LITMIR.BIZ

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He’d needed his freedom, claimed he couldn’t be tied to a woman who had to spend her time taking care of her sick grandmother. A woman who didn’t have enough time for him.

      The pain caused by his rejection had been devastating, but it had also taught her two valuable lessons: be careful about trusting anyone, and pretty words didn’t mean much without commitment behind them. It had also left her with a firm conviction that most men shouldn’t be trusted. She thought of Nick Baldwin. Did that include him? She didn’t know yet. He’d have to prove himself before she made that decision.

      Macy checked the doors, making sure they were safely locked. She paused at the foot of the stairs, looking up. The rooms above her waited with all the patience of a crouching lion. She climbed slowly, one step at a time, gripping the railing so tightly her hand ached. A step creaked underfoot. The hairs on her arms furred. The house smelled old, abandoned. It needed a good cleaning.

      No, it needed people, a family. Would this sad, lonely house ever be a home again?

      At the top of the stairs, she walked through the rooms, trying to decide where to sleep. Not in what was obviously the master bedroom—that had surely been her parents’ room. She wasn’t up to moving in there just yet. Not in the child’s room, either. Thinking about it sent a shiver up her back. Why hadn’t she been up here where she belonged that night? What had caused her to leave her bed and go downstairs? It was something she had to try to remember, but she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping there. At least not yet.

      She also avoided the room that must have been her grandmother’s. Grandmother Lassiter probably hadn’t wanted to take the master bedroom, either—the one her daughter had shared with Steve Douglas. The man Grandmother Lassiter believed was her daughter’s killer.

      Finally Macy settled on the small room at the back. A search through various closets revealed a stack of clean sheets. She made up the bed, trying not to think about actually sleeping here. The thick branches of the trees outside blocked most of the glow from the streetlight, throwing the room into deep shadows when the lights were out. The house was too large, too lonely and way too silent for her to feel comfortable.

      She glanced inside the bathroom. Forget a shower tonight. No way was she brave enough for that. Macy paused in front of the dressing table, looking at her reflection. The face staring back at her wore a nervous expression. She swallowed hard, refusing to speculate on what she was afraid of—she knew, she just didn’t want to face it.

      She was afraid she would remember too much. More than she could handle. On this, her first night in the house.

      The phone shrilled, shattering the silence.

      Startled, Macy jerked as if she had been stung. Who could be calling at this hour? There was a phone in Grandmother Lassiter’s room. She scurried down the hall, catching it on the fourth ring.

      A harsh voice that she took to be male grated over the line. “Are you enjoying yourself in that house?”

      She almost dropped the receiver. “What? Who is this?”

      “You don’t belong here. If you want to live, get out of there while you still can.”

       Click.

      Macy stared in shock at the receiver. If she wanted to live? Who had been on the other end of that line? Someone who knew she was in the house. Someone who didn’t want her there. Had news of her returning to Walnut Grove reached the ears of her mother’s killer?

      She turned her head to look at the window. Was the caller standing outside watching? Or was he in the house with her? If he was using a cell phone he could be anywhere. How could she turn out the light and behave as if nothing was wrong?

       God, are You listening? I’m afraid. Please...watch over me. Help me make it through this night.

      She sat rigid, straining to hear. Was she really alone? Or was someone lurking downstairs waiting until she fell asleep? She thought about calling the police but she wasn’t sure she trusted them, and she didn’t know Nick well enough to call him in the middle of the night.

      Finally she went to bed, only to lie there staring at the ceiling, straining to hear. Something creaked. A footstep on the stairs? She listened, nerves raw. Nothing. Probably just the normal sounds of an old house, but how could she be sure? She stared at the door, imagining a shadow lurking, peering into the room, but there was no movement. She tried closing her eyes, hoping to relax, but nothing helped.

      Macy threw back the covers and crawled out of bed. The silence was too heavy, too full of danger—real or imagined—for her to sleep. For the past hour she’d been lying with her eyes wide-open, ears straining to hear and nerves stressed to the max. Now she strode down the hall, looking for something to distract her, anything to take her mind off the phone call and the few things she’d learned today. The house felt empty, dead. She shivered. Would life ever fill these echoing rooms again?

      She slowed her pace, creeping past the room that had belonged to her parents, afraid of waking any of those long-forgotten memories. Facing them in the light of day was hard enough without confronting them in the dark and lonely evening hours. She felt the same way about her childhood room and its air of familiarity.

      That left the room her grandmother Lassiter had used. Macy entered her grandmother Lassiter’s room feeling as if she was violating Opal’s privacy. She turned on the bedside lamp. The dark blue drapes and carpet matched the deepest shade of the striped bedspread. A worn Bible lay on the bedside table.

      So both of her grandmothers had been believers. She sat down on the bed and picked up the Bible, thumbing through the fragile pages. Several passages were underlined, with personal notes written in the margin. The ninth verse of Joshua, chapter one, caught her attention.

      Macy read it aloud. “‘Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.’”

      She read it a second time, comforted by its simple promise. God must have led her to this verse, because it was exactly what she needed.

      A church bulletin fell out of the back of the Bible. Walnut Grove Community Church. This must be where her grandmother had attended.

      Tomorrow was Sunday. She’d start getting acquainted with the citizens of Walnut Grove by going to church. The people there would have known Opal Lassiter. Some of them must have been her friends. At least it was a place to start.

      Macy sat on the bed, pondering her situation and begging God to help her. Finally she went back to her room, carrying the Bible. After placing the worn book on her bedside table, she crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders.

      She closed her eyes, feeling comforted—for now.

      * * *

      Nick drove past the Lassiter house, checking to see if everything looked all right.

      The lights were off except for the one in the foyer and one upstairs that was probably the hall light. This was his third time to drive past here tonight. He hoped Macy was okay. It had to be strange for her staying in that house by herself. He was on duty tonight and he’d continue making a pass down this street occasionally. Not that he expected anything to happen, but there had been attempts to break in before she arrived in town. It paid to be careful.

      Sam’s suspicion that Macy was bent on stirring up trouble had left him unsettled. There was also Macy’s conviction that her father was innocent. What was that based on? Nick’s thoughts turned again to Macy Douglas.

      Maybe it was the rather dramatic way they had met last night, but something about her had gotten to him. It was more than the way she looked, with that fiery hair and gorgeous eyes. There was something deeper, something more personal drawing him to her.

      Part of it had to be her determination to discover what really happened to her parents. This wasn’t a shallow woman. She had an appealing depth and a passion. As his father would have said, Macy was the real deal. If he tried to help in this search, he’d

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