Keeper of Secrets

A Clarke J.

Description

A shocking betrayal by the man she thought she loved is forcing Shawna Carlton to make some critical life choices. All she craves is peace and quiet this holiday season. The isolated cabin in the Mt. Hood National Forest seems perfect for reflection. But that's before she discovers she has a woman-hating neighbor, and the old fishing cabin is home to more than just layers of dust.Dr. Gregory Harris has his own heart-rending reasons for seeking solitude during the holiday season. What he doesn't need is a noisy, helpless, forest-challenged city girl moving in next door. Before he know it, he's chopping her wood, building her fires and letting her use his modern plumbing.Fresh from the pain of lost love, can two people who sought solitude in the vastness of a forest, begin to heal together?

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 18 novembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601741257
• Langue: English

Extrait

KEEPER OF SECRETS
 
A Holiday Novel Byte
By
J.A. Clarke
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2011
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein areproducts of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-125-7 ISBN 10: 1-60174-125-1
Keeper of Secrets Copyright © 2011 by Joy Clarke
Cover design Copyright © 2011 by Judith B. Glad
Previously published by AweStruck eBooks, 2003; Fictionwise 2005
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this workin whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
 
To the cabin on Mt. Hood--the best getaway and dog vacationspot in the world.
Chapter One
This had been a lousy idea.
Shawna Carlton scowled at the padlock clenched in her frozen hand. Rain lashed at herback. Her jeans were soaked through. Her jacket, too thin for winter-wear in the mountains, wasno protection against the hard pellets of rain or the cold. A hot shower had never sounded sogood.
The flashlight's weak beam wavered as she focused it on the tiny numbers of the lock.She had tried the combination three times already. Either she had written the numbers downwrong, or Debra hadn't given her the right combination.
Tears fueled by frustration, exhaustion and days of stress threatened to erupt and shesagged against the old wooden door. She couldn't handle the drive back into town. Not this lateat night. Not as tired as she was. Not along that ghastly, dark-as-Hell, pothole-filled U.S. ForestService road. Even if her car made it, she was in no shape for the one and a half hour drive backto Portland.
She swiped her sleeve across her eyes, blew on her fingers and concentrated on thepadlock again. The beam of the flashlight flickered, and flickered again just she rolled the lastrow of numbers. Nothing. In sheer frustration, she yanked up, then down on the lock and saw thebolt separate just as the weak light died.
"Hallelujah." Bolstered by her victory, she pulled the lock from the hasp, released thelatch and pushed. The door swung open on a dark, musty cavity as frigid as a mausoleum, coldereven than the external temperature. Her courage faltered.
"Old and rustic, but it does have electricity," Debra had assured her. Electricity meantthere must be a light switch somewhere. She shook her flashlight. It cooperated with a pale circleof light for only a second. She gritted her teeth, stepped inside and ran her hand down the wallnext to the door. The surface was rough, splintery. A clingy, sticky substance wrapped itselfaround her fingers.
She snatched her hand away and wiped it on her jeans. No switch. She shifted to herright. This time she felt something cold and metal and, just below it, the familiar shape of a lightswitch. She flicked it. A single bare light bulb in the center of the room came on.
"Oh. My. God."
Old and rustic for sure. Debra had not exaggerated about that. It was a grungy retreatonly a man could love. And Debra, Shawna remembered now, had never set foot in herboyfriend's fishing get-away. A miniscule kitchen occupied one corner with a cooktop, a sinkand a box refrigerator. A wooden bunk bed stood in the opposite corner. A sagging couchsporting huge, grimy blue cabbage roses was a candidate for the landfill, and a table and fourmismatched chairs were pushed against an undraped window. A forest of cobwebs hung from theceiling.
Shawna shuddered, then shivered as a powerful chill gripped her body. She studied theroom again. It held nothing that looked like a heat source, except for the fireplace several inchesdeep in ashes.
"Merry Christmas and Happy New Year," she muttered. She had no one to blame butherself. Debra had tried to talk her out of this, but she had convinced herself that peace and quietand isolation were what she desperately needed. No matter what.
Now she wasn't so sure about the "no matter what" part.
She sucked in a deep breath, yanked the hood of her jacket over her head and trudgedback out into the pouring rain to start unloading her car.
Twenty minutes later, she stood in front of the fireplace again. There was a box ofmatches on the stone mantle above it, and three inadequate pieces of wood in the wood box.She'd never built a fire in her life, but she was sure three measly pieces wouldn't do it.
The rain still fell in torrents. She wrapped her arms around herself and reluctantly turnedtoward the door. If the small shed beside which her car was parked didn't hold wood, she was inbig trouble.
She was soaked through, freezing, hungry and tired. Dry and warm was definitely thefirst priority. She pulled up her damp hood again and hurried back out into the driving rain.
Around her the forest moaned and creaked in the storm. A gust of wind tore down theroad, wrenched the door to the shed from her hands and flung it back against the wall. The lightfrom the cabin's window was just enough to reveal two shadowy rows of neatly stacked logs. Anaxe and a couple of other unfamiliar tools leaned against the pile.
A vague image of a brawny man in suspenders and no shirt, hefting an axe over his headflitted through her mind. Much good that did. She hadn't the slightest idea how to split wood andhad no desire to try in the middle of a storm in the middle of the night. Whole logs would workjust as well, wouldn't they? She picked up a small one.
"Do you think you're going to quit with the noise any time soon?"
Shawna dropped the log and spun around. Then she shrieked, stumbled back. Thewoodpile poked her in the rear.
A hulking mass stood before her, details obscured by the dark. A powerful flashlightflicked on, blinded her, moved off to the side.
"Don't even think about chopping wood this time of night. There are noise ordinancesaround here, you know." The voice was a deep rumble. Angry. Impatient.
Shawna tried to ask a question. Anything. Her mouth refused to work. All her energyseemed to be concentrated in her pounding heart.
"What's the matter with you? Bloody hell. Women! Where's your boyfriend? I'll talkwith him."
"He'sI--"
"Bloody hell." The hulking mass stamped off toward the cabin.
She was still glued to the same spot when he returned seconds later.
"You're here on your own, aren't you?" He made it sound like a crime. The faintlyaccented voice was angrier.
"Yes," she whispered, and squeezed her eyes shut. That was stupider than stupid. Sheopened her eyes.
The hulking mass was still there, bigger than ever. He uttered a rude word. A thick armcame up and pointed. "Go back inside. I'll bring in some wood."
"No, you--"
"GO! I would like to get back to bed sometime tonight. And I sure as hell can't chopwood with you defending the woodpile." Then he actually reached out, caught her arm, pulledher out of the shed and pushed her in the direction of the cabin.
She stumbled over the uneven ground and up the steps. Why had she admitted to beinghere on her own? Would that pathetic lock hold? He could break the glass window in the door.Forget the window, he could probably break the ancient door. He had an axe. Where had hecome from, this relative of Sasquatch?
The last thought was so ludicrous, she slumped against the cabin wall and uttered aweak laugh. He was only a man. Had to be a neighbor, although all the cabins around hadseemed deserted when she'd driven in earlier. He was doing a neighborly deed and bringing hersome wood. A series of dull thumps from outside confirmed it. She shivered uncontrollably,acutely conscious of the cold and her wet clothes, acutely aware of the cabin's isolation.
She was going to take self-defense classes with Debra for sure when and if she made itback to Portland.
This had been a really lousy idea.
She was still propped against the wall when she heard his boots on the steps, but simplydidn't have the energy to move. If he was bent on pillage and rape, this was his lucky night. Shewouldn't be able to fend off a fly.
He came through the door, a tall man in jeans and a bulky jacket, his arms loaded withsplit wood. He crossed to the fireplace without a glance in her direction, dropped his burden inthe wood box, and turned. He tossed back the hood of his jacket. A fiery bush of dark red hairemerged. Red hair, red beard, red moustache. Several days growth at least. From under thick redbrows, he glowered at her.
"Know how to make a fire?"
"Of course," she lied. The cabin had shrunk, become cramped and crowded. She justwanted him gone.
"Where's your paper?"
"What paper?"
"Bloody hell. Women!" His eyes, a piercing green, performed a quick, deliberate surveyof her. As if he'd found nothing of interest, his gaze shifted to an inspection of the room. Itsettled on the day's newspaper she hadn't had time to read. He took two steps to the table andreached for it.
In her tired brain, understanding dawned. "No, wait. I haven't read that yet."
"Lady, I don't care. I suggest you remove those wet clothes before you catch pneumoniaand let me do this so I can get back to bed. In case you hadn't noticed, it's almost midnight."
Mouth agape, Shawna watched him rip up her unread paper and bend to his task. Hegave a sudden violent sneeze and muttered something about bloody ashes. Outrage wasbeginning to replace her fear.
"You don't have to do this and you're welcome to go back to wherever you came fromanytime," she snapped.
"Yeah, right. If there's anything worse than a woman neighbor up here, it's a womanneighbor who doesn't have the damndest clue what she's doing."
Shawna came away from the wall. "How do you know? And what gives you the right tojudge me?"
"Endless slamming