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Eight months ago, apprentice chef Nikki Larssen's biggest worry was whether or not the chocolate soufflé would rise. Now, hiding a baby and guarding a dangerous secret, she's got a whole lot more to worry about—staying alive, for instance. A secluded house in a small Ontario town seems like the perfect safe haven for Nikki and the child she's sworn to protect...until a stranger shows up to complicate their lives. With six years and ten thousand miles behind him, reporter Gren Wilder finally faces the truth—you can't run fast enough or far enough to leave the past behind. His career in ruins, Gren returns to Vinegar Hill, ready to pick up the shards of his life and make peace with the ghosts that haunt him. What he needs is a little solitude, a place to work with no distractions. What he gets is a ready-made family, a constant reminder of the past he's tried so hard to forget. Gren forms a reluctant liaison with the enigmatic woman and child who've laid claim to his home—and his heart. But Nikki is keeping secrets. And Gren has a nose for news. Will any of them survive his quest for the truth? One for Sorrow, Two for Joy © by Cheryl Cooke Harrington
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One
for Sorrow, Excerpt Chapter
One It rolled up the valley on a new breeze. A sudden chill, heavy with the scent of green, growing, woodsy things. A freshening that shivered its way through town, fluttering curtains, rustling leaves, eddying dust and scraps of yesterday's paper along the cobbled gutters of Main Street. It meant there'd be rain before nightfall. A real thunder-boomer. A sure thing. Noble Bateman said so. If there was one thing Nikki had come to count on in the eight months since she and Claire had arrived in Vinegar Hill, it was Noble Bateman's word. So it wasn't a bit surprising when the cloudless summer sky, blue as a robin's egg and ablaze with sunshine, grew dark and ominous just after seven. Not surprising that, by nine, the woods and fields beyond town were silent, deserted, as if every living thing had taken shelter from the swiftly approaching storm. Not surprising, but damned unsettling. Maybe it was just her imagination playing tricks on her— understandable after months of watching her back, running from every shadow. Was she wrong to let herself feel safe again? she wondered, running her mental checklist for what seemed like the millionth time. Had she left a trail? No way. No credit, no letters, not even a phone call. She'd disappeared without a word to anyone. Not that there was anyone left to care. Had she slipped up, used their real names, even once? Not a chance. Sometimes she almost forgot she'd ever had another name. Nikki and Claire Larssen were second nature to her now. |
So
relax. No mistakes. It was just the wild August weather that had
her nerves on edge. Just the threatening rumble of thunder making
those goose bumps prickle up the back of her neck. Spooky feeling.
But life in this particular house had more than its share of spooky
moments, even in the bright light of day. It was nothing short of a miracle that Claire managed to sleep through the din, she thought, forcing herself to pull the shade and draw the heavy curtains across the window. She'd been meaning to take those curtains down, replace them with something bright and airy. But, for tonight at least, she was almost glad to have the green velvet drapery with its old-fashioned tassels holding the storm at bay. Surely Mr. Wilder wouldn't mind if she brightened up the baby's
room a bit. The man couldn't possibly be as grim and humorless
as the portrait that graced
the
parlor wall downstairs. Could he? Forget someday. She'd make a point of asking about Grenville
Wilder's sorrowful story—tomorrow. If anyone knew the truth
about old man Wilder and his gloomy
house, it would be her neighbor, Noble Bateman. At seventy-three he was
a walking, talking history of Vinegar Hill. Proud of it,
too. There wasn't
a local saga,
rumor or true, that Noble hadn't told, or had a hand in creating. Except,
as he'd so often complained, for her own. |
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Too bad, she thought, tucking the well-twisted strand of hair behind her ear. Noble was a good man—solid, sensible, trustworthy—the first and only person she'd really felt she could trust since this whole, awful mess had begun. Someday, maybe, she'd be able to answer his questions, once she was sure the truth wouldn't put him in danger. In the meantime, if the worst happened, she might be very glad of a friend like Noble Bateman. Another crash, another rattle of windows. Propping her elbows on the crib rail, Nikki rested her chin in her hands and marveled once again that Claire was still sleeping, one little thumb tucked into her mouth, one tiny finger curled over the end of her turned-up nose. Angelic...at least in sleep, with plump rosy cheeks, and a mop of curly black hair that shone like a raven's wing in the sunshine. Whoa! Where the heck had that come from? She was even beginning to think like Noble. Thunder rolled, followed a split-second later by the sharp and unmistakable slam of the kitchen door. Just the wind? Or was someone in the house? Impossible. She was absolutely certain she'd locked that door. Another bump, a sudden wash of light at the bottom of the stairs, and every doubt vanished. They weren't alone. |
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Excerpt
from ONE FOR SORROW, TWO FOR JOY
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