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Whispers Under A Southern Sky
Joanne Rock
Her past…or her future?It’s taken Amy Finley ten years, but she’s finally ready to return to her hometown of Heartache, TN, and face the past. She just never expected that would include reuniting with her high school sweetheart and now town sheriff, Sam Reyes. Or that Sam’s latest case would lead right back to the darkest chapter in her life.The attraction between Amy and Sam is definitely still there, not to mention that she’s sure she could quickly grow to love his cute baby son. But can he forgive her for keeping her secrets? Can she forgive herself?
Her past...or her future?
It’s taken Amy Finley ten years, but she’s finally ready to return to her hometown of Heartache, Tennessee, and face the past. She just never expected that would include reuniting with her high school sweetheart and now town sheriff, Sam Reyes. Or that Sam’s latest case would lead right back to the darkest chapter in her life.
The attraction between Amy and Sam is definitely still there, not to mention that she’s sure she could quickly grow to love his cute baby son. But can he forgive her for keeping her secrets? Can she forgive herself?
Amy turned to face him and leaned against the trunk of the maple.
“One of the main reasons I chose to come back to Heartache now is to support my sister when Heather testifies against the guy who tried to kidnap her.” She drew a deep breath. “So I promise you, I am committed to seeing Jeremy Covington behind bars, too. I may have been absent from this family for ten years, but I’m still a Finley, and hearing how that creep threw her into the back of a van with another girl that he’d tied up...” She shook her head, unable to finish the thought. “I am here to see justice done, Sam. But I am not here to testify.”
An interesting distinction, Sam thought. Especially considering no one had asked her to testify when she claimed not to know anything.
The more she resisted, the more he wanted to record her statement. As a cop, he had a naturally suspicious nature, but his instincts told him she knew more than she was letting on. But those same instincts warned him if he pushed Amy too hard, she would shut down altogether...
Dear Reader (#ulink_5a04a34e-8295-5cb6-991e-a7cfb04816d8),
The idea of “going home” holds unique memories for all of us. Some of them are warm and wonderful as we remember happy Thanksgiving dinners gathered around a table laden with food or long summers playing in the backyard with friends. But for people who have experienced a trauma, going home can be riddled with lots of unpleasant memories, too.
For Amy Finley, returning to Heartache means a mix of emotions. I am inspired by her strength and determination even as I understand why she needed to stay away from her family for so long. The payoff of returning—a possible healing of old relationships—is dangerously enticing for a woman with so much history in Heartache, Tennessee.
I welcome you back to town with open arms and hope you enjoy Amy’s return as much as I did. A whole lot has changed since she left, but the new town sheriff is as appealing as he was as a teen. Maybe some things never change...
Happy reading,
Joanne Rock
Whispers Under a Southern Sky
Joanne Rock
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Three-time RITA® Award nominee JOANNE ROCK has penned over seventy stories for Harlequin. An optimist by nature and perpetual seeker of silver linings, Joanne finds romance fits her life outlook perfectly—love is worth fighting for. A former Golden Heart® Award recipient, she has won numerous awards for her stories. Learn more about Joanne’s imaginative Muse by visiting her website, joannerock.com (http://www.joannerock.com), or following @JoanneRock6 (https://twitter.com/JoanneRock6) on Twitter.
To Mom and Dad with so much love.
Contents
Cover (#u5eee6588-ef46-51db-a43e-beb5ba6088e1)
Back Cover Text (#u918e1caa-4416-5e60-92c3-805e17dcfdf3)
Introduction (#u2c9a6db3-ce1e-5d96-82ae-64bcfbbc94fb)
Dear Reader (#ulink_28eca9a7-a8f5-5893-89ac-d4d7cbf881a0)
Title Page (#u8c3f1009-1b4b-50f8-bac7-54a19f5f23f6)
About the Author (#u66bec6a1-df16-5ab7-816e-1332eabe8e7d)
Dedication (#ufa596111-7ba6-5507-8a93-19ba3ec0b7b4)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf7f75c5b-67f6-54e0-a246-a3c65d447a74)
CHAPTER TWO (#u185d6e1d-ae9c-5602-8cc2-f5f09ebb7498)
CHAPTER THREE (#ub6925fd2-602e-5604-8c89-b503956c4481)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u295845e2-95f8-59ff-999f-546cc0873840)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7c7bd91c-b77c-5b43-b235-ae42ddbd0bfa)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c8ee6858-5ccb-55c0-98d4-afe1ab41df20)
RUNNING ON FUMES, Amy Finley coasted into the driveway of her temporary home shortly before midnight. Even after ten years away from Heartache, Tennessee, she’d remembered how to get to her father’s old hunting cabin. It was one of the only places in her hometown where she’d actually made a few happy memories.
Now, shoving out of the passenger side of her car—the driver’s door was broken—Amy stepped onto the pine-needle-covered ground in the woodsy hills east of where she’d grown up.
Her sisters figured no one had been in the cabin in the last six years. Their father had died four years ago, but even before then he’d abandoned his old habit of coming up here in the fall as he’d gotten more involved in his career as mayor of Heartache.
Erin, the older of Amy’s two sisters, had promised Amy the electricity and water would be turned on this week, so the property would be slightly more livable for Amy’s return.
She found the key to the front door by sliding a hand beneath a windowsill around the side of the building. Same place it had always been, inside a hollowed-out knot in the pinewood. It was a miracle no rodents had made off with the key in all these years, although she hadn’t been worried. She would find her way inside the rustic cabin one way or another. Security wasn’t tight around here.
Something she planned to address as soon as possible if she wanted to feel safe.
At the thought, a shiver tripped over her skin despite the mild fall weather. Tucking deeper into her pale blue hoodie, she refused to think about The Incident. The night that had driven her from Heartache for an entire decade, making her miss her father’s funeral. Her sister’s wedding. Her mother’s alleged recovery from severe bipolar disorder.
She’d believe that when she saw it. If she ever worked up the nerve to face her mom again, anyway.
For now she told herself to take her return one step at a time. Her first step was moving into the cabin and starting renovations. She would need the distraction of a project to get her through the other tasks she’d set for herself. She was here to make amends with her family—her siblings if not her mother. And, perhaps more important, she’d come home to support her sister as Heather prepared to testify against a local criminal awaiting his trial.
Amy had her own reasons for needing to see the man behind bars, but no one in her family knew about those, and she planned to keep it that way.
One step at a time.
Turning the rusted, thin key in the lock, she used her shoulder to nudge open the door. Instead of smelling the must and mildew she expected, however, the clean scent of lemon polish drifted past her nose. What on earth?
The door creaked open on stiff hinges and a floorboard groaned under her tread-worn tennis shoes as she stepped inside. Flicking on the lights in the small space, she saw the pine-plank floors had been swept clean. One of the single-pane windows had also been opened, and a set of calico curtains hung on the wrought iron rods above the windows.
Her sisters co-owned a consignment shop in the small downtown area. They must have brought some finds from their business up here to give Amy a warm welcome. An antique glass milk jug held a vase of wildflowers on the tiny counter next to the white porcelain kitchen sink. A green plaid place mat held a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, one clean glass and a pan of brownies visible through a layer of plastic wrap.
She dropped the duffel bag from her shoulder and closed the front door behind her, drawn to the brownie pan despite the chilly breeze blowing through the whole house from the open window. A crisp yellow notecard sat atop the treats.
Welcome home, Sis. Can’t wait to see you when you’re ready. Love, Heather and Erin
It was the kind of thoughtful gesture a normal sister should love.
Except that it had taken her ten long years to face her siblings after that hellish week when she’d been seventeen and her world had fallen apart.
This hunting cabin was still fifteen miles from the home where she’d grown up, but it was the closest she could bring herself to seeing any of the Finleys even now.
She didn’t know if she’d ever really be ready to face any of them again.
Setting the card back on the brownie pan, she moved around the small cabin, closing the window so she could warm up the place.
Not much had changed besides the curtains. A common area with a fireplace made of river stones dominated the cabin. Off to the side of the living space was the tiny kitchen, including a few cupboards and a refrigerator, but no stove or oven. Back when she’d come here with her father, they’d used an outdoor grill or a campfire for all the cooking. Two small bedrooms held built-in bunk beds that were little more than plywood planks anchored to the rough log walls. There was no furniture besides a small table in the kitchen with two ladder-back chairs. Thankfully, her sisters had left a box labeled “memory foam mattress topper” on one of the plywood bunks.
Amy had brought a bedroll, but considering the cabin’s level of rustic simplicity, the memory foam was a bonus she wouldn’t refuse. With no central heat or air, she’d have to build a fire, but she’d brought her own supplies to do just that.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about her sisters coming up here to prep the place for her. She’d been adamant when she agreed to come home that she’d only see them on her own terms. When she felt ready for that.
For tonight, just being back in Tennessee, back in this tiny town, was enough for her to handle. After digging a flashlight out of her duffel, she flicked it on and stalked out to the car to retrieve her boxes.
It would be hours before she prepped the place enough for it to be comfortable, even with the freshly hung calico curtains and sleeping bag. Or maybe because of them.
Her chest tightened, and it wasn’t from the strain of carrying in the heavy load of firewood. She’d become a loner. Practically a recluse. When she’d left here, she’d moved to Atlanta and become a waitress, eventually putting herself through college since she refused to take a nickel from her family. Even her father.
Funny to think how a person could become so isolated even in a big city, but it was easy. Amy was an expert at being by herself. What she wasn’t good at was family.
Community.
Trust of any kind.
She hadn’t gotten where she was today because of those things. She now had an accounting degree and a potential start-up business in spite of all of them. Maybe that was why, after she got a fire going in the big hearth, she ignored her sisters’ gifts and unrolled a sleeping bag in the living area. Just like she used to do with her father when they would tell stories late into the night.
Disregarding the growl of her empty stomach, Amy hoped tomorrow she’d be stronger. Because tonight, all she wanted to do was to get in her car again and drive to Atlanta. Back to a place where she didn’t have to work so hard to fix relationships that had failed her.
* * *
THREE CUPS OF coffee into his day, Sheriff Samuel Reyes struggled to keep his tired eyes focused on the map in front of him. He hated this kind of research even on a good day—the boring-as-snot part of police work that kept him behind a desk. Today he was trying to make pieces of a resistant puzzle fall into some kind of meaningful order. He’d been over and over the map of Heartache’s quarry, trying to find a pattern or a clue in the pins that marked places where the sheriff’s department had discovered evidence in his current case.
The pins were old school, as was the paper map. But for him, there was no substitute for working with his hands and seeing the physical images.
Today, however, his brain was failing to connect any dots. Part of it was because he’d reviewed the same map a hundred times. But it was mostly because he’d spent the majority of last night pacing the floors with his infant son. A baby he hadn’t even known existed until three weeks ago. A baby his ex-girlfriend had handed him on his doorstep along with the news that she had grown weary and needed a break from the two-month-old she hadn’t seen fit to tell him he’d fathered.
So he’d been parenting the infant alone for the last three weeks. Nothing like trial by fire.
“Any luck?” Heartache’s mayor, Zach Chance, walked into the town-hall conference room that served as Sam’s office most days.
With his patrician features and perfectly pressed collared shirt, Zach looked the part of a slick politician even though he was a fairly normal dude. For a tech-company millionaire.
Zach had cleaned up in the digital security market before returning to Heartache from the West Coast two years prior. He still managed his virtual company from Heartache, but he was now the mayor. He’d also been the one who’d twisted Sam’s arm into leaving San Jose to become Heartache’s sheriff. Both men had grown up in Heartache, so it hadn’t been that big of a sacrifice to come back.
Sam liked small-town living more as an adult than he had as a kid, even if some days he couldn’t keep his eyes open while working.
“Nothing yet.” He gripped his empty cup of coffee and pitched the paper container in the trash can. “We need more evidence before Jeremy Covington goes to trial, but I’ll be damned if I know where we can get it.”
His eyes felt like sandpaper when he blinked. Hell, he’d barely managed to find a clean shirt this morning, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d slept in the pants he was wearing.
“I’ve gone over and over Heather’s statement, too. And I’ll be damned if I can find anything that helps connect what she saw to Jeremy’s previous crimes.” Zach dropped into a chair at the opposite end of the conference table.
He’d recently gotten engaged to Heather Finley, daughter of Heartache’s previous mayor who’d died while in office.
Heather had been the victim of an attempted kidnapping last fall, and Sam had arrested Covington, a former member of the town council, and his son on a number of charges, including sexual assault and stalking. But since then he’d been having trouble building a strong enough case to ensure both Covingtons served serious jail time.
Both Zach and Sam were convinced that Covington had stalked and assaulted many other victims—including Zach’s own sister, Gabriella, ten years ago. Sam had followed Gabriella that night, worried because she had seemed depressed and secretive. He’d found her desperately fighting off an attacker. Sam had managed to keep Gabby from being hurt and chased the guy away. But her attacker had been wearing a stocking mask and it had been pitch-black in the woods around the quarry road, so he sure as hell couldn’t identify him and neither could Zach’s sister.
Now that they’d caught Covington, Sam and Zach’s family finally had an opportunity to see justice done after an event that had altered all their lives.
“I dug out the notes I made about what happened to Gabriella, and me, too. I wish we’d gone to the police.” Sam drummed his fingers on the conference table, thinking back to that long-ago summer.
“You were a foster kid who’d had your own run-ins with the sheriff,” Zach reminded him, letting him off the hook. “And Gabby had just wanted to get out of town.”
Sam, Gabriella and Zach had moved to the West Coast. Sam got a GED and took college courses, eventually enrolling in the police academy. Zach went to college and started his tech company. They’d both looked after Gabriella, who had needed intensive counseling. These days, she ran a support group for victims of cyberstalking and assault.
“And your notes are all admissible as evidence, thanks to you,” Zach continued.
