Pouring rain arrowed beneath the porch, poking her with icy fingers.

Suddenly a fiery bolt of lightning forked out of the heaving black sky stopping her cold in her tracks. It zeroed in on the romance tree as if it was a heat-seeking missile, hitting with an explosion like nothing she’d ever imagined could exist.

Brilliant white sparks sizzled wildly in every direction making her catch her breath. Above the shrieking wind and pelting rain, she barely heard the sharp cracking sound of the tree breaking.

A tingling sensation darted up her spine making the hairs on her neck stand in warning. Her head snapped upward. To her horror, the enormous tree swayed dangerously. Then it tipped precariously and began its descent. It hurtled toward her home.

And toward her!

She stood stock-still, mesmerized by the immenseness of the tree. Could this be the way it would end? Struck dead by Peppermint Creek Inn’s romance tree?

God, she missed Jack. Missed the way he’d laughed, the way she’d felt so safe and loved in his arms. Maybe it would be better this way. Maybe—

Two strong hands curled over her shoulders and hurled her back through the open doorway as if she was a mere a rag doll, shoving her quickly onto the kitchen floor.

Then he flew on top of her, groaning as he landed. Squashing her beneath his heavy weight.

At that instant, a tremendous crash shook the house. She screamed as glass shattered and wood splintered. Automatically her eyes closed and her hands flew up to protect her head. It was all over in a split second.

Eerie silence followed.

She opened her eyes to complete utter blackness.

The truck’s headlight beams were gone and most likely her truck, too. With a sinking heart, she realized her only means of a quick escape had vanished.

He rolled off her with a groan.

Lightning flickered through the windows and she saw him sitting close by. Fresh blood trickled down the right side of his face. His lips moved. He was talking to her. Through the noise of her crashing heart she barely made out his words.

“Are you okay?”

Was she dreaming? Had he cut her throat? And now she lay on the floor, her lifeblood draining from her and he was asking her if she was okay?

“Sweetness! Are you hurt?” his ragged voice seemed louder, more insistent as the noise in her ears subsided.

Mentally she searched her body for any pain and felt nothing. “I…I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes.” She fought back the tears of shock blistering sharply against the back of her eyes.