If Tombstones Could Talk

If Tombstones Could Talk a short paranormal romance by Stacey Joy Netzel

Had someone asked Melanie Sparks if she believed in ghosts, she‘d have laughed before voicing an emphatic “No.” Then she takes a walking tour of the cemetery in her new hometown of Lindeman‘s Crossing, Colorado and meets one of the residents face to face. The story behind Andrew Lindeman's tragic death after the Pike‘s Peak Gold Rush in 1859 triggers dreams in which she relives his last moments. Drawn to the handsome ghost, attraction builds, and she resolves to clear his tarnished name. A passionate kiss sets his spirit free, but will Melanie lose her heart forever?

Reviews: Romance Junkies: ―IF TOMBSTONES COULD TALK is sweet, sensual and one of the most romantic stories I've ever read. This story had an incredible storyline that kept me intrigued until the very end. The ending brought tears to my eyes, which doesn't happen very often.‖ ~ Amanda Fallen Angel Reviews ~ 5 Angels ~ ―The plot was brilliant and well played out. I enjoyed every aspect of the story. The ending left me smiling and happy.‖ ~ Becky

Dedication: For my family. They let me write and follow my dreams. I love you all!

Chapter One Melanie Sparks stood in the cemetery lane, torn between catching up with the rest of the group and examining the black granite stone off to her right. It sat deep in the shade of a large red oak tree with the Rocky Mountains towering in the background, yet somehow, that one tombstone had caught her attention from the moment she‘d arrived. She took a step closer, leaving the sun‘s warming rays. A curtain of her fiery-red hair fell forward, but she absently tucked it back behind her ear to get a better look across the cemetery. Something stirred in the shadows next to the stone. Her heart beat faster, startling a small flutter in the pit of her stomach. She paused and squinted. Was someone over there? All remained still, except for the faint rustling of oak leaves in the gentle Colorado breeze. Drawing a deep breath, Melanie quickly caught up to the others on the walking tour. She found herself wanting to look back over her shoulder, but forced her attention to the excursion‘s leader. John, he‘d introduced himself, and he‘d proved to be a great storyteller. As a lawyer who dealt a lot with cold, hard facts, she always enjoyed a well-told story—the more history, the better. Settled in 1852, Lindeman‘s Crossing promised to keep her fascinated with its colorful past. Which is why she came on the tour, to learn more about her new town beyond the stories her grandmother used to tell her as a little girl while they snuggled on the couch with hot chocolate. A town that she swore called to her soul during an impulsive detour last summer as she made the stupidest mistake of her life. That detour was the only thing good to come out of following Chuck all the way across the country. Melanie shook her head. The move was about reconnecting with her roots and putting the past behind her. Her personal past, anyway. The town‘s past was a whole other story she wanted to immerse herself in. At present Lindeman‘s Crossing was a small, quiet town, likely to be absorbed by the everencroaching Denver suburbs; but when her great-great-great grandmother lived here in 1859, during the height of the gold rush, it‘d been bustling with excitement and activity. Every once in a while, when life closed in with suffocating pressure, she wished she could‘ve been born in that time. Back when bank robbers were the terrorists and global warming wasn‘t the buzzword of the day. Horses ate hay and grass, and gas didn‘t cost almost four dollars a gallon. She knew the settlers had faced many other hardships, but for some reason it didn‘t dim the enthusiasm she harbored for history. A simpler time, when a man on a horse, sweeping his woman off her feet, was just so romantic. She pictured him, tall, dark and handsome—the total cliché. The complete opposite of her jerk cheating ex, this guy‘s dark eyes glittered from beneath his wide-brimmed black hat. He smiled at her, his white teeth flashing bright against his shadowed face. He leaned down, extended his hand to grasp hers and pulled her effortlessly onto his lap atop his coal-black steed. Andrew. Melanie jolted to a stop. Where had that name come from? She glanced around selfconsciously, hoping she hadn‘t done something stupid during her impromptu fantasy. Not one of the residents from the Riverview Senior Living Center paid her any attention as they came to a stop beneath the giant red oak. Her stomach started its acrobats again when John placed his hand

on the waist-high, black granite headstone. She‘d been so preoccupied she hadn‘t realized they‘d made their way around to this side of the cemetery. Melanie shifted her gaze down. Her heart leapt into her throat, and the hair on her arms stood up, yet she couldn‘t tear her eyes away from the stark etchings in the stone. Andrew Lindeman 1831-1860 A good man we are forever indebted to. ―And this leads us to the last tombstone, the man our town is named after.‖ She hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down to relieve the unnerving sensation tingling across her skin as she stared at the name on the headstone. ―Are you cold, dear?‖ She looked down at the short, white-haired lady who stood at her side. ―You young kids these days care more about fashion than comfort,‖ the older lady chastised as Melanie‘s grandmother used to do. ―It‘s not warm enough for sleeveless blouses yet.‖ Her high-pitched warble had drawn the attention of the tour guide, as well as the rest of the group. ―Just a little case of the willies,‖ Melanie explained before offering John an apologetic smile for the interruption. ―Please continue.‖ His gaze moved to the others. ―Andrew Lindeman is the source of many debates for the Historical Society over the years, because although our town is named for him, there are details of his story that have created much controversy.‖ Melanie felt the interest level rise around her. Seemed everyone loved a good story, the more controversial the better. Her own anticipation pulsed in her veins, and she eased closer. The name Andrew Lindeman had never been in her grandma‘s repertoire of tales. John stepped back to allow a clear view of the tombstone. ―Legend has it, he arrived in town for the gold rush in the spring of 1859. Young and eager, he was one of the lucky ones, struck it rich in a matter of months. Most of them left once they filled their pockets, but Andrew stayed and started the town newspaper.‖ ―The Lindy Gazette? You mean it really was established in 1859?‖ one of the gentlemen asked. A picture of the front page of the newspaper that thumped against her front door every morning flashed in Melanie‘s mind. The tour guide nodded. ―It sure was, George. Others have come and gone over the years, but The Lindy Gazette has always pulled through. Old journals describe Andrew as a very handsome chap and say it wasn‘t long before he began courting the most eligible lady around, Miss Lorena Van Bueren.‖ ―Of the old Van Bueren Bank and Trust?‖ the lady next to Melanie asked. ―Her father owned the bank,‖ John confirmed. ―Andrew and Lorena were a great match— the toast of the town—the stuff fairy tales are made of. Everyone loved to watch them stroll hand in hand down the raised wooden sidewalks.‖ Melanie smiled at the enthusiasm in his narration. If she had a story to tell, she‘d want him to tell it. ―However, the day before their wedding, in the spring of 1860, the bank was held up and Lorena‘s father was shot.‖ ―How awful,‖ someone murmured. John‘s brows lifted and his eyes twinkled. ―You may think so, but Jacob Van Bueren didn‘t

die, and as the story goes, Lorena was one of the bank robbers.‖ ―She shot her own father?‖ a gruff sounding man to the left asked over the surprised murmurings of the group. ―Her partner did,‖ John corrected. ―And this is where the controversy begins. Most of the town swore Andrew Lindeman pulled the trigger.‖ Melanie saw a swift shift in the shadows directly behind John. She blinked, and then stared. The air seemed…thick, somehow. Hazy. And yet anywhere else the mountain air was crystal clear. Inexplicably drawn, she took another step closer to the tombstone. ―Townsfolk on the street saw him run from the bank with Lorena before they made their escape across the bridge.‖ ―The river walk bridge?‖ George asked. ―That same exact bridge,‖ John confirmed. ―What color was his horse?‖ The question popped out before Melanie even realized she‘d opened her mouth. When silence fell and everyone turned to stare, she felt her cheeks burn as red as her hair. ―I‘m sorry, that‘s a stupid question. I didn‘t mean to interrupt.‖ John cleared his throat. ―That‘s okay. I don‘t know if it‘s the same one he rode that day, but in the single verified picture we have in the museum of Andrew Lindeman, he‘s outside the newspaper office, astride a large black horse.‖ Melanie‘s breath caught and her heart hammered in her chest, leaving her off-balance and dizzy. She wished she could sit down. Next to the ink-colored stone by now, she reached out a hand for support. Upon contact with the rough surface of the top of the stone, her fingers were inundated with heat. With a silent gasp, she snatched her hand back. Where it rested deep in the shade, the granite should‘ve been cool to the touch, not warm. Oblivious to her disquiet, John continued the story. ―As they crossed the bridge, Lorena‘s horse nearly trampled a woman and her two small children. One of the little girls fell over the railing into the river.‖ Soft exclamations from the older women mirrored Melanie‘s dismay. ―Some say Andrew stopped his horse and dove into the rapids to save the child, others say the sheriff shot him and he fell into the river. Whichever way it happened, he did save the girl before the current carried him away. When they found his body a mile or so downstream, they discovered he‘d been shot in the back. The official records, however, state the cause of death as drowning.‖ ―Good for the sheriff,‖ the man to Melanie‘s left said decisively. ―What happened to Lorena?‖ she asked. John grinned as if he held the juiciest piece of the tale. ―Well, after Sheriff Tucker shot Andrew, he kept on riding.‖ Surrogate grandma harrumphed with disapproval. ―The sheriff didn‘t help save the little girl?‖ ―No,‖ John confirmed with a shake of his head. ―He rode after Lorena and neither one of them were heard from again.‖ ―Was the sheriff in on the robbery?‖ George asked with enthusiasm. ―That‘s what‘s been argued for years. One customer in the bank said Andrew tried to stop Lorena, and that the sheriff is the one who shot her father, but that woman‘s version was swept aside by the unarguable testimony of Jacob Van Bueren himself. He swore Lindeman pulled the trigger. Hard to argue that, folks.‖

Melanie couldn‘t help but voice her confusion. ―But if Andrew Lindeman struck gold, why would he rob the bank? Not to mention he was marrying the banker‘s daughter—a lucrative move in that time period.‖ ―Van Buren testified Lindeman had made some bad investments and lost everything. He claimed Lorena was going to cancel the wedding, but Lindeman turned her against him and convinced her to rob the bank instead.‖ Melanie felt a small prick of disappointment as she stared at the etchings in the stone. Up until the very end of the story, the romantic in her wanted to believe Andrew Lindeman was the hero. It was such a strong name, and he probably had been tall, dark and handsome, too. But when the chips were down, he was nothing but a thief who‘d drawn the wrong card, and only by a twist of fate managed to redeem himself with one last sacrificial act by rescuing the little girl. She dropped her gaze from the name on the headstone and saw another rock embedded in the ground. Lichen covered and weathered over time, it was too close to belong to another gravesite. She knelt in the shaded grass, brushing her fingers across the stone‘s cold, rough surface while deciphering the worn letters. Andrew Lindeman. She frowned up at John. ―Why are there two?‖ ―The townsfolk marked his grave with that first one when they buried him, providing evidence of his death, then they changed the name of the town to Lindeman‘s Crossing as a warning to other outlaws. Crime had increased with the height of the gold rush, so they spread the story far and wide that anyone who committed a crime—namely, rob the bank—would cross over as Andrew Lindeman had.‖ The air stirred around John as he spoke. She could see through the haze, but everything behind that small area was distorted, as if she were looking through the bottom of an old Coke bottle. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she rose to her feet. She cast a quick glance around, but no one else seemed to even notice the odd disturbance. ―What ever happened to the bank owner?‖ one of the ladies asked. ―He must‘ve been broken hearted over his daughter.‖ John nodded. ―Historical journals confirm he was. She was his only child and after a few months, he moved back east.‖ “He was in on it.” Melanie startled and jerked around toward the sound of the rough, angry voice. No one stood behind her, and yet that‘s where the words had come from. She quickly faced the others. They stared back at her like she‘d gone crazy. ―Did you hear that?‖ she asked. ―Hear what, dear.‖ ―He was in on it.‖ John‘s head tilted in consideration. ―Jacob Van Bueren? Hmm. You know, I never thought about that possibility before.‖ ―No. I mean, someone said those words just a second ago. He was in on it.‖ ―Yes, dear, you did.‖ The surrogate-grandma reached out and patted Melanie‘s arm with reassurance. Melanie opened her mouth, then shut it again, fearing she‘d end up talking in circles trying to explain it to them. Besides, how did one explain they were hearing voices? The man who‘d applauded the sheriff for shooting Andrew in the back crossed his arms over his chest and gave a soft snort. ―If the town thought this Lindeman fellow robbed the bank and shot the banker, then why‘d they put up this fancy rock for him? The first one I get, but the

second don‘t make no sense to me.‖ John took up his story again. ―As I said earlier, the town marked his grave with the small stone, but historical records show the family of the little girl he rescued from the river had this larger one made sometime after.‖ ―Is she buried here, too?‖ Melanie asked. ―Do you know her name?‖ ―Vanessa Brisbane. I don‘t think—‖ ―Brisbane?‖ Excitement exploded inside Melanie. ―Are you sure?‖ ―Yes, although that was her maiden name, and the family moved away shortly after she married, so I don‘t believe any of them are buried here.‖ Her great-great-great-grandmother Vanessa Brisbane had married Edward Kurowski and moved from Lindeman‘s Crossing, Colorado to Wisconsin in 1872. Never had she imagined her ancestor played such a pivotal character in this town‘s past. And of all the stories passed down through the generations of her family, why had this one been left out? Oh how she wished Grandma were still alive. If she had any family left in the world, she‘d have been on the phone in a heartbeat. As it was, the town was her last tangible connection to a history her grandmother had taught her to love. John concluded the tour and answered any final questions before the group of senior citizens boarded their bus. Melanie stood off to the side and waved goodbye. ―You‘re not riding back on the bus?‖ John asked when the doors closed and they departed. ―Oh, I‘m not with them,‖ she explained. ―I don‘t live far from here and when I saw the tour listed in the paper‘s local events, I just walked over.‖ ―Interested in our history, are you?‖ ―I‘m a bit of an addict,‖ she admitted. He placed his hand flat on his chest. ―A woman after my own heart.‖ Melanie laughed. ―Your passion is evident in your presentation. I had a great time on the tour, and you have me totally intrigued with the local historical society. I‘d love to come to a meeting.‖ ―We‘d love to have you. New blood is always welcome, and rarely do we get members as young as you. Why don‘t you stop by the museum some time and we‘ll get you a meeting schedule.‖ ―Thank you, John, that‘d be great.‖ After he gave directions to the Lindeman‘s Crossing Historical Museum, she walked toward the cemetery gates closest to her home, happy in her euphoric daze. Her family, steeped in such astonishing history! What a story it would be to tell her children and grandchildren some day. Yes, despite her lack of success in the romance department, and no prospects on the horizon, hope remained of finding a connection to last a lifetime. She swung around and walked backward, letting her gaze wander over the rows of headstones. Even with the beautiful Rocky Mountains highlighted by the setting sun, the imposing oak drew her eye like a magnet. There in the shadows, the dark figure of a man stood beside the black tombstone. Her heart stopped, her breath caught. As her pulse thundered in her ears, she stared until he started to move forward. Toward her. ―Oh, God,‖ she whispered. Backing up, she swallowed hard and finally blinked. The figure disappeared. Melanie froze. Blinked again. Still gone. She didn‘t waste a single second more waiting for whatever she‘d seen to reappear.

Thankful she‘d changed into tennis shoes for the tour, she bolted for home as if she‘d just seen a ghost. **** He stood in the shadows, watching the young woman run through the gates without looking back. Almost as if she‘d seen something that had frightened her. His eyes narrowed in consideration of the idea spinning in his head. The notion was almost unthinkable. They were in a cemetery, at dusk, with plenty of shadows and looming headstones that could‘ve spooked her—given her the “willies”, as she‘d said earlier. And yet, that simple, believable, likely explanation could not quell the single thought making his heart race. Could she have seen him? Her earlier startled reaction confirmed she‘d heard his irate exclamation. When he‘d been listening to the speculation and lies for what felt like the thousandth time and vented his age-old frustration that no one had seen the truth. Given that she‘d heard his words, was sight really so inconceivable? She had been on the right track back there. If she continued to voice contrary questions the answers would lead her down a path of discovery he had only hoped would some day be revealed. And if she could hear him, if she could see him... Ashes of long dead hope stirred, whirling into a driving force of energy to follow the pretty redhead. But by the time he reached the gates, she had disappeared into the night as if she had never existed.

Chapter Two That night, a handsome man, his dark horse, gunshots and a raging river plagued Melanie‘s dreams. Little snippets of events and emotions. A husky voice. Dark eyes. Cold water. Muddy riverbank. Anger. Desperation. Pain. The emotions were especially vivid. Her only confirmation the dark dreams weren‘t real was the sight of her cream-colored walls and sage green curtains when she blinked awake on Saturday morning. She stumbled out of bed completely exhausted. Yet after her first cup of tea, an energy she definitely did not contribute to the limited caffeine pulsed through her veins. It got her through cleaning the cute little cottage she‘d purchased a month ago, and washing a few loads of laundry. Still restless, she moved on to weeding her two small flower gardens in the backyard and then sat at her rummage sale cafe table out on the patio with her briefcase. An hour later, after rereading the paper in her hand and still not sure what it said, she admitted defeat. Nothing took her mind off yesterday‘s cemetery tour or the contrary thoughts of Andrew Lindeman. And erasing the memory of that shadow-figure next to his tombstone proved impossible. Seeing as her current attempts to review her current court case were proving a complete waste of time, she went inside to put on her tennis shoes. It was her first weekend off since starting her new job here in Colorado and high time she had some fun exploring the town her grandmother had relished speaking of. It still made no sense Andrew Lindeman‘s story hadn‘t been passed down through the generations, but with Grandma having passed on more than five years now, she‘d never know that answer. She started with the trail next to the river behind her cottage. The walk along the South Platte River settled her nerves until she realized it‘d looped through the park and led her back to the cemetery. Her feet rooted to the spot outside the gate as she stared intently at that one specific shaded gravesite. Everything looked normal. No shadow figures. No shimmering air. No voices in her head. Most likely her subconscious had been playing with her yesterday. Her imagination had been in overdrive after all the wonderful history she‘d learned. Still hesitant, Melanie entered the deserted grounds and followed the path John had led the senior group along the day before. Every so often she snuck a glance toward the black granite, until at the end, she once again stood in front of the stone. Deep breath. Let it out slow. Everything‟s fine. Squatting down, she reached to touch the old, worn stone sunk in the earth. Cold. As it should be. Her gaze rose to the other one looming in front of her. Nervous anticipation mixed with dread, raising goose bumps on her arms like yesterday. Much as she didn‘t want to touch its smooth surface, she had to make sure. Her hand trembled slightly as she extended her arm.

Cool. Relief tingled through her entire body. With one finger, she traced the A in Andrew, then flattened her palm over the name. In a single instant, the granite warmed, almost to the point of burning her flesh. She yanked her hand back with a gasp, then nearly jumped out of her skin when a male figure materialized out of thin air right before her eyes. Dark, glittering eyes locked on her. A scream froze in her throat and she found she couldn‘t breathe. If she stayed still, would it go away? Her lungs burned. She needed oxygen or she‘d faint. Rising slowly, she drew in a deep breath of air, then concentrated on repeating the process until her legs steadied. All the while, her mind registered details. The man of her dreams. Tall. Dark, wavy hair, worn long enough to hang over his forehead and brush the collar of his black shirt. Eyes that at first glance appeared black but now she saw were a sexy slate gray. His thick eyebrows shadowed them, making them seem darker. A hint of a five o‘clock shadow lent a sinister air, yet she wasn‘t truly afraid of him. ―You can see me.‖ The husky accusation washed over her. ―This can‘t be real,‖ she said out loud. She was losing her mind. For heaven‘s sake, she just thought of a hallucination‘s eyes as sexy! He stepped closer, his gaze locked with hers. ―No one has ever been able to see me.‖ Melanie backed up, still talking to herself. ―I‘m hallucinating. He‘s not real.‖ ―But I am.‖ ―No.‖ She shook her head. ―He‘s a figment of my imagination. I‘m going crazy.‖ ―You may stop speaking as if I am not here. I know you can see me.‖ A hint of irritation colored his deep voice. Laughter bubbled up. She fought off the hysteria, closed her eyes and wished him away. After counting to ten, she lifted her lashes to find him still watching her. He stood just a few feet in front of her, his gaze so intense she could practically feel it touching her face. Yet his form didn‘t seem quite…solid. Her mind went back to the moment he‘d appeared and she shivered. ―I don‘t know what I‘m seeing.‖ ―Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Andrew Lindeman.‖ Somehow that didn‘t surprise her, but she still shook her head in denial. ―No.‖ ―Yes.‖ She gestured to the tombstone. ―Andrew Lindeman is dead.‖ ―Yes.‖ Melanie swallowed hard, heart thumping in her chest. ―That would mean you‘re a…a... One eyebrow rose in a sardonic gesture. ―Yes?‖ ―A ghost.‖ His lips lifted in a smile, flashing white teeth. ―That would be correct.‖ ―Ghosts aren‘t real.‖ ―I beg to differ with you.‖ Annoyed with his enjoyment of the situation, Melanie stuck a fist on her hip. ―You can beg all you want, it doesn‘t make you real.‖ ―To whom are you speaking, then?‖ She bit off a sarcastic retort. He was right, and she was not going to stand here wasting her day arguing with a ghost. She spun around and strode toward the cemetery entrance, willing

herself not to break into a run. In the space of a blink, he appeared in front of her. She halted with a sharp gasp as his mesmerizing eyes locked on hers once more. ―Please.‖ The word came out rough and low. ―I have spoken to no one in so long.‖ ―How long?‖ ―One hundred and fifty-one years.‖ She swallowed hard and darted her gaze over his shoulder, toward the gate. ―You‘ve been counting?‖ ―And thirty-one days.‖ The raw emotion in his voice sparked an ache in her heart. His gaze remained on her, as tangible as a lover‘s caress on her cheek. ―I wish you no harm.‖ Her chest tightened as she took in his dark figure in front of her. Except for the missing hat, he was the exact picture of the man in her fantasy yesterday and her dreams last night, even down to the muscled forearms revealed by the rolled up sleeves of his black shirt. It was all so unreal, she simply shook her head. ―I‘m sorry. I—this is just too much. I have to go.‖ He didn‘t move. The absurd notion of walking through him made her shudder. As if that reaction convinced him, he dipped his head and stood aside. ―I apologize. Good day.‖ And then he was gone. Melanie blinked a few times and turned in a slow circle, but she saw nothing. Not even the strange thickness in the air that had first caught her attention on the walking tour the day before. Silently insisting the emotion weighing on her chest was relief and not disappointment, she hurried from the cemetery. Ten minutes later, she realized she‘d walked past the turnoff to her cabin and now stood in front of the Lindeman‘s Crossing Historical Museum. Maybe, subconsciously, she‘d come here on purpose. The building itself was either an exact replica of an old west mercantile, or a meticulously restored and well-kept original. Either way, she loved the weathered structure at first sight. Especially appealing was the raised wooden sidewalk the tour guide had described Andrew Lindeman and Lorena Van Buren strolling along as they courted. Stepping inside, she swept her gaze across the equally antique interior until she found an information counter to the left of the entrance, manned by none other than her animated storyteller from the day before. ―Hi, John.‖ ―Well, good afternoon,‖ he greeted with a friendly smile. ―Miss Sparks, wasn‘t it?‖ ―Please, call me Melanie.‖ ―I‘m so glad you came by. You‘ve brightened an old man‘s boring day.‖ She smiled, some of her tension fading now that she was speaking with a real live person. ―You can‘t be a day over fifty.‖ ―Fifty-six next month.‖ ―You don‘t look it. And how can you be bored in the middle of all this history?‖ ―I know it inside and out, that‘s how, you flatterer. Although, since our discussion about the bank robbery yesterday, you have me very curious about Jacob Van Buren.‖ Just like that, her tension returned. ―Speaking of which, I‘m interested in the picture you

mentioned of Andrew Lindeman. May I see it?‖ ―Yes, of course. Follow me.‖ Just saying the man‘s name brought a flush to her cheeks. But really, she needed to stop this foolishness. Once she saw the picture, saw it wasn‘t him and that she‘d just dreamed up the ruggedly handsome ghost, she could seek professional help and move on with her life. John came around the counter and headed toward the back of the building. The room seemed to stretch for miles, distorting into an endless tunnel in her mind, yet it took a mere ten seconds to cross the smooth, boot-worn floor planks. ―Here he is, our notorious Mr. Lindeman.‖ Melanie stared at the picture of the man on his tall, black horse. A dull roar filled her ears as her heart thudded slow and hard. It was him. The man—the ghost—from the cemetery. The man in her dreams. John‘s voice penetrated the haze engulfing her head and she tore her gaze away from the image. ―I‘m sorry, what did you say?‖ ―He did have a great looking horse.‖ She leaned closer to the picture again. Almost as beautiful as the man. The man who once more commanded her undivided attention. Even here, in black and white, face shadowed by a black cowboy hat, his eyes were like a living entity, touching her soul. ―What do you think happened?‖ she asked John as she straightened and pushed away from the image. ―With the bank robbery, I mean. Do you think Andrew was part of it?‖ John raised a hand to scratch the back of his head. ―I try to remain objective, but I‘ve got to tell you, I‘ve read every single one of the editions of the Lindy Gazette he published before he died, and the man I got to know in those papers wouldn‘t have done what he was accused of.‖ ―Judging by the second headstone, the family of the little girl he saved didn‘t think so, either,‖ Melanie added. Her family. ―Very true. But, as the debate has gone on for years with no definitive answers. Is there any way to really know?‖ ―Maybe, maybe not,‖ she murmured to herself, glancing out the window in the direction of the cemetery. ―John, any chance the historical society lets people check out materials? I mean, if I wanted to read the old Gazette issues that Andrew Lindeman published, do I have to do that here or can I take them home?‖ He cast a furtive glance about the room before moving behind another counter. ―Normally we don‘t allow documents out of the museum, but I think I can make an exception.‖ ―I don‘t want to get you in trouble or anything.‖ He chuckled as he handed over two sets of thick binders. ―No trouble—technically, I own the place. And my gut tells me I can trust you, so you get them back to me by tomorrow and the committee will never know.‖ **** Through the window of the museum, Andrew watched the feisty redhead talking to John. Her beauty enhanced each time he saw her. And oh, had he enjoyed conversing with her for those few brief moments. The flash of wit, the exchange of emotions he‘d never thought to experience again—even if they were on the wrong end of the spectrum. Disbelief, fear, sarcasm and annoyance.

Instead of waiting for her to exit and upsetting her further, he stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled down the street. Without bothering to alter his course, he passed through moving and parked vehicles alike, a lamppost, and two spandex clad mountain bikers. Immediately after his murder, when navigating the areas of town he had access to, he‘d dodged everything as if he were still alive. Horses, carriages, pedestrians. Just the thought of passing through a live body unnerved him. But he had soon discovered it mattered not. Whether the object was living or inanimate, he felt nothing. From himself or the object. Besides which, once the horse-less carriages were invented, moving fast enough would‘ve been impossible. As time progressed, so did his apathy, and he decided it was not worth the energy to even think about avoidance. Passing though the sidewalk bench in front of the Lindy Gazette now, he focused his energy and leaned against the back of the bench, facing the building. Through the window, Andrew watched the new editor in chief, hard at work at his desk. A young man who eerily embodied what Andrew remembered of his mirror image back in 1860. He‘d left Lindeman‘s Crossing for college almost ten years ago, but since first spotting him back in town, Andrew had been drawn to the guy. Not only because they were similar in appearance, but from what he could gleam from glimpsed editorials in the newspapers left lying here and there around town, Drew Nelson was a throwback to older times. His views, his upstanding morals, his sense of right and wrong and his willingness to stand by his convictions. He vaguely remembered Drew as a child. The kid had been quiet. Studious. One or two backwoods bonfires in high school, but no real trouble. Andrew didn‘t recall him looking so much like himself when he was younger, but man, that first glimpse a few months ago had sure thrown him. Drew straightened in his chair and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. At the same time he swiveled to face the window, a frown drawing his dark eyebrows together. Andrew tensed when the man rose to his feet and made his way to the window, staring at the bench where he rested. When Drew‘s gaze dropped to the sidewalk, so did Andrew‘s. There on the concrete, sunlight outlined a distinct shadow. His shadow. The startling sight shifted his energy and the outline faded. He jerked his head up to see Drew glance about selfconsciously before rubbing his hands over his face and returning to his desk. Andrew took a figurative deep breath and moved away from the building. That was a first for him. Like Melanie being able to see and hear him. He loved that new development. This strange pull to Drew Nelson, that was another matter he was still working on. For the most part, he was okay with his return. The Gazette had needed a man like him to keep it from fading into obscurity like many things were wont to do in these modern times. Circulation was up, and once more people were reading the newspaper in Lindeman‘s Crossing instead of just those electronic gadgets that had popped up over the past decade. The success of his legacy pleased him. The brief flashes of memories that had begun to plague his periods of rest did not. They drained his energy and alarmed the hell out of him. Because they were not his memories.

Chapter Three A sharp pain tore into her back seconds before she hit the water. Icy cold engulfed her body, robbing her of her breath as she fought for the surface. The river‟s current tried to drag her back under, but she had to find the girl. There! The small red head bobbed just a few feet away. A desperate grab won her a handful of material from the girl‟s skirt. With every last bit of strength she had, she fought the current and pushed the small body toward the outstretched hands on the bank. Safe. Thank God. Now save me. But no help was offered. She went under, struggled back up. They stared at her from the bank of the river. So cold. The water and their eyes. Despair clutched at her insides, freezing the blood in her veins. Her body was numb except for the knife-like pain in her back and chest. She tried to breathe but the frigid water closed over her head, filling her mouth, sending razor-sharp ice slivers into her burning lungs— Melanie shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, gasping for air. Once she realized she wasn‘t actually drowning, she collapsed back against the pillows. What was happening to her? This dream had been even more real than the night before. As real as Andrew Lindeman‘s ghost. She shivered and pressed her shaky palm over her frantic heartbeat. She knew without a doubt she‘d just relived his last moments. He‘d died cold and alone. Tears pricked her eyes. No one should die that way. Why hadn‘t anyone helped him? They‘d all judged without giving him a chance to defend himself and tell them the truth. She stilled, breath caught in her throat. When had she decided he was innocent? The answer flashed with utter clarity. When she‘d pushed little Vanessa to safety. She‘d felt the pure goodness in Andrew‘s relief. In his heart. It was the strangest thing she‘d ever thought in her life, crazier even than admitting she‘d seen him yesterday, but her belief in him remained true. It solidified even more when she considered the man behind the editorials she‘d read last night, printed on the protected yellowed pages of the Lindy Gazette. She‘d never say it out loud, but she suspected she may have fallen a little in love. Which was the craziest thing of all, except it went with everything else in her life right now. It also put a sorrowful ache in her heart. Because Andrew Lindeman was a man she wished she could‘ve gotten to know well beyond his written words. Wait a second. Wished? Didn‘t she have that chance now? She flung the covers back and rushed through her shower and a breakfast of tea and toast. After changing three times before settling on a slim-fitting pair of jean Capri‘s and a dark green v-neck T-shirt that deepened the green of her eyes, she slipped on a pair of sandals and hurried along the path by the river. It‘d started to sprinkle. Gray clouds had moved in to block out the morning sun, and there

was a chill in the air she hadn‘t expected this summer morning. Belatedly she remembered the weather man‘s warning last night of a seventy percent chance of storms in the morning. But after that dream, you couldn‘t pay her to turn back. Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she passed through the cemetery gates and approached the massive red oak tree. ―Andrew?‖ No response. She spun around in a circle, rubbing her arms, searching for anything out of the ordinary. The air remained still. The muted ping of raindrops striking the leaves above her was the only noise to reach her ears. She touched the tombstone. Cool. Did that mean anything? She knelt and held her palm over his name, but nothing happened. Feelings of foolishness began to replace her initial disappointment. She pulled her hand away with an irritated sigh and rose to her feet. An earthy, musky scent teased her senses, making her pause. The air shifted and suddenly Andrew materialized to the left of the granite tombstone. ―Good morning,‖ he said with a slight nod of his head. She took a deep breath and managed a nervous smile. ―Hi.‖ ―I was not sure of your return.‖ ―Yes, well, I wasn‘t entirely sure I wasn‘t going crazy yesterday.‖ ―And today you have determined you are not?‖ ―I haven‘t determined anything of the sort, but...‖ She trailed off, not sure what reason to give as to why she‘d come back today. After another breath, she plunged in. ―I went to the museum yesterday. I saw your picture.‖ His form shifted and a smile graced his lips. ―Ah, I understand. You now have physical evidence to back up your...hallucination. Is that not what you called me?‖ ―Give me a break, I‘ve never experienced something like this before,‖ she defended. ―Neither have I.‖ He paused, then his smile widened. ―May I have the pleasure of your name, Miss...?‖ ―Sparks. Melanie Sparks.‖ She extended her hand to him. His gaze flicked down, then back up as his dark brows lifted sardonically while his hand remained at his side. Instead, he executed a brief bow. ―Pleased to meet you, Miss Sparks.‖ Of course he couldn‘t shake her hand. Melanie lowered her arm as heat flooded her cheeks. The thought of returning a curtsey almost made her laugh, but she managed to keep it in and reply, ―Call me Melanie, please.‖ His head dipped slightly in acknowledgement. Their gazes held for a long moment. His eyes...she could become lost in them and feel as if she‘d never left home. A thousand questions begged to be voiced, yet she had no idea what to say. Finally, she asked, ―Can you leave? The cemetery, I mean?‖ He nodded. ―I am able to move freely within the public areas of town.‖ Thank goodness! She couldn‘t just stand here staring at him. Well, she could, but… ―Would you mind if we walked?‖ ―As you wish.‖ He extended his arm in a polite gesture for her to proceed first. She gave him a quizzical look as she passed. ―You speak so formally…not at all what I‘d expect from a gold mining town in the 1850s.‖ His brows rose again as he fell into step beside her. ―We weren‘t all uneducated mountain men, Melanie.‖

His low voice caressed her name and she had to focus on the conversation instead of asking him to repeat it. ―I‘m sorry, I didn‘t mean it that way. It‘s just that even in history books there are distinct differences in speech from one area of the country to the other. Your accent sounds like someone raised in high society back East.‖ ―Is this a bad thing?‖ ―No, of course not. It just makes me wonder where you‘re from.‖ ―I hail from Boston.‖ ―Boston?‖ She cast him a sideways glance and wanted to keep staring. ―So how‘d you end up out here?‖ ―While visiting friends in Missouri in the spring of 1858, I took part in a lively game of cards where I met a man named Captain Doke. After I relieved him of a large sum of money, he invited me to join his party on their trip west in search of gold in the Rocky Mountains. I suspect the invitation was more for a chance to win back his losses and the funding I could contribute to his expedition than anything else, but I was bored with the endless parties and frivolity of society, so I accepted.‖ She tried to picture him all dressed up in formal attire like men in historical pictures from the mid-1800‘s. Thousand bucks said he‘d have worn the clothes like a real man, not some overdressed dandy. ―I started a journal as we crossed the endless plains,‖ Andrew told her as they followed the winding path along the river. ―Not only did I discover I had a flair for the written word, but I loved creating stories and reporting what was going on within our wagon train to share around the campfire. Once we reached River City—as it was called back then—and I recouped my initial investment with Captain Doke by acquiring a modest sum of gold from the riverbeds, I decided to settle here in the mountains and start my own newspaper.‖ ―The Lindy Gazette.‖ ―Yes.‖ ―History says you struck it rich, but then lost it all.‖ ―Much was exaggerated during those times. Outright lies were spoken to fit specific agendas and from there, most people assumed what suited them to justify their own actions.‖ Was he talking about Jacob Van Buren or the townspeople? Much as she wanted to ask the question out loud, she hesitated continuing with such a dark subject and ruining the comfortable companionship warming her like a cloak. They continued along the path, the silence broken only by the rush of water over the rocks in the riverbed and the now steady drip of raindrops through the leaves overhead. Her hair and clothes grew damp, but she barely noticed as she snuck glances at Andrew from the corner of her eye. She admired the way his still-dry black shirt fit his wide shoulders and chest, the cuffs rolled several times to reveal tanned forearms. Black suspenders held up his black pants—honest to God trousers—though the way the soft looking fabric molded his muscled thighs, she saw no need for the support. ―Is there something wrong with my attire?‖ She jerked her gaze back to his face, embarrassed he‘d caught her staring. ―No. I…ah…I was just…‖ He was a ghost, for heaven‘s sake. What did it really matter if she told him what she thought? ―You look good in black.‖ ―As good as anyone who is dead can look in the color?‖ he asked dryly.

Melanie laughed. ―Exactly.‖ He smiled in return, but it faded fast and his expression darkened. ―Lorena used to say I looked dangerous when I wore black.‖ He did. But more in a God-I-wish-this-man-were-real-so-I-could— Melanie refocused her attention straight ahead, shaken by the incredible attraction she felt for a man she couldn‘t even touch. Up ahead, she saw the restored covered walking bridge that connected the park to the town square and was surprised they‘d already come this far. A tingle started in her fingertips. She lifted her hands with a frown. ―They planned even that little detail.‖ Andrew‘s quiet words distracted her. ―They wanted me to appear the villain.‖ ―Who?‖ she asked. ―Planned what?‖ ―The robbery. I was getting ready to print the latest edition of the Lindy before Lorena and I married. She did not care for the color, but I always wore black when setting type because of the ink. How very convenient I made it for all of them.‖ Melanie‘s tingle became a full-body tremble. They‘d crossed the bridge and now stood on the opposite bank. Andrew stared at the river as the water tumbled and frothed amidst the rocks. She stepped closer as realization dawned. ―This is where it happened, isn‘t it? Where you were shot and the little girl fell into the water.‖ Vanessa. He nodded, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes narrowed. ―I couldn‘t let her die because of their greed.‖ Forgetting for a moment, Melanie stretched her hand to touch him, to lend whatever consolation possible. ―The water was so cold—it‘s amazing how strong you were.‖ Her hand passed through his forearm. Something like an electric shock shot up her arm at the same time he flinched. She pulled back with a startled gasp. Andrew frowned at her. ―How do you know that? About the water?‖ Melanie noticed he rubbed his arm, then his intense scrutiny locked her gaze with his. Before she could tell him she‘d dreamt his ordeal, a deafening clap of thunder erupted overhead. She leaned closer to explain how she‘d felt his desperation to save the little girl, how she‘d fought the excruciating pain in her dream just like he had so long ago, but the sky overhead opened wide. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled as the clouds let loose a deluge she could barely see through. Her clothes were soaked in an instant. She squinted at Andrew, then stared in wide-eyed wonder at the sight of his hair dripping water into his eyes, his wet shirt plastered to his chest. He lifted his hands, palms up to the sky as he threw his head back. Rain beat upon his upturned face and ran in rivulets down his corded neck. She couldn‘t tear her eyes away from the sight of him as he turned in a slow circle. When he faced her again, spiked lashes framed gray eyes full of wonder. A wide smile spread across his face. Her heart leapt at the light shining in his eyes. She would‘ve given anything to throw her arms around him and share in his joy. ―Miss Sparks! Melanie!‖ Melanie spun around to see John jogging toward her through the downpour with a red umbrella. When she glanced back to Andrew, he disappeared; faded away like early morning fog with the sunrise. She stared at the empty space, feeling bereft. Without him, the chill of the rain

settled into her bones. John held the umbrella over her head and pulled her shivering form toward the town square. ―Are you okay? You shouldn‘t be out in this storm.‖ ―I‘m fine,‖ she assured him, pushing her dripping hair back from her face. ―But look at you, you‘ve gone and gotten yourself all wet.‖ Under the awning of a coffee shop, he shook the excess moisture from his umbrella before closing it with a click. ―A little water won‘t hurt me, but you‘re soaked to the skin. A couple more minutes and you‘d have been swimming out there. What were you doing?‖ Falling for a ghost. Boy, did she know how to pick ‗em. She fought a smile and shrugged. ―Just out for a walk.‖ ―Well, seeing as you can‘t really go back out in this, let me buy you a coffee. Or one of those fancy latte drinks you young people seem to enjoy so much.‖ After a final glance toward where she‘d last seen Andrew, Melanie hesitated when John opened the door to the shop. ―That‘s not necessary. I should probably get home.‖ ―Nonsense. The storm will pass shortly. Please don‘t deny me the chance to talk about history with a fellow devotee. I have many stories to tell.‖ Melanie grinned at his shameless tactic and stepped inside. ―You don‘t play fair.‖ ―At my age, I can‘t afford to.‖ She laughed and requested a mocha cappuccino. While he went to the counter to put their order in, she sat at a corner table, staring out at the storm and wondering what had happened to Andrew. The rain seemed to surprise him as much as it had her. It had been raining the entire time they‘d walked together, yet he hadn‘t been wet before the deluge. Something told her it wasn‘t the sudden downpour that made the difference. ―Here you go.‖ John set a tall, oversized mug in front of her and then handed over a large, fluffy blue bath towel. She accepted it with a puzzled smile. ―My daughter and her husband own the shop,‖ he explained, taking his seat opposite. ―They live in the back.‖ ―Well, thank you—and them.‖ She dried off the best she could, enjoying the warmth of the shop while John took a sip from his steaming mug. He glanced outside, then said, ―What you said the other day got me to thinking.‖ ―About...?‖ ―Jacob Van Bueren. You thought he might have been in on the plan.‖ Because of Andrew‘s „he was in on it‟ statement. She lifted her shoulders and eyebrows. ―Anything‘s possible, right?‖ ―The only thing I can‘t figure is why would the bank‘s owner rob himself?‖ ―It happened at the height of the gold rush. Maybe the lure of all that gold was too much for Van Buren to resist,‖ she speculated as she toweled her still dripping hair. ―I mean, why wait for the interest to compound when a fortune is sitting right there in front of you.‖ John pursed his lips. ―So you think they were all in on it?‖ ―Historically, it wasn‘t uncommon for former outlaws to become small town sheriffs, so that‘s not such a stretch.‖ ―He never did return,‖ John agreed. ―Now Lorena, I‘m not too sure about her. Maybe she was a pawn for her father and the sheriff.‖ Or maybe she‘d betrayed Andrew like everyone else. He hadn‘t excluded her from his

bitterness. ―And Andrew, being newer to the town, was the perfect fall guy,‖ John finished. ―Exactly.‖ Melanie wrapped her hands round the warm mug of cappuccino and peered through the storm toward the river. ―Dark and dangerous looking, and successful enough that I bet a lot of people envied him. They would‘ve had no problem believing the worst without even questioning what really happened. Especially when Jacob Van Bueren told his story.‖ ―Valid points, all of them.‖ John grinned. ―Seeing as how I enjoy research almost as much as I love history, I do believe I‘ll have to look into this further. See if I can discover what Van Buren did when he left back in 1860. I‘d love to figure out the truth once and for all.‖ As would she. Only she‘d go directly to the source. **** Everything was changing. Had been for the past couple months, he finally acknowledged as he stood where it had all began. On the bridge, in the rain, soaking wet. As it had been on that fateful day when he‘d been shot, the water was cold, saturating his shirt, running down his neck, chasing a chill down his spine before drenching his trousers. Not that he cared, because damn, amazing didn‘t even begin to describe the feeling as he had stood there with the most beautiful woman he‘d ever known. He couldn‘t believe he‘d felt Melanie‘s touch. Actually felt the jolt as her hand passed through his arm. It hurt like hell and was the most wonderful thing he had experienced over the past one hundred and whatever years. See? Even that had changed. He couldn‘t remember exactly how long he‘d been dead anymore. Things were muddled in his mind, mixed with increasing memories of a more modern time. Familiar, non-threatening memories. He wasn‘t sure what events he‘d observed over the years as a ghost and what experiences were snippets of a life he couldn‘t have lived yet still felt as much a part of him as his soul. About the only thing crystal clear was Melanie. **** The white legal pad landed next to the keyboard with a plop. The number two pencil bounced twice before rolling to the edge, diagonal to the paper‘s straight edge. Drew Nelson reclined in his chair and ran his hands through his short hair before resting his head back against his interlaced fingers. Writing longhand was old school, but something about the soft rasp of lead across paper spoke to him on a visceral level. Made him feel like he‘d been destined to be a part of this business. With his most recent editorial now ready to be typed into the computer for the Friday edition, satisfaction offered a brief respite to the tension knotting his shoulders. Returning to Lindeman‘s Crossing had definitely felt like coming home, but not long after arriving in town, he‘d started to feel a bit unsettled. As if he had something to prove but no idea exactly what. More recently, he‘d experienced flash-photo visions of weird things. Gold in the river. Ink stained hands. Deceitful smile of a dark-haired beauty. His dreams had become stranger than usual, not to mention the times he suspected someone was watching him. Not in a malevolent way, but just a sense that there was a nearby presence interested in him. He ever saw anyone, yet

when walking along the street to get a cup of coffee, he‘d feel the hair on the back of his neck prickle. And then there was that episode outside the office. He‘d swear on his mother‘s grave he saw a shadow of a man on the sidewalk even when no one was around and the position of the sun made the notion impossible. One blink and it‘d been gone. Despite trying to convince himself his imagination had been working overtime, he couldn‘t forget that image. Even now, he found himself glancing toward the window. No sun today. Instead, thunder rumbled overhead, heralding the arrival of the weather man‘s predicted storms. With a sigh, he sat forward in his chair and brought his arms down from behind his head. A reach for the pencil was arrested by a shot of pain through the muscles in his left forearm. The sting subsided, leaving a tingle radiating through his entire arm. ―Damn,‖ he muttered, wondering if he‘d pinched a nerve somehow. A boom of thunder rattled the window panes behind him and he spun in his seat as see his assistant editor burst in from the sidewalk. ―Oh my God, I just made it,‖ Lisa exclaimed in a breathless rush. A few droplets of water scattered into the air as she shook her long blond hair away from her face. Rain pelted the pavement outside and drummed on the hoods of the parked cars until the closing door muted the sounds. Rubbing at the remaining discomfort in his arm with a grimace, Drew transferred his gaze from the torrent of rain outside to the two cups of coffee in Lisa‘s hands. Already the mouth-watering aroma had reached his nose. ―What are you doing here?‖ ―Jake took the kids to a baseball game in Denver, so I‘ve got most of the day to myself.‖ ―And you came to work? You feeling okay?‖ ―I‘m only staying for a minute.‖ She set one of the to-go cups on his desk. Her gaze dropped to his hand. ―What‘s the matter with your arm?‖ Out of nowhere, the image of a beautiful smile and wide green eyes blindsided him. He blinked, clenched his jaw, and gave his head a tight shake. ―Drew?‖ ―Huh? Oh, nothing.‖ He reached for the coffee and toasted her with a forced smile, doing his best not to crumple the cup between his fingers. ―Thanks. I‘ll get the java tomorrow.‖ ―Tall white chocolate mocha, please.‖ He laughed and took a drink of his black brew in hopes of regaining his equilibrium. ―Listen, I stopped by to get your opinion on something. Olivia gave me these pictures at church this morning and asked if we‘d do a piece about the cemetery walking tour the historical society does each month.‖ She tossed a few eight by ten black and white photos on his desk and Drew pulled them closer. He spotted his dad right away, and Mr. Edwards next to Olivia‘s husband George as they stood beneath the massive red oak tree that shaded the grounds. Experience told him they were at the end of the tour, near Andrew Lindeman‘s gravesite. An unexpected shiver shimmied along his spine. He experienced a flash of a woman‘s face frozen in a scream. He was under water. At a funeral. Then Lisa‘s voice. ―Everyone on the tour enjoyed the history. Apparently it sparked a lively discussion on the bus ride back to the senior center and she thinks an in-depth town history article would be great for the paper. I think it‘d be fun to do some research, so are you okay if I run with this?‖

This had to stop. It was freaking the hell out of him. He flipped the top picture over and immediately his heart slammed into his ribs. Pulling the second photo closer, he stared at the image of a young woman kneeling in front of the black granite tombstone. Her fingers seemed to caress the stone, the old one sunk into the earth, almost as if tracing the letters of the dead man‘s name. Melanie. Chest tight, barely able to breathe, he felt his pulse thrum through his veins. ―Drew?‖ Lisa‘s finger snap in front of his face jerked his attention from the picture before him. He sat up straighter. ―Sorry, what?‖ ―Do you care if I write the piece?‖ Swallowing hard, he tried for a nonchalant shrug. ―Sure, go ahead.‖ ―Awesome. I‘m going to stop by the museum on my way home so I can get started.‖ When she reached for the photos, he clutched his coffee in one hand and fisted his other on his thigh to keep from snatching them back. After she snagged an umbrella from the door and left as quickly as she‘d arrived, Drew stared out the window in dumbfounded silence. He had no clue where the name came from, it had simply appeared in his mind. But he‘d never met the woman. Never even seen her before. How could he know her name?

Chapter Four Melanie drove to work on Monday wishing she had some of that gold from back in 1859. After the dream she had last night, she wanted nothing more than to drive straight to the cemetery to see Andrew. If she weren‘t only one month into her new job, she‘d call in sick and do just that. But life went on and Andrew was a ghost. Unless he‘d buried his gold instead of banking it, he couldn‘t help her pay the mortgage on the little cottage. In the middle of arguing her current case in front of the Colorado District Court, an idea struck her. She would tell Andrew‘s side of the story. They‘d write a book and she‘d publish it. Between herself, Andrew and John, they‘d document the complete, accurate facts and then the whole world would know the truth of what really happened in Lindeman‘s Crossing. ―Ms. Sparks? Do you wish to redirect?‖ Melanie cast a discreet glance at her associate and caught the quick shake of his head. She cleared her throat and looked at the judge. ―No, thank you, Your Honor.‖ ―Then you may call your next witness.‖ She straightened in her seat and focused on her job, not allowing her mind to return to Andrew until the drive home. Court ran long and traffic was awful. By the time she reached Lindeman‘s Crossing she was so anxious to speak with him she didn‘t even bother to stop at home and change out of her espresso-colored suit and black heels. Upon entering the cemetery, Melanie saw she wasn‘t alone. Near a gravesite not far from Andrew‘s, a man and three children sat on a bench. Melanie heard the youngest child talking, but couldn‘t make out the little boy‘s words. His tone, however, told her they shared happy memories, not sad. She lifted her hand and smiled as she passed. Today she didn‘t hesitate to reach out to the tombstone resting in the shade of the oak tree. Warmth greeted her touch. Melanie straightened. He was here; she knew it. Not only from the stone; his presence tingled in every cell of her being. She turned around to find him leaning against a neighboring stone, arms folded casually over his chest. A hint of a smile played about his lips. ―Summoning me, Melanie?‖ Heat flooded her cheeks, but she smiled in return. ―It‘s warm.‖ He straightened, staring at the stone with a perplexed frown. ―It shouldn‘t be. It‘s always shaded.‖ ―It‘s you.‖ She watched him stride to the tombstone. When his hand rested on it, she asked, ―Do you feel it?‖ ―I haven‘t felt anything until yesterday in the rain.‖ ―And now?‖ ―It‘s warm,‖ he confirmed. His piercing gaze rose to hers and held. He moved closer. ―It‘s you. Nothing‘s been the same since the day you came.‖ ―Is this a good thing?‖ She meant to tease, but her voice betrayed her with its seriousness. ―A very good thing,‖ he replied, just as serious. ―I wouldn‘t dare to complain, however, I am curious as to why.‖ She looked at the bench to see one of the children watching her and lowered her voice. ―I

don‘t know about the tombstone being warm, but as for the rest, I think there may be a reason.‖ ―One you will share, I trust?‖ ―Of course, but first, follow me.‖ She started toward the opposite side of the large oak. ―I don‘t want that family over there thinking I‘m a lunatic talking to myself.‖ ―You make a beautiful lunatic.‖ She laughed softly even as her heart thudded. Looking back over her shoulder, she teased, ―Flattery won‘t get you anywhere, Mr. Lindeman. Especially you.‖ His smile lit up those amazing gray eyes of his. ―You wound me. I never say anything I don‘t mean, Melanie.‖ She exaggerated her wounded gasp. ―You think I‘m a lunatic?‖ ―You are the one talking to a ghost.‖ ―You‘re impossible.‖ ―You‘re beautiful.‖ ―Thank you.‖ She acquiesced with a slight nod, smiling as she kicked off her heels and sat in the grass with her legs curled beneath her. He lowered himself beside her. ―What happened yesterday? When their eyes met, it took a second for her to register the switch from what had felt like flirting to his intense question. ―How did you know how cold the water was—what it took to push the girl to safety?‖ Vanessa. She took a deep breath and held his gaze. ―I dreamt the entire thing. I‘d even go so far as to say I lived it, it was that real. And it was awful. I‘m so sorry, Andrew. You didn‘t deserve what they did to you.‖ His jaw clenched. He looked…scared. ―How do you know that?‖ With one palm flattened over her heart, she said, ―I feel it right here.‖ She started to reach out to him, but he jerked away, his expression wary. ―And what about Van Buren‘s ‗unarguable testimony‘?‖ Melanie swallowed her hurt, knowing he‘d been too wounded by condemnation to trust that someone could believe in him on faith alone. ―I heard what you said the other day when John told the story.‖ His eyes flickered with the memory, then his gaze shifted across the small field separating them from a forest of Aspens. ―And you take my word over his? He was a business owner, an upstanding, well-respected pillar of the community.‖ For all the hurt and anger in his voice, she heard an underlying ring of hope. ―I had another dream last night.‖ Her soft statement drew his gaze to hers again. ―Tell me what happened that day,‖ she requested. ―I want to hear it in your words.‖ ―Why? Why do you even care?‖ ―You‘ve existed in the shadow of lies long enough. After all these years, isn‘t it time someone knew the truth?‖

Chapter Five Andrew blinked before sliding his gaze away. ―What are you afraid of?‖ she asked. ―I was a damn fool.‖ He shot to his feet and raked both hands through his hair as he paced before her. ―Did you love her?‖ He appeared surprised by the question, making Melanie dread his answer even more. Finally, he lifted a shoulder and said, ―Back then, I would‘ve said yes without hesitating. Now, I can honestly say I loved the idea of Lorena more than anything else. She possessed the refinement of the women back home, yet she had a wild streak that I found so exciting. I thought I‘d found the woman of my dreams…until that day at the bank.‖ ―She was very beautiful,‖ Melanie murmured. ―Yes,‖ he agreed without emotion. ―And cunning. She rode into town with her father that morning and we‘d arranged to meet at the bank so I could take her to lunch. When I stepped into Jacob‘s office, Tucker grabbed Lorena and held her at gunpoint as Jacob emptied the safe. When he was done, Tucker shoved the bags at me, told me to ride the hell out of town and meet him at Rockledge Pass where he‘d exchange Lorena for the money. She looked so frightened, pleading with her eyes for me to save her.‖ ―She was a good actress.‖ Andrew continued as if he hadn‘t heard her. ―Jacob must‘ve had second thoughts. Or he was making it real, I don‘t know, but he drew his gun on Tucker.‖ ―And you seized your opportunity.‖ ―Yes, I—‖ Andrew spun around to stare at her, his gray eyes stormy with confusion. ―I…what? What did I do, Melanie?‖ ―You hit him. Hard. Knocked him on his ass. The gun went off, Lorena screamed. You were terrified she‘d been shot, but had to make sure Tucker was down.‖ ―How…?‖ ―When you knocked Tucker out, Lorena grabbed the money and ran. Shocked and betrayed, you went after her. You‘d almost caught her when the little girl fell into the river. As you kicked free of the stirrups, the bullet hit you, piercing your right lung. You used the last of your strength to save her, but no one saved you. Not one single person would reach out to help you.‖ A deep breath restored her depleted oxygen after the torrent of words. Andrew sank onto his knees in front of her, anguish in his eyes. ―You dreamt all that?‖ She swallowed hard and wiped the tears she just now realized streaked down her cheeks. ―I lived every moment. I felt your anger. Your desperation. Your pain.‖ Andrew lifted his hand toward her, then hesitated and dropped it back to his thigh. ―I am so sorry, Melanie. I do not understand this connection—why you would be made to experience such a terrible thing. I would never want to cause you pain.‖ One more tear slid down her cheek as she gave a tremulous smile. ―My great-great-greatgrandmother‘s name was Vanessa Brisbane.‖ His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. His nostrils flared as his chest expanded. ―She married in 1870 and moved from Lindeman‘s Crossing to Milwaukee, Wisconsin.‖

―You are Vanessa‘s granddaughter?‖ he breathed in wonder. ―Third generation, yes.‖ He sat back on his heels. ―I watched her grow up—looked forward to every time she came to town with those wild, red curls framing her beautiful little face and those amazing green eyes.‖ His gaze traveled over Melanie‘s face. ―Just like yours. I see the resemblance now. I missed her so much when she left. She was the one bright spot in those first years when my soul was so dark.‖ Melanie ached to touch him, but twice now he‘d shied away from her, so she kept her hands in her lap. ―I think I was meant to feel what you went through to save her, what you sacrificed. And now I also know what I need to do. I‘m going to tell the world what really happened.‖ He looked away, across the field again.―The world isn‘t going to care what happened to me.‖ ―I‘ll make sure they care. John and I already spoke yesterday—he plans to investigate what happened to Jacob, see if he can find any proof of his involvement. Anyone who learns the history of this town will know the truth of what you did.‖ He shifted around to sit with his back against the tree. ―John‘s a good man—distant relative, actually.‖ ―Really?‖ ―Yes.‖ Melanie sensed a change in him. If she had to define it, she‘d say he seemed relieved. She frowned. No, not the right word. Drawing up one leg, he rested his forearm on his knee and brushed the palm of his other hand over the short-cut blades of grass in the foot or so of space between them. ―It tickles.‖ She realized he was talking about the grass. Touching it. Feeling it. ―And it‘s cool,‖ he added. ―I can feel the moisture.‖ Peaceful. That‘s the word. The sensation resonated in his voice, seeped from his aura into hers. He looked up suddenly and all thoughts of peace fled from her mind. She‘d never seen his eyes darker, and when he spoke, his low voice soothed her tender heart. ―It started yesterday when you touched my arm. I was so startled by your words about the river being cold that feeling your touch didn‘t fully register until after you‘d left with John.‖ She smiled slightly. ―It was rather shocking.‖ His gaze held her captive; started her heart on a race without a finish line. ―I want to touch you, Melanie.‖ All she could manage was a nod. The muscles in his throat convulsed. ―I‘m afraid.‖ ―Of what?‖ she asked softly. ―What if everything goes back to the way it was before?‖ Her heart tripped, but she gathered her courage. ―Are you still angry, Andrew?‖ He shook his head slowly. ―I feel at peace for the first time in one hundred and...some years. Time doesn‘t seem to matter anymore.‖ She took a deep breath and said a silent prayer. ―Then I believe, whatever happens, it‘ll be okay.‖ He rose to his feet. When he extended his arm to assist her up, she glanced first at his hand,

then his vulnerable smile. Raising her own hand, she slipped her fingers into his. The warmth of them curled around hers, gripped, and lifted her to her feet as if she were a feather. A tingle worked its way along the length of her arm and spread through her entire body. He raised their hands, fit them palm against palm, then intertwined their fingers. Their heartbeats pulsed together in perfect rhythm, gradually increasing in speed the longer they stared at each other. Melanie realized she held her breath at the moment Andrew spoke. ―Forgive me if I am too forward, but…I would very much like to kiss you right now.‖ She willed her lungs to work, inadvertently inhaling his musky scent. ―I thought you would never ask.‖ His slow, confidence-infused smile took her breath away all over again. His other hand rose to her face and his knuckles brushed lightly against her cheek before he threaded his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck. He lowered his head, gray eyes mesmerizing. The touch of his lips against hers sent a jolt clear to her toes. He kissed her as a gentleman of 1860. She closed her eyes and kissed him back as a modern woman who knew what she wanted and had waited too long for the real thing. Andrew stiffened at her boldness, but when she began to pull back, his arms drew her tight against him. She felt every inch of his length, reveled in the lean hardness of him. Passion flared as he took possession of her mouth without holding anything back. He was more man than she‘d ever dreamed of, and in that moment, she knew without a doubt she‘d fallen in love. His lips gentled, passion giving way for a tenderness that swelled her heart near to bursting. When he lifted his head and gazed down at her with the emotion of her heart shining in his eyes, tears blurred her vision. ―Melanie…I…‖ She blinked rapidly to clear the moisture. She wanted to see his face when he said I love you. Only he still didn‘t come in clear. Lifting a hand, she quickly dashed any lingering tears from her lashes, then stared as her heart plummeted. She could see through him. ―Andrew?‖ Fear and confusion raised her voice an octave higher than normal. His hand lifted to her cheek, but all she felt was a faint brush of air. ―Melanie, it‘s okay.‖ ―No.‖ She shook her head, then repeated more firmly, ―No.‖ He smiled at her, sad and reassuring at the same time. Anger stirred within her. She clenched her fists and glared up at the heavens. ―Not now! You can‘t take him yet! Not now that I‘ve finally—‖ ―Melanie.‖ Andrew‘s gentle voice cut through her anguish. She looked back at him and was relieved to see he‘d stopped fading away. He now stood before her, brighter than ever before. ―From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.‖ And then he was gone. Disbelief warred with cruel reality. Melanie dropped to her knees as fresh tears flowed. I love you. Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. She whirled around, but saw nothing other than the mountains and the trees and the tombstones— The tombstone! With her heart beating frantically, she rushed to his grave and touched the granite. Cool. No,

not just cool—cold. She flattened her palm over his name, willing it to warm beneath her touch. She remembered his dry remark about her summoning him. Yes, damn it, that‘s exactly what she was doing now. ―Andrew? Please.‖ But by the time darkness fell, she had to face the fact that Andrew would not return that night. The stone remained cold and the air had turned chilly as well. She made her way home with a heavy heart and crawled into bed to await the dawn. Something had changed with their kiss. That wonderful, beautiful, soul-melding kiss. But the way he‘d said, “Thank you,”—she feared she‘d never see Andrew‘s ghost again.

Chapter Six

Melanie called in sick to work for the first time in twelve years. One day. She‘d give herself one day to mourn her loss and then she‘d have to move on with her life. The only way she could be so stoic about the situation was to keep reminding herself that Andrew had assured her all was okay. His soul had found peace, as it should. As he deserved. Today, she planned to go to the cemetery for a final goodbye, then find John to talk about her idea of writing the book. She would not go back on her word to Andrew that the world would know the truth about what happened. She already knew the title: If Tombstones Could Talk. No longer would the local historical society debate good and evil in the name of Andrew Lindeman. The walk to the cemetery took forever and yet did not give her enough time to prepare. Hoping against hope, she halted beneath the giant red oak and knelt beside the tombstones. She felt the plain rock first. Cold. But it always had been. It was the other stone, the tall one placed with her family‘s love that had always warmed with his presence. Her hand trembled as she reached forward. She traced the A in Andrew, then flattened her palm over his name. Nothing happened. Head hung low, she kept her hand there and said a prayer for his soul. She‘d expected tears, even brought tissues, but her eyes remained dry. Her heart hurt, but not as bad as she‘d thought. Knowing he finally rested in peace eased the ache. She wasn‘t sure how long she knelt there, but suddenly the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. ―I hoped you‘d come back.‖ Her heart nearly stopped at the sound of his deep, sexy voice directly behind her. Holding her breath, she rose to her feet and slowly turned around. ―I had to say good—‖ She stared in shock. Her hand reached of its own accord, but she couldn‘t quite bring herself to touch. ―My God,‖ she whispered. ―What…how?‖ He lifted his arm—his flesh and blood arm—and stroked her cheek. His thumb brushed her mouth, parting her lips as he stepped closer. ―I‘m just going with the flow here.‖ His head dipped, and she rose on her tiptoes to meet him halfway. He urged her arms up around his neck, then skimmed his hands down across her back to pull her tight against him. As his seeking tongue parted her lips and caressed hers, he lifted her off her feet in a slow turn. His heat burned her inside and out, her softer curves molding to his hard contours. Yesterday‘s kiss had been amazing; this one was pure heaven. Though she didn‘t want the magic to end, she finally leaned back in his arms and gazed deep into his slate-gray eyes. ―Andrew…before I lose my chance…I mean, if you were to go away again, I want you to know—‖ He silenced her with another kiss. ―You set my soul free. I‘m not going anywhere.‖ ―Much as I pray that‘s true, you don‘t know that for sure. After what happened yesterday—‖

A finger to her lips cut her off again. As he led her to a bench nearby and sat her down, she let her gaze travel over his body and that‘s when she noticed his clothes—a black T-shirt, a very worn pair of faded jeans, and Nikes that‘d seen better days. He‘d never looked better. Strange though, the different clothes— ―Melanie, there‘s something you need to know.‖ His serious statement brought her gaze back to his. Before he could say something that would make her chicken out, she leaned close to rest her palms against his firm chest. As long as she was able to, she‘d never tire of touching him. ―It‘s okay, I know already. I heard you yesterday, and I love you, too.‖ He went still except for the hammering of his heart beneath her fingers. Then that slow, sexy smile of his spread across his face. ―Yeah?‖ She answered with a deep, sensual kiss that should leave no doubt as to her feelings. Still, when she pulled away, she gave him a grin and said, ―Yeah.‖ She reached a hand to run her fingers through his hair, absently marveling at the short, fashionable cut. ―Well, in that case, you‘ll have to get used to calling me Drew.‖ She frowned with a bewildered smile, but before she could ask why, a voice called her name behind them. ―Melanie?‖ They both turned around to see John walking toward them. ―Hi, John,‖ she called back as she waved. She couldn‘t wait to introduce them, and Andrew was right, using his full name would be a little conspicuous—especially with John. Maybe someday, after the book, she‘d be able to tell him who Andrew really was. John‘s gaze shifted to Andrew as he approached, then he turned to Melanie with a wide smile. ―I see you‘ve met my son, Drew.‖ Melanie‘s gaze swung to Andrew‘s. Drew‟s. The clothes...the hair... Oh my God. ―But...it‘s you,‖ she whispered. ―Yes.‖ ―And him?‖ ―You mean me?‖ He smiled. ―Yes.‖ She swept her gaze over Drew, then eyed John with suspicion. ―Did you know about this?‖ His welcoming smile faded to a confused frown. ―About what?‖ Back to Drew. Her heart was completely on board, but her mind was having trouble catching up. Before she could voice the next question on her tongue, he was already mid-shrug. ―I don‘t know how, Melanie. All I know is I remember both lives. Somehow, I‘ve lived both lives.‖ She relaxed a bit after hearing him say what she‘d been trying to grasp. If he said it, that meant she wasn‘t going crazy. His smile wavered, vulnerable and hopeful at the same time as he dipped his chin and lifted his eyebrows. ―Can you handle that?‖ After a quick glance toward an obviously perplexed John, she focused back on Drew and lowered her voice. ―Did I really hear what you said yesterday, or was that just wishful thinking on my part?‖ ―I may have the memories of two souls, but I know you, and yes...I love you, Melanie.‖ The words sounded even better out loud in his emotion-rough voice. Grinning so wide her

cheeks hurt, she slid her hands over his shoulders and linked her fingers behind his head. ―Then I can handle whatever you‘ve got for me, Drew.‖ A grin flashed before he caught her mouth in a hot, heady kiss that sealed their pledge and promised so much more. She pulled him closer, reveling in the warmth of his solid embrace. Just before passion took over, John cleared his throat and dragged them back to reality. ―Would someone please tell me what the heck is going on? I thought you two just met.‖ Melanie felt Drew‘s smile and eased back with a soft laugh. ―Probably better if you explain.‖ ―Think he‘ll believe it?‖ ―Yeah...I think he might.‖ She laid her palm against his cheek, gazing into his shining gray eyes, happier than she‘d ever imagined possible. ―But in the end, it really only matters if we do.‖ ~*~

Copyright 2011 Stacey Joy Netzel

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you‘re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Website and Blog: http://www.StaceyJoyNetzel.com

Cover art: Tamra Westberry

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I fell in love with books at a young age, so for me it seemed only natural to graduate to writing them. I credit my parents for encouraging my dreams of becoming a published author, as well as the very talented friends I've made in Romance Writers of America and Wisconsin Romance Writers (WisRWA). An avid reader and fan of movies with happy endings, I still live in Wisconsin with my husband and three children, a couple horses and some barn cats. In my limited free time I enjoy gardening and canning, and visiting my parents and family up north at our cabin on the lake. ~~~ Find me online: Website and Blog: http://www.StaceyJoyNetzel.com Facebook: Facebook.com/StaceyJoyNetzel Twitter: http://twitter.com/StaceyJoyNetzel Hearing from readers is a very special thing for any writer, so feel free to contact me at any of the above locations.

Other titles by Stacey Joy Netzel Lost In Italy ~ full-length romantic suspense novel ―…starts off right away, and every page that follows is packed full of excitement that will keep you on the edge of your seat.‖ Danielle The Book Whore Blog ~ 5 Hearts—Could not put down amazing ~ The best laid plans… Halli Sanders spent two years planning the trip of a lifetime to Italy. Her itinerary did not include being stranded by her siblings, kidnapped by a sexy American movie star, dodging bullets, or fleeing criminals in a car chase around Lake Como. And that‘s just in the first three hours. …often go awry. Trent Tomlin put his movie career on hold to investigate his brother‘s murder-ruled-suicide at his Italian villa. He‘s closing in on the suspects when an American tourist unwittingly films the murder of the retired cop helping him. The killers will stop at nothing to get the evidence— including holding Halli‘s family as collateral. Life‟s a little different unscripted. Thrust into the role of real-life hero, Trent finds himself falling for the Plain Jane whose beauty blossoms with every challenge they face. But how can he keep the evidence from the murderers to get justice for his brother and friend without betraying Halli and her family? ~*~ Excerpt: No, you‟re not lost. The adamant statement helped to steady her breathing. That‘s right. Ben and Rachel would be back any moment. She had nothing to worry about as long as she didn‘t leave this spot. The man across the street gave her a more thorough inspection and a chill trickled down her spine. Halli averted her gaze and hugged her arms around her middle. Her heart rate continued it‘s steady acceleration. Oh, she was going to kill them when they got back. They‘d pulled pranks in the past, but this one was cruel—especially her first time travelling overseas. Why would they do this now? Ben may live life with the motto ―Rip the Band-Aid off‖, but not Halli. It had to be a joke, right? It was either that, or they didn‘t know she wasn‘t in the car. But how could anyone miss something

like that? If Ben‘s phone wasn‘t the only one equipped to make international calls, she‘d call and give them a loud, extended piece of her mind. Stop! You‘re going to be fine. There are plenty of people around and no one‘s going to do anything in broad daylight. She clutched the small travel purse hanging diagonal across her chest containing her passport. See? If you need help, you can prove you‘re a US citizen. Not that she‘d need to prove her citizenship. Any minute the blue car would come back around the bend. Any second even. She stared down the road, counting seconds. Seconds became minutes. Maybe they didn‟t know she‘d been left behind. What then? How long before they came back? Desperate to control the unrelenting apprehension no amount of silent talk would quell, Halli turned back to the lake as if she‘d find answers somewhere across the water. A lone swan near shore reminded her of the camera still clutched in her hand. The red light on the front reminded her she was still recording. Ironically, the camera was part of the reason she was sitting here alone, and yet she‘d completely forgotten about it. She stopped the video and swiveled to take a seat on the cool ledge of stone that held the lake water at bay. It was the perfect vantage point to keep the loitering man across the street in sight. A glance over her shoulder located where the other swans had landed a good distance from the villa‘s dock. She frowned and faced the lake. Strange how that person had burst so suddenly from the villa. The noon sun sat at a point that she had to squint and shade her eyes to see the structure‘s stone walls across the small inlet of water. Even then, it was too far away for the naked eye. Flipping open the viewfinder as she lifted the camera, she waited for it to focus, then tried to zoom. The low battery indicator flashed as she maxed the zoom. She studied the picture. Something was different—one of the windows looked odd. Her attention snagged on a tall figure in the corner of the pane. Longish dark hair above a square jaw with a severe slash for a mouth. He raised a pair of binoculars to look across the bay. Her pulse jerked when he zeroed in and stared straight at her— Tires squealed and an engine revved loud to her right. Halli jumped about a foot. Ben and Rachel! An uncharacteristic spurt of anger doubled her anxiety as she whirled around. ―I can‘t believe you guys left—‖ Words disappeared with the heart-stuttering realization that the shiny blue convertible half pulled onto the cobblestone sidewalk was not her brother and sister. And the man in the driver‘s seat most certainly was not her brother. Plain was the first word that came to mind when Trent Tomlin got a good, close-up look at the girl dressed in baggy black pants and an oversized black T-shirt. Except for her eyes. Almost the exact color of his car, they blazed with anger—if the shrill tone of her voice were any indication. Because he couldn‘t afford to waste a second, he slipped into his carefree, celebrity character while pushing up his Ray Bans to flash his trade-mark, million dollar grin past the two day‘s worth of camouflaging scruff on his jaw. ―Hi.‖ Usually that‘s all he needed. One…two… Astonishment replaced anger. …three.

―Oh my God. You‘re Shain West.‖ ―Only in the movies, darlin‘.‖ That always got ‗em, too, the good-ol‘-boy, southern drawl. Didn‘t matter he‘d been born and raised in northern Oregon, he had a natural talent for mimicking any accent. After just a few words, he easily placed her in mid-west United States. American tourist. Perfect. It also explained why she‘d been video taping in the wrong place at the wrong damn time. The opposite of his brother, and if he could help it, the opposite outcome. Her cheeks flushed. ―Of course. I know your real name. Sorry. It‘s just— I‘m…ah…I‘m…‖ Hell, he‘d better speed this up. ―Can I give you a lift?‖ ―W-what?‖ She craned her head around, as if he might be speaking to someone else. Resisting the urge to check over his shoulder, he kept his gaze trained on her. ―You look lost. Hop in and I‘ll give you a ride.‖ Her throat convulsed, and though he wouldn‘t have thought it possible, her blush deepened to crimson. A fleeting smile revealed even, white teeth. ―Oh, no. I mean, um, thank you, but no.‖ She lifted a hand to tuck a strand of straight brown hair behind her ear as she searched back and forth along the road. Trent cast his own quick glance in the rearview mirror, pressure squeezing his body like a starving boa constrictor as he searched for the men who‘d spotted her and her camera across the bay. By his amateur calculations, he figured he had about three more minutes. If they were lucky. Pushing up to sit on the headrest, he prepared to turn on the superstar charm that had brought him such success at the box office. ―I‘m waiting for my brother and sister,‖ she said before he could speak. So that‘s who‘d driven off as he watched the scene unfold from one street above and behind her. He lifted a tense shoulder in a careless gesture. ―Quick spin around town, and I‘ll bring you right back. They‘ll never know you were gone, sugar.‖ Her eyebrows drew together above those deep blue eyes. Damn. He fought his own frown. Based on previous experience with star-struck women, she should‘ve jumped in at the first invitation. Wasn‘t it just his luck, this one had common sense. Leaving the car running, he swung his legs over the door and rounded the front of the convertible. His heart thumped with each step as he tried to figure out the best way to get her out of this mess. It was one thing when he was following a script, but how the hell did one orchestrate a rescue in real life when the rescuee wouldn‘t cooperate and he had no time to explain the danger? It‘s not like he could play her the recording tucked in his pocket. The girl backed away from his approach. He fought back rising apprehension and forced an easy smile. ―Look, I appreciate the offer, Shain, but—‖ ―Trent.‖ ―Right.‖ Her blush deepened. ―I know. Trent. But I—‖ ―I need you to get in the car.‖ As an afterthought, he added, ―Please.‖ ―Um…‖ He used her glance down the road as cover for his own. Still time, yet his control slipped. ―Seriously. Get in.‖

The sharp command widened her eyes. Suspicion darkened them to navy, and she took another step backward. Then her shoulders squared while her gaze narrowed with determination. ―No.‖ The right taillight on his Alfa Romeo exploded. Trent ducked reflexively as bits of plastic flew in all directions. Adrenaline spiked through him, but other than a sharp reactive jerk, the girl just stood there holding her camera. Trent lunged forward, grabbed her arm and hauled her toward the car. ―Hey—let me go!‖ She pulled back with surprising strength. He picked her up and shoved her head first into the passenger seat, then vaulted over her to slip behind the wheel. Heartbeat thundering in his ears, he gunned the gas with a sickening grinding of gears before the convertible shot out into traffic amidst screeching tires and blaring horns. ~*~

Ditched Again ~ A high school reunion story Summer Clark: Yes, I‘m excited for my ten year class reunion—I flew all the way from Florida to Wisconsin so I could rub my success in Josh Nelson‘s face. I know it sounds vindictive, but the jerk ditched me at the Snowball dance, left me to find my own ride home, and never apologized. He‘s got it coming…if I can get a tow truck to come out in this freak May snowstorm and pull my rental car out of the ditch. Josh Nelson: No, I‘m not looking forward to the reunion. Just hearing the name Summer Clark brings back memories of a night I buried long ago and never talked about again. Seeing her means skirting the truth while trying to deliver a way-too-late apology. No, with this storm, I think I‘ll head home…as soon as I help this car sunk in the ditch. Clearly, there are two sides to every story. ***5 Stars Reviewer TOP PICK Night Owl Reviews. ―I absolutely loved this story. Ms. Netzel‘s characters showed deep emotions throughout this story and you just can‘t help but become fully engrossed in the storyline. I loved how she wrote the story from both Summer and Josh‘s point of view which made it fresh and unique. This is definitely one that you should add to your buying list!‖

Welcome to Redemption Series... (with Donna Marie Rogers) ~~~

...a small town in Northeast Wisconsin where second chances don‘t always come easy, but if you‘re willing to try, anything is possible.

Book 1: A Fair Of The Heart, by Donna Marie Rogers Single mother, and work-at-home beautician, Lauren Frazier can barely keep a roof over her head, let alone stop it from falling down around her. When handyman Caleb Hunter shows up at her door for a haircut, it‘s like the answer to her prayers—and the attraction is instantaneous. Too bad her troublesome ten-year-old son isn‘t quite as thrilled to have Caleb hanging around. Old wounds have kept Caleb from returning to Redemption permanently. When he receives word of his mother‘s unexpected death, guilt and regret bring him home again, but will the love of a good woman keep him there? Beautiful, witty, and strong, Lauren excites Caleb like no woman ever has, but she‘s a package deal, and he‘s not sure he‘s prepared to take on a readymade family.

Book 2: A Fair To Remember, by Stacey Joy Netzel Reformed gang member Wes Carter feels Redemption, Wisconsin, is just the place to relocate his financial business for reasons more than just the name. He‘s ready for a nice, quiet life in small town USA. Tara Russell has decided it‘s time to add some excitement to her life and get a little wild—no matter how uncomfortable it makes her or her overprotective family. They meet at the local fair one warm summer night and discover opposites attract for all the right reasons. Add a dash of Sugar in the form of an incorrigible Great Dane, and it‘s destined to be A Fair To Remember.

Book 3: The Perfect Blend, by Donna Marie Rogers Carrie Lowell swears off men for good after nearly losing her business in a bitter divorce settlement to her abusive ex-husband. She‘s on the verge of filing bankruptcy when handsome librarian Matt Jacobs walks into her shop and offers sound—if unwanted—business advice. Sure, financially he‘s a godsend, but emotionally he‘s a threat to the barricade she‘s built around her heart. Heir to a vast fortune, Jacob Spalding flees LA for the tiny Midwest town of Redemption, Wisconsin to escape the scandalous nightmare his life has become. Now known as Matt Jacobs, he buys a little cottage and settles in to small town life. Soon, he finds himself infatuated with the owner of the coffee shop across the street. Too bad the infuriating woman is as contrary as she is beautiful.

Book 4: Grounds For Change, by Stacey Joy Netzel Charlie Russell lived with a secret for fourteen years, but now guilt has pushed him to the breaking point. He meets psychologist Dana McClain and feels an instant connection that has

nothing to do with his Great Dane, Sugar, spilling coffee down her shirt. Dana switched to counseling animals because she has a history of becoming too emotionally involved with her clients. She figures she‘s safe helping Charlie with Sugar‘s issues, until he reveals his secret and asks for her help. She tries to convince herself it's all about the dog, not the guy, but history has a way of repeating itself.

Book 5: Home Is Where the Heart Is, by Donna Marie Rogers Used to the finer things in life, heiress Melinda Spalding is thrown for a loop when her brother relocates to the Midwest. Her parents even expand their business to the small town and put her in charge of the project. Discovering she likes ―Mayberry‖ and its quirky inhabitants is almost as shocking as her growing attraction to the local auto mechanic. But LA is where she belongs…or is home truly where the heart is? Drew Porter learned at his mother‘s knee how treacherous women can be—and when snooty "Lindy" Spalding skids into his life and nearly hits his dog, she seems worse than most. An unlikely bond between their pets gives him an intriguing glimpse behind her pretentious exterior. While his heart wonders if there more to her than meets the eye, his head tells him to run as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

Book 6: The Heart of the Matter, by Stacey Joy Netzel All Allie Daniels ever wanted was a family of her own—until her doctor informs her she‘ll never be able to have children. She hides her desolation, refusing to let any man close enough to see her broken heart. Most certainly not the town veterinarian, who‘s cute three-year-old son reminds her of what she‘ll never have. Rick Wilde had a serious crush on Allie back in high school, but life took them in different directions. Now a single parent, he returns to Redemption several years later to raise his son, Lukas. His interest in Allie is renewed, but her shoulder is colder than the bitter winter wind. Brought together by an orphaned kitten, Allie finds herself helpless to resist Lukas‘s impish innocence—not to mention Rick‘s warm charm and sexy good looks. Does she dare take a chance on an impossible dream, or will Rick‘s desire for more kids devastate their future?

Colorado Trust Series (with excerpts)

Trust in the Lawe (Book 1) Kendra Zelner has three brothers: Eight-year old Noah she's determined to protect, Joel who has no clue she exists, and Robert who wants her dead. With reason to be distrustful of cops, she takes Noah and flees their Manhattan home for Joel‘s ranch in Colorado. Under the pretense of needing a job, she plans to hide out until her twenty-fifth birthday, when she‘ll inherit her trust fund and legally gain custody of Noah away from Robert‘s greedy hands. Unfortunately, her brother‘s sexy, infuriating ranch manager insists on demolishing her defenses and digging into her past. Colton Lawe has good reason to suspect Joel‘s beautiful, long-lost sister isn‘t what she seems—the little liar stole from him! He silently vows to expose her secrets, but long hours together on the ranch fosters a closeness and fiery attraction neither of them expects. Can Kendra trust Colton with the full truth before Robert finds them? EXCERPT: ―I‘d like you to meet Kendra Zelner,‖ Joel said. ―Kendra, this is the JBM Ranch manager, Colton Lawe.‖ Colton extended a hand toward Kendra. Okay. Fine. He‘d play along; see where this was all headed. She bit her lip as she hesitated, and his gaze was drawn to her white teeth against her full bottom lip. It distracted him enough that when she placed her small, cool palm against his, he flinched in surprise. He kept his grip gentle at first, and then tightened it. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared as she drew in a quick breath. ―Nice to meet you,‖ Colton murmured. ―Kendra‘s my sister.‖ Colton released her hand and whipped his head around. Joel didn‘t appear to be joking. ―Didn‘t know you had a sister,‖ he commented. ―Me neither. And technically, she‘s my half sister.‖ Focusing his narrowed gaze on Kendra again, Colton read genuine fear. Of him. That ruled out the practical joke angle real quick. She was right to be worried. Because in a second, he was going to expose her for a lying thief. Joel and Britt were more than his employers, more than his friends even, they were as close to family as it got without blood ties. Colton had applied at JBM Ranch fresh out of high school, feeling guilty as hell and scared to death because someone had to pay the medical bills from his father‘s accident. Joel took him under his wing and taught him everything about running the ranch. A few weeks ago, when the previous manager, Todd, had gotten married and left to work on his wife‘s ranch, Joel turned management over to Colton so he could continue to concentrate on training the horses with Britt.

He couldn‘t let Joel down now; he owed him the truth. But before he could form the words, Joel spoke. ―Kendra, and her brother, Noah, will be staying for awhile.‖ Colton glanced at Joel. ―There‘s a brother, too?‖ Joel smiled. ―Yeah. Cody thinks it‘s hilarious that a kid his age is actually his uncle.‖ Colton‘s gut clenched. Joel appeared to have accepted every word the girl said. Whatever line of bull she‘d fed him, it must‘ve been good, because Joel wasn‘t easily fooled. Worse, he looked genuinely happy about the supposed new additions to his family. With everyone watching, no way could Colton tell him he‘d been played for a fool. He‘d have to wait and talk to Joel in private. But he couldn‘t help commenting, ―Wow, a sister and a brother, all in one day.‖ The apprehension in Kendra‘s eyes increased when his subtle sarcasm registered with her, as he‘d intended. She swallowed hard and seemed to be waiting for him to lower the ax. Oh, how he‘d love to do that—payback for the sidewalk humiliation. Just the thought of it— ―They can stay in the guesthouse,‖ Britt said. Colton and Joel both swung around. ―What?‖ she asked. ―It makes sense—give them some privacy as we all get to know each other. Besides, we don‘t have any clients planning to use it anytime in the near…‖ Her gaze shifted from one to the other. ―What?‖ ―Colton‘s roommate is moving to Toronto. I told Colton yesterday he could use the guesthouse instead of finding someone else or looking for a different apartment,‖ Joel explained. ―I should‘ve talked to you about it first, but I didn‘t think you‘d mind.‖ ―Oh,‖ Britt said. Colton suspected Joel had really offered the house to help Colton‘s strained financial situation. They‘d spoken about it some, but per his request, Britt wasn‘t aware of the extent of his father‘s medical bills. His suspicion was confirmed when Joel cast him a glance before saying, ―Kendra and Noah can just stay here with us. We‘ve got more than enough room.‖ ―No.‖ Colton‘s denial drew everyone‘s attention, including Kendra‘s. The thief still hadn‘t said a word. ―I already found a new place, but after talking to Joel, I didn‘t follow up on it. I‘ll just call the manager and see if it‘s still available.‖ ―Colton—‖ ―It‘s okay, really,‖ Colton insisted, ignoring Joel‘s look of apology. ―I‘ve been debating whether I want to live where I work, anyway. I might get sick of you guys.‖ He smiled to indicate he was joking, and thankfully Joel let it go. No way did he want Kendra staying in the main house with his friends and the kids. He could keep a better eye on her in the guesthouse, especially when he moved in anyway. No one would have to know if he talked to the building manager, and when the time came, he‘d let Ms. Kendra Zelner know exactly what choice she had in the matter. Let her explain to her ‗brother.‘ The doorbell rang, and Britt looked at her watch. She stood up with a frown. ―It‘s ten o‘clock already—that‘ll be the Coopers for their training session.‖ Joel grimaced. ―They‘ll be here for a while.‖ As Joel and Britt conversed, Colton watched Kendra struggle with her composure and saw a glimmer of panic and fear give way for uncertainty in her suddenly expressive face. It was like reading a book. He read wariness in the one glance she cast in his direction, and knew she wondered why he gave up the house for her; why he didn‘t reveal her for the liar he knew her to be.

Well, let her keep wondering. If he kept the little klepto off balance, it might be easier to protect the Morgan‘s while gathering solid evidence to expose her scam. Britt walked toward the foyer. ―Joel, I‘ll stall them while you show Kendra the guesthouse so she and Noah can freshen up.‖ ―I‘ll take her,‖ Colton offered. A flash of dismay in her eyes confirmed she didn‘t like that prospect one bit. ―That would help.‖ Joel turned to Kendra. ―Do you mind?‖ Colton‘s direct gaze dared her to object. After a visible swallow, she shook her head no. ―Thanks.‖ Joel walked by Colton and gave him a clap on the shoulder. ―Don‘t have to tell you how the Coopers are.‖ Pausing at the door, he looked at Kendra. ―We‘ll all have dinner tonight, after you‘re settled, okay?‖ She offered a weak smile of agreement, and then Joel‘s boots echoed across the floor with his departure. The moment they were alone, Colton braced his hands on the table and leaned forward. Her wide gaze met his, full of apprehension. In a moment of distraction, he thought how very pretty her brown eyes were. As she reached for her coffee cup, her tongue appeared and swiped nervously across her lips. A jolt of awareness took him completely by surprise. Colton shoved back from the table. She jumped, then took a drink as if everything were normal. Colton forced any thoughts of pretty or sexy from his mind and managed to sound relatively normal when he asked, ―Ready?‖ She took her time setting the cup down before standing. He pushed his hands into his front pockets when she picked up the two dusty leather duffle bags near the entry between the kitchen and the foyer. He‘d be damned if he‘d offer to carry them, but then found himself holding the back door open. ―You‘ll like it here,‖ he said, hoping to lull her into a false sense of security. She cast him a quick glance as they walked toward a house set back near the trees, halfway between the main house and three barns. ―Colorado is very pretty,‖ she finally replied. He flashed a brief smile. ―I meant the ranch. Joel and Britt are great, and they‘ve got some of the best horses in the state.‖ She nodded, shifting the bags in her arms. A glance at his empty hands told him she was annoyed that he didn‘t offer assistance. Hah. As if he owed her any courtesy at all. ―Where‘re you from?‖ After a distinct hesitation, she supplied, ―New York.‖ ―The city or just the state?‖ he pressed. ―City.‖ ―Hmmm. This is a far cry from New York.‖ A small smile curved her lips. ―You can say that again.‖ ―This is a far cry from—‖ ―I didn‘t mean it literally.‖ Her smile widened. The situation demanded he laugh with her, but he forced his attention off her smile. Once on the porch, he opened the door and stepped inside ahead of her. Then he waited. For the sound of her footsteps. For the thump of her bags hitting the floor. For the click of the door to assure privacy.

―I wanted to—‖ When he turned, she halted mid-sentence. Her apologetic expression gave way to an alarmed squeak when he grasped her upper arms and pushed her up against the wall. The bulk of his body gave her no room to move. ―Who the hell are you?‖ he demanded. Stark fear dilated her pupils until her brown eyes were nearly black. Her breathing grew shallow, and she gulped twice before stuttering, ―Y-you know w-who I am.‖ He tightened his grip on her shoulders, then became aware of how delicate they seemed under his large hands and forced himself to ease up. ―I don‘t believe it. You‘re up to something, and you‘ve got about five seconds to tell me what it is.‖ ―H-honestly, I‘m n-not.‖ Colton scoffed. ―So, it‘s merely coincidence that you robbed me this morning and then show up here claiming to be some long lost relative?‖ ―It‘s nothing more than cruel coincidence—I swear to God.‖ ―Don‘t you dare do that. I don‘t buy one word of it.‖ He leaned closer, ignoring her trembling beneath his hands. ―Who are you? What do you want with Joel?‖ ―He told you, I‘m his sister. Please…all I want is a place to stay until my…until we get back on our feet. We have nowhere else to go.‖ He caught her hesitation, saw a brief flash of panic, and wondered what she‘d been about to say. He searched her expression for any kernel of truth to her words. In the space of a heartbeat, he became aware of the heat of her vibrating body. If he leaned down a few inches, their lips would meet. His pulse thrummed. The urge to do just that was so great it left him shaken as he stared into her eyes. She was an untrustworthy, lying, thieving, scheming con artist. And he‘d never felt an immediate attraction like this in his life. ~*~ ***What reviewers are saying: You Gotta Read Reviews ~ ―Trust in the Lawe was truly one of the best books I have read this year. It's fun, suspenseful, filled with misunderstanding and characters that you will fall in love with. The plot line was tight, very well crafted and every question I may have had throughout the book was answered. I have a great respect for Stacey Joy Netzel and the way she can write a romantic story with sizzle and spice that kept me absolutely addicted. From the moment I started reading, it was as though my real life just floated away and I was drawn into Trust in the Lawe. Honestly, you won't be able to put this book down. If you are not a Stacey Joy Netzel fan yet, just pick up this book and you will find you want to read all of her books. To sum it all up, Outstanding book, not to be missed. I HIGHLY recommend this book.‖ Night Owl Reviews Reviewer Top Pick: ―This book is fantastic on so many levels. Ms. Netzel crafted characters that were easy to fall in love with and were so well-rounded that they felt like friends of mine as I was turning the pages. If you're looking for a read that has intrigue, love and deception all wrapped together in a pretty package, than look no further because Ms. Netzel's story will instantly win you over. This is another keeper I'm adding to my library that's written by a wonderfully talented author who knows what readers want to read.‖ ~ Diana Coyle

Shattered Trust (Book 2) Sweet twenty-seven and never been kissed. Well…no one‘s ever accused Marley Wade of being sweet. Raised in the world of construction by her rough-and-tumble father, Marley knows what it takes to succeed as a general contractor in a man‘s world. The last thing she needs is an employee who makes her feel soft and feminine. New co-owner of Hunter Construction Justin Blake goes undercover on Marley‘s crew to discover the truth behind his grandfather‘s death. But he didn't count on an instant attraction to his boss—or for it to develop into deeper emotions. When a blackmailer threatens to expose the twenty-five-year-old secrets that link his family and Marley‘s, Justin realizes the truth could not only shatter a future with Marley, but his entire family as well. EXCERPT: ―Are you sure your field measure is correct?‖ Her brow creased as she tucked the hair back. ―I double checked the measurements myself.‖ His irritation spiked at her doubt. ―I suggest you triple check them.‖ She drew herself up straight as a board. ―I suggest you go back to what you‘re supposed to be doing and quit doing my job.‖ Her quiet order jolted him. Shit. He‘d forgotten himself. Lips pressed together in a tight seam, he turned and strode across the plywood floor of the house. Over the next ten minutes, Justin did his job, careful to avoid watching her re-measure. Would he have to reveal his identity and fire her? Given the circumstances of the company right now, and the way he‘d been distracted by her presence over the past couple days, not to mention Granddad, it might be for the best. ―You were right.‖ Justin spun around. Loud enough for everyone in the general vicinity to hear it over the noise of the boom truck, Marley‘s husky admission came as a complete surprise. She met his gaze without flinching, even though he read in her eyes how much she hated being wrong. ―The rafters were ordered off previous blueprints, before we adjusted for the extra insulation the owner insisted we put on the outside wall.‖ A rookie mistake, even if it was an honest one. Unfortunately, because of the size of the house, it would now cost Hunter Construction thousands of dollars in new lumber. Marley turned away as the boom began to lower a rafter for a different section of the roof. Justin glanced up the ladder where Nate used a rope to guide it into place, then his gaze returned to her retreating back. ―You realize you‘ll need to reorder the entire set of rafters for that section,‖ he called. She spun around. ―I‘m not a complete idiot. I‘ll have you know—‖ A snap reverberated in the air and Justin saw the boom arm jerk. The ominous sound of the steel cable slipping unrestrained through the iron hook reached his ears as the rafter fell straight toward Marley. He lunged forward. Hooked an arm around her waist and dove to the side. The crack of splintering wood accompanied their bone-jarring impact with the ground. Justin lay dazed for a moment, until Marley‘s soft curves registered beneath him. No blinding pain—and he was still breathing. So was she.

Or at least she tried to. His weight on the landing had knocked the wind out of her. Voices surrounded them and hands grabbed his arms. He shook them off, concentrating on shifting his weight from Marley. She stared up at him with wide eyes as she sucked oxygen into her lungs. ―You okay?‖ His gruff voice barely rose above a whisper. She nodded, but her lashes drifted shut. ―Are you hurt anywhere?‖ Her arms and legs moved. ―I‘m okay.‖ The unsteady words preceded another deep breath. She blinked a few times and looked at the men surrounding them. Dismay flooded her expression. ―I need to get up.‖ A slight tremor shook her body. Knowing she‘d need a moment to compose herself, he cautioned, ―Easy. Take your time.‖ Furious fire sparked in her green eyes. ―Let me up,‖ she demanded. Okay, then, screw composure. He took hold of her hand and elbow and hauled her to her feet. She swayed a bit with his release, and her hand reached to steady herself, making contact with his bare arm. A second later, she snatched it away and stiffened her spine. Nate pushed through the others and grabbed her close. ―Thank God, Mar.‖ ―I‘m fine, Nate.‖ ―You didn‘t see what I saw.‖ He held her at arm‘s length. ―If he‘d been a split second slower…‖ The care and concern in Nate‘s expression amazed Justin. So far he‘d seen the guy give his sister nothing but grief. Chuck clapped Justin on the shoulder. ―You okay, man? I can‘t believe how fast you moved.‖ That drew some of the attention off Marley, but Justin didn‘t want the recognition of what he‘d done. Either one of them could‘ve been killed. Just the thought of it turned his stomach. Memory of another accident threatened to surface, but he forced it away and focused on the present. ―Someone want to tell me what the hell happened?‖ ~*~ ***What reviewers are saying: Miraculous Blog Review ~ ―Stacey Joy Netzel‘s way of composing honest, amiable characters, but not consummating their love for each other until the final pages, keeps my heart, as a reader, skipping beats. The electrifying action is a whole nother story in its entirety. Packed with climactic anticipation, and heartfelt, head-over-heels emotions, Shattered Trust is my kind of story. One that I think too much about, even after finishing, and one I look forward to reading all over again.‖ ~ Stephanie Single Title Reviews ~ 5 Stars ~ ―Book two in the Colorado Series. Shattered Trust has everything a fantastic book should have, romance, suspense, betrayal, and humor in all the right places. I absolutely adored this book, I sat down planning to read a couple of chapters and did not move until I finished, Stacey Joy Netzel continues to work written magic in this new book. A must read.‖ ~ Emily

Shadowed Trust (Book 3) Ad-Man Jordan Blake believed image was everything—until his parents were convicted of murder, the family company went bankrupt, and his excessive drinking and arrest fueled the tabloids. When lawyer David Barnes offers representation in exchange for assistance in reopening his Colorado mountain resort, Jordan has no choice. It‘s help or jail. Hollywood wild child Lexie Sinclair disappeared by changing her name, joining the army, and marrying a soldier. One night, her husband wrapped their car around a tree, killed himself, and left her permanently injured. For the past few years she‘s been content to live in peaceful obscurity as caretaker of David‘s defunct resort. Jordan‘s arrival exposes Lexie‘s true identity and brings her dead husband‘s ‗friends‘ calling. Jordan offers to help, but the shadow of his drinking leaves Lexie reluctant to trust. Can they conquer their fears and find the courage to face the criminals—and the world—together? EXCERPT (end of Chapter 6): ―There‘s a heated pool in the rec hall, if you want to use it, and a hot tub.‖ ―Really?‖ Jordan pictured her slim body slicing through the water and had to work to swallow his food. ―I‘ve been too busy to look around much, I figured it was for reunions or something.‖ ―I can show it to you after dinner, if you‘d like.‖ He‘d definitely like. ―Sure, that‘d be great.‖ After dinner, half-past six, she fit a key into the lock and opened the rec hall door. Jordan stepped through after her, and reached back to shut the door as his gaze swept over a number of dining tables near the large windows that faced the lake. To the left he noticed a kitchen, and to the right, beyond the tables, couches and chairs were arranged around a large screen TV. One wall held three plastic-covered computer stations, a couple phones and a copy machine. Further to the right of all that, in front of a glass wall that revealed workout equipment in the next room, various game tables were set up. ―Wow. This is quite the facility.‖ ―The pool and hot tub are beyond the workout room,‖ Lexie informed him. ―I check the chemical levels every day, so you don‘t have to worry about that.‖ Jordan strode forward to look through the glass. Even from across the exercise room, the glimpse of water on the other side beckoned his sore body. And a soak in the hot tub sounded like pure heaven. He rolled his shoulders, imagined the jets kneading his aching muscles, and bit back a groan. ―Why‘d David stop renting this place out?‖ He hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets as he ambled over toward the computers. A flat screen monitor, printer, digital camera and docking station graced each desk. David Barnes had provided deluxe amenities for the guests that used to fill this place, but now it all sat idle. He realized Lexie had yet to answer his question and turned. She stood by the bank of windows overlooking the lake, her back to him, but he knew she was aware of his scrutiny by the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ―You‘ll have to ask David that,‖ she said. Well, that answered part of his question. It had something to do with her, but her clipped tone conveyed her unwillingness to talk about it. Yeah, he‘d have to ask David, then. He was

suddenly very curious, because though a lot of her life story had been in the paper, the last twelve years remained a mystery. How did someone as well known as she‘d been just disappear? She turned abruptly and limped toward the door. ―I‘ve got work to do up at the house so you can lock up when you‘re done. I‘ll see you at breakfast.‖ He didn‘t want her to leave, but could hardly ask her to stay and talk, no matter how much he‘d enjoyed the last couple hours. Shoving his hands in his pockets and biting his tongue, he turned to face the workout room and the pool beyond when she reached for the door. The water beckoned once more. Lexie‘s sudden gasp spun him back around. She stood with a hand on her chest and the door open. Jordan found himself staring into the piercing blue gaze of the sheriff. ―Lawson, you scared me,‖ Lexie exclaimed. The lawman‘s gaze delivered a steady accusation at Jordan. ―Sorry, Lex. I‘m here on official police business.‖ Chapter 7 Lexie‘s pulse lurched. She glanced back at Jordan, anxiety churning in her stomach from Lawson‘s grave statement. Jordan didn‘t back down from Lawson‘s stare, but his gaze did flick to hers for a split second. Then he stepped forward, lips twisted in a sarcastic sneer. ―Harry called you, didn‘t he?‖ Harry? Lexie thought. Lawson voiced the question out loud. ―Who‘s Harry?‖ Jordan shrugged, hands still in his pockets. ―That guy who owns Oleson‘s. All I did was park on the street and get a couple hours sleep. That against the law?‖ ―You mean Tom Oleson?‖ ―Tom, Dick, Harry…pick one, any one will do,‖ Jordan muttered. ―I‘m not sure what you‘re talking about,‖ Lawson said, ―but no one called me.‖ ―Then what the hell do you want?‖ Lexie shifted her weight from her right leg. It was going to rain again tonight, and the increasing dampness in the air, along with her tension, made the damaged muscles ache like the devil. Her anxiety raised another notch with the realization the two men were now squared off, her in between. Jordan had pulled his hands from his pockets to clench his fists at his sides. Lawson cast Lexie a glance. ―I think it may be best if we all sit down and talk.‖ His right hand rested on his hip, near his gun, and his clipped tone raised goose bumps on her arms. Something was seriously wrong. ―Let‘s go up to the house,‖ she suggested, hoping to diffuse the situation. ―I‘ll make some coffee.‖ Lawson stood aside with a nod at Jordan. ―You first.‖ Lexie saw the muscles in Jordan‘s jaw bunch tight. Sensing he was close to an explosion, she quickly stepped past Lawson to lead the way. ―Damn it, Lex—‖ She kept walking despite Lawson‘s angry protest. She heard them following and, too late, thought about Jordan walking behind her, watching her. He‘d commented on her uneven stride yesterday…would he notice it was worse again today? She tried not to think about it, but felt her body grow warm with the thought of his brown gaze lingering on her backside. A silent groan of self-annoyance rumbled through her head. The

man hadn‘t shown an inkling of interest beyond his fumbled words at dinner, yet she constantly found her thoughts and gaze wandering to him throughout the day. It had to stop. She misjudged her stride at the steps to the house and ended up with her right leg stepping first, straining to bear her weight. To relieve some of the pressure from the burning, weakened muscles, she made a desperate grab for the railing. A firm, warm grip on her left forearm steadied and assisted her up the stairs. Jordan met her gaze briefly, but said not a word as they took the next step together. Heat engulfed her, a combination of embarrassment for her weak leg and awareness of his touch. ―Let her go.‖ Lawson‘s command whipped at their backs. Jordan‘s hold tightened and Lexie halted. ―It‘s—‖ she began. ―Back off,‖ Jordan snapped over his shoulder. The unmistakable sound the sheriff drawing his gun froze Lexie and Jordan in their tracks. ―I said, don‘t touch her,‖ Lawson snarled. ―Let her go and step away.‖ Lexie gripped the rail and nodded up at Jordan. He released her arm, but when he started to turn around, Lawson barked an order to remain facing forward, keep his hands where he could see them, and move forward. The hair on the back of Lexie‘s neck tingled as she faced Lawson and saw his furious expression. ―What is going on?‖ ―We‘ll talk inside.‖ She folded her arms and leaned a hip against the railing, easing her weight off her right leg. ―Tell me now.‖ He glanced in her direction, then focused back on Jordan, who‘d turned his head toward Lexie and eyed Lawson over his shoulder. ―That reporter, Craig Thompson, was murdered last night.‖ ***What reviewers are saying: Night Owl Reviews ~ 5 Stars ―Ms. Netzel outdid herself yet again with her latest novel in the Colorado Trust series. The chemistry between Jordan and Lexie was undeniable... I loved the tension between these two and I was hoping that they‘d both get past their hang-ups and admit there were sparks flying between them whenever they were near each other. I would highly recommend this story, along with the others in the Colorado Trust series!‖ ~ Diana Coyle, Reviewer Top Pick

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Mistletoe Rules ~ a Christmas anthology Winner of Wisconsin Romance Writer‘s 2010 Write Touch Readers‘ Award

Christmas recipe for love—combine a matchmaking Santa, lots of mistletoe, one iron-clad rule, fated hearts; mix and stir. The Riley siblings don‘t stand a chance. Mistletoe Mischief: Christmas in July at the zoo is the last place single parents Eric Riley and Marissa Wilder expect to find love. Thanks to some mistletoe mischief in the form of their two young daughters and Santa, they discover Mistletoe Rules were not made to be broken. Mistletoe Magic: Major Mark Riley plays Court Jester to Janelle Walsh's Snow Queen at the Christmas Parade and is instantly captivated by the cute redhead whose grandpa just happens to be Santa. When Mark learns she's the tenant he evicted from his newly purchased property, it's going to take a little bit of Santa's mistletoe magic to save their romance. Mistletoe Match-up: When Lisa Riley comes home for Mark's Christmas Eve wedding, her high school rivalry with Janelle's cousin, Derek Walsh, picks up right where it left off, only this time Derek's got the upper hand. Santa bides his time as they battle it out because he's waited a whole year for this mistletoe match-up. ***What reviewers are saying: Night Owl Reviewer Top Pick ―This is the perfect anthology that mixes lots of mistletoe, plenty of passion and one jolly old man – Santa himself – and produces three fantastic stories to sink your teeth into!‖ ~ Diana Coyle Long and Short Romance Reviews ~ Best Book ―Each story has a clearly-defined nicelydeveloped plot and distinct, well-rounded characters. This is the best e-book I‘ve read in a while and an absolutely delightful Christmas treat.‖ ~ Water Lily

Dragonfly Dreams ~ a Christmas novella Jake Coburn‘s antique shop is barely surviving, so the last thing he should do is buy costume jewelry at a price that won‘t turn much profit. Then again, it‘s Christmas, and he hasn‘t been able to say no to Loral Evans since the first time she entered his shop almost a year ago. Loral‘s mother is a cancer survivor, and much as they don‘t want to sell their family heirlooms, surgery and prescriptions aren‘t cheap. Jake‘s offer of one thousand dollars for a dragonfly brooch that Loral knows is fake stings her pride, especially since he knows she can‘t afford to walk away. Selling the brooch, which is more than it appears, turns out to be a blessing in disguise. During a season of giving, Loral learns there‘s a big difference between pride and dignity, and Jake‘s determination to do the right thing brings rewards beyond what either of them ever dreamed of. ***What reviewers are saying: Got Romance Holiday Reviews~ 5 Stars ~ ―I sincerely adored this story. Dragonfly Dreams smacks of Gift of the Magi while remaining original, heartwarming, and honestly lovely. Dragonfly Dreams sucked me in and held me from start to finish. Jake is sweet, kind, and noble – everything a true romantic hero should be. Loral, on the other hand, is tough yet vulnerable and

adorable – the perfect heroine. I give this the highest rank because I would read it again and again.‖~ Becca Night Owl Reviewer Top Pick ~ ―Ms. Netzel penned a remarkable ending that totally surprised me and she masterfully tied all the loose ends up for each one of her characters. This is a charming tale that blended strength, hope and love into one fantastic story.‖ ~ Diana Coyle