by Rita Herron
May God be with you, child, and protect you always.
Hattie Mae Hodges
Elsie’s hand trembled at the mere thought of returning to Wildcat Manor. Vivid images of Howard Hodges’s body erupting into flames cut into her thoughts, the nightmares that destroyed her sleep shifting in front of her eyes. Outside, the wind howled through the mountains, the brisk temperature swirling through the thin rattling window panes, the ominous clouds threatening a snowstorm or at the least, heavy rains.
Her hand fell to her stomach as other memories flooded her. The shrill screams of the girls. The scent of chemicals and dust and…bodily fluids. The beady eyes of their tormentor flickering in the darkness as he approached in the heat of the night. The hollow feeling that consumed her afterward, the devastating pain of knowing that she had lost everything.
That she was not worthy of love.
No, she could not return to Wildcat Manor. Not now. Not
Not even to try and make things right.
DEKE HAD SPENT TWO WEEKS tracking down Elsie Timmons. First to a hovel in Nashville. Then to Alabama. Then to Georgia. And now back to Tennessee to a small town set so deep into the mountains that a person might get lost forever.
But he and his brothers had expert resources. Their private investigative business had been housed in Arizona for the past few years, but with Rex’s return to Falcon Ridge, they had established a second office at Falcon Ridge.
Elsie was on the run. Never stayed in one place for very long. Which meant she was either scared or hiding something.
Determined to find the answers, he parked in front of Bodine’s B & B, then made his way up the sloped, graveled drive. A view of the mountains offered a peaceful retreat for guests, the valleys and gorges behind almost as magnificent as the ones in Colorado. A handmade wreath adorned the front door, composed of dried flowers and ribbons, and a three-foot-tall metal sculpture of a covered wagon graced the porch, flanked by two rocking chairs and an empty whiskey barrel.
Maybe the case would be a piece of cake. He’d introduce himself, inform Elsie that her mother had sent him looking for her and she’d jump at the chance to go home. The hair on the back of his neck bristled, though, mocking his theory.
The cold winter wind beat at his leather bomber jacket as he turned the doorknob, the scent of pine and cinnamon apples enveloping him as he strode toward the desk.
“Deke Falcon, Miss Bodine.” He tipped his head in greeting. “I’m here to see Elsie Timmons.”
The owner peered at him over wire-rimmed glasses. “Don’t have anyone by that name.”
Damn. What name had she used here? “Can you try Elsie Thyme?” She’d used that one in school. “I’m a friend of her mother’s,” he said, when she continued to scrutinize him. “She sent me for Elsie.”
“Oh, dear, Elsie didn’t mention her folks.”
He nodded, not surprised, then noted her name tag said Beverly, so decided to sway her with a lie. “Beverly, Elsie’s mother’s not well right now. I…thought she should know.”
“Oh, of course. I hope it’s nothing too serious.”
Just heartsick from missing her child. “She should recover, but she’s asking for her. You understand.”
Beverly clucked her tongue in compassion, then visibly relaxed. “I sure do, honey. Elsie’s in room five, upstairs.”
Deke nodded, then climbed the steps, and knocked. Finally a woman opened the door.
For a moment, the breath was trapped in his lungs as he stared at her. While Elsie had been cute as a child, with eyes so big they had dominated her face, now she was a stunning woman. Her long dark hair lay in curls around a heart-shaped face, falling down her back, the natural highlights complemented by her gold sweater and her flowing skirt. Her skin glowed as if it had been kissed by the sun, and her lips were a natural rosy color that drew his eyes to her mouth. Such a sensuous mouth. Her lips would be soft. Supple. Tender.
She tensed as if he had offended her with his look, her long dark lashes fluttering. “Excuse me, who are you?”
He cleared his throat. Fear darkened the brown depths of her huge eyes, but shades of gold and oranges like the burnished copper of the sunset after a hot day mingled with the brown.
“I’m Deke Falcon, a private investigator,” he said in a gruff voice. “You’re Elsie Timmons, right?”
Her eyes widened even farther. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong room. My name is Elsie Thyme.”
He stared at her dead-on, willing her to confess the lie. Instead, she shoved the door closed in his face. He stood for several seconds, then knocked again, but she refused to answer. Damn it, he shouldn’t have told her he was a P.I.
Frustrated but unwilling to give up, he descended the stairs, grateful Beverly Bodine wasn’t at the desk, then decided to wait outside. A short time later, he was slumped low in the seat of his Range Rover as she rushed outside with a suitcase in her hand.
She was going to leave town just as he’d anticipated. He would follow her.
And he’d find out exactly why she was on the run.
PANIC SEIZED ELSIE as she tore down the drive from Bodine’s. Deke Falcon was a P.I. Who did he work for? And why had he come looking for her?
Could he possibly know about the fire ten years ago? Or some of the things she’d done after she’d left Wildcat Manor?
Had her past finally caught up with her?
Dear God, no. She had done bad things, but she was trying to make amends. She wanted to help others now. Protect the troubled kids just as someone should have protected her.
The lush mountaintops surrounded her, the small side roads and valleys offering the possibility of a place to hide. She whipped her car onto a country road that led across the mountain, then cast a desperate glance over her shoulder to see if the man had followed her.
Deke Falcon? What did he want and who was he working for? It had been ten years since she’d set Howard Hodges on fire…since she’d left him to die. Why look for her now?
Hattie Mae’s death. Maybe the police had discovered something about his murder now that Hattie Mae was gone. But surely Hattie Mae wouldn’t have willed her the manor if she intended to call the police on her.
Maybe her guilt had gotten to her and she wanted to make her own amends before death.
The terrifying night she’d escaped with Torrie roared back, the horrid images replacing the majestic mountain view. She and Torrie had run for what had seemed like hours. Then she’d finally found a church and dropped off Torrie, hoping someone would save the girl and give her a better life. She’d been too afraid to stay herself, had figured the police would be on her tail.
Over the years, she’d wondered what had happened to Torrie. One reason she’d decided to go into social work.
A truck roared up, zooming close to her rear, and she sped up slightly, although the curve in the road veered deep to the right, and she crossed the center line. An oncoming car blasted its horn and Elsie overcompensated. Her tires screeched, wheels locking. She skidded on the icy pavement and said a silent prayer that her car wouldn’t nosedive over the barrier. The sludgy ice spewed from her tires, the gears grinding. But at the last moment, she regained control and eased it back between the lines.
Her heart racing, she glanced behind to see if the Falcon man trailed her, but once again didn’t spot him, so she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she’d lost him.
Only he didn’t look the type of man to give up. He was hard looking, tough, brusque, angry, a man who lived in the wilderness. His thick dark hair was overly long, and as untamed as a wild animal’s. Dark beard stubble roughened his bronzed skin, and his mouth was set tight, as if it had never seen a smile. And his hands…they were large, dark, callused…weapons he could use to force a woman to do whatever he wanted.
A shudder coursed up her spine.
If he hadn’t looked so intimidating, she would have called him handsome, but Elsie had learned long ago that men couldn’t be trusted. They took what they
wanted, trampled on you, then sauntered away without a backward glance.
No, it was best she had run. But where should she go now?
Hattie Mae’s offer flirted with her subconscious. She’d been looking for a place to open a teen center when she’d come to Tennessee. But Wildcat Manor?
According to legends, Wildcat, Tennessee, had been dubbed the town of the damned for generations. Elsie had learned the hard way the reason for its name. The stories of ghosts and spirits that haunted the village. Of the wildcats who preyed on innocent girls, and the devil that lived in the woods. Some even gossiped that werecats roamed the area, hunting for prey.
The memory of the poor kids that she’d left behind rose to haunt her. The paper reported that all the children had survived. The orphanage had been disbanded after the fire, but she’d never been able to find out where the girls had gone.
If evil lived in the town, the people needed her to help expunge it. Maybe in doing so, she could absolve herself of the guilt that weighed on her conscience for leaving the other girls, for deserting Torrie, for her own sins….
A plan took shape in her mind. She would refurbish the place and offer hope to the young and troubled.
If she accomplished that miracle, maybe she could sleep peacefully without ghosts filling her dreams and the sounds of crying children echoing in her head, constantly torturing her. The clouds grew ominous, the wind whipping tree branches and dead leaves across the deserted mountain road as she headed toward Wildcat. Images of the monsters and overgrown wildcats popped in and out of her mind as if they were congregating in the woods to drive her away when she returned.
She clutched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip and perspiration dotted her face as she approached the town. Sleet slashed the windows, fogging the windshield and ing the road slick with black ice. Whispers of danger floated through the air, and the daunting eyes of the devil as he waited for her return pierced the darkness.
Her nerves pinged as she parked at the deserted building. The stone structure looked even more macabre with weeds and vines climbing the sides. Burned and charred stone still covered the bottom floor wall, and the wildcat turrets flanking the massive front door practically growled into the wind. Icicles clung to the windows, hanging in jagged pointed tips that looked like swords.
Elsie’s throat closed. She had run from here once and had survived. If she stepped back inside, would she survive a second time?
Chapter Two
Deke had managed to stay behind Elsie without her noticing for the two-hour drive, but her frantic escape worried him. She obviously was terrified of him, or somebody. And she was in trouble….
Just what kind? Trouble with the law? With a man?
Either one would complicate his job.
Then again, maybe she’d confide in him once she learned his real reason for coming. But what if she didn’t want to see her mother? What had her father told her about Deanna?
Night had fallen as she’d turned into a mile-long driveway that climbed a curvy dirt road. Snow swirled in a blinding haze, fogging his windows and creating crystals of ice that clung to the glass. Not wanting Elsie to see him, he parked in the alcove of a cluster of pines, then walked the rest of the way up the drive. Wind clawed at his face and hands, the sound of a loud growl in the woods nearby alerting him that the forest could be dangerous to some. The birds of prey who were his friends. And others….
As he drew nearer the mansion, his skin crawled. That was no ordinary house. There had been tall metal gates at the entrance, although they’d been open, and an eight-foot electric fence surrounded the property as if it had once been a prison. The gray stone structure resembled a mausoleum with turrets and a spiked chimney. There were five of them actually. A smaller stone garage was attached, a gardener’s shed beside it connected by a path of overgrown weeds fighting through the snow and ice.
The sign, Wildcat Manor, indicated it had been an orphanage at one time. It had obviously been deserted for years. The boxwoods and shrubs were misshapen, weeds draped the porch and sides and a fire had burned the bottom floor caking the stone with black soot, worsened by decay and age.
What the hell was Elsie Timmons doing here?
The realization that this might have once been her home hit him in the gut. Geez, the place looked more like a funeral home than a loving place for children. Had her father kidnapped her, then left her here for some reason? Because he hadn’t wanted her, or had something happened to him?
Deanna’s anguished face flashed in his mind. If her husband had been alive and left Elsie here because he didn’t want her, Deanna Simmons had pined away for her daughter while the girl must have felt so alone…. And if he’d died, why hadn’t someone contacted Deanna? Why hadn’t Elsie tried to reach her mother over the years?
Elsie walked up the steps, her slim figure tiny next to the massive oaks flanking the drive. He watched, mesmerized by her beauty. But her face was as pale as the white snow dotting the ground. And when she reached for the door, her entire body trembled and tears flowed down her cheeks.
As hard and tough as he’d always thought himself to be, his heart throbbed with emotion.
Emotions had no place in his job.
He would not allow himself to care for a woman, especially Elsie Timmons who had run from him at first glance. She had a mother waiting for her, and he had no part in her life. He would return to Arizona when he finished here. Alone.
Back to his birds of prey and the wilderness where he belonged.
Determined to complete the job, he stepped forward anyway. He had to get to the truth, pry into her secrets and convince her to return to Falcon Ridge. Then Deanna Timmons could find peace.
And he would be done with them and could go home.
ELSIE SHOULDN’T have come. She should have driven to a hotel for the night.
But she had to face her demons or she might never be whole again. Hadn’t the professors pounded that into their heads in psychology class?
Still, there were so many ghosts here, so much anguish….
The wind cut through her bones as she closed her eyes, willing her courage to surface.
You witnessed Hodges burn to death yourself. You even saw Hattie Mae standing over his grave, her head bent in sorrow. Or maybe it had been shame or relief.
Elsie had never understood how Hattie Mae had succumbed to her husband’s sick wishes and let the girls suffer his cruelties.
Hattie Mae is gone, too. The house is empty, and no one can hurt you.
Elsie braced herself for the squeak of the stone door, but she shivered as she stepped inside the dark entry. The scent of dust and mildew filled her nostrils, along with fear and death. Even ten years later, the pungent odor of Hodges’s flesh being charred rose with the dust motes.
Her footsteps sounded hollow on the marble floor, her erratic breathing rattling in the ominous quiet as she forced herself forward in search of a light. The electricity had probably been turned off. With the frigid temperatures, she’d freeze tonight.
No, there were the fireplaces and the lanterns.
Hattie Mae had always kept a dozen kerosene lanterns filled and ready for use when the power failed, and wood had been stacked in every room with a fireplace. As if on autopilot, she moved through the icy, cavernous living area to the kitchen. There she felt along the wall until she reached the pantry where she discovered several lanterns filled and ready for use. Matches were also stacked beside them as if Hattie Mae had been waiting on someone’s return.
Elsie barely stifled the urge to turn and run. But she had been running all her life.
No more
She would face this place and slay her demons. In honor of all the girls whose hopes and dreams had died here, she’d turn it into a safe haven for troubled teens who could find hope for a better life.
A flick of the match and the lantern lit up. Determined to overcome her anxiety, she forced herself to examine the kitchen, then the rooms on the main floor. Only
leftover discarded antiques that had once shone with polish and glory remained, still sitting in the same places she remembered. The fabrics were faded, the wood dusty, the walls a dreary pea green, the paintings water damaged. She would change all that, paint the rooms bright colors, get rid of the grim furnishings and replace them with more functional contemporary pieces, sturdy ones that would turn the dark, sinister interior into a welcoming home.
Exhausted from her drive, and the tension from her encounter with Deke Falcon, she checked the door locks, pausing in the hall as she noticed the padlock to the basement. The acrid smell…
She would not go down there. Not now. Maybe never.
The memories were too painful, the images too real, the anguish and shame too raw.
Her secrets had to remain hidden.
Shaking off her paranoia, she climbed the steps, grateful for the flickering light of the lantern as she studied the print carpet, the shadows from the corners, the long hallway that led to the dormlike rooms the girls had occupied.
The room where Hattie Mae and her husband slept had been on the main floor, off-limits.
The dorm wings had separated the girls by ages. She had slept in the east wing while the kids under ten had slept in the west. She didn’t think Hodges had ever ventured into the younger girls’ rooms, but couldn’t be sure.
Uncertain if she could sleep, she stopped at the private bedroom on the second floor. It had been reserved for the caretaker, who had seen after the girls and made certain they were tucked in at night, their doors locked securely. Elsie stepped inside, the scent of lavender and old lace greeting her. A hand-crocheted blanket covered the iron bed with cross-stitched pillow cases in blue and white. The dust that had been so evident in the house seemed minimal in here, the room clean and tidy. A white rocking chair sat beneath the window, and a full-length mirror occupied the opposite corner, complementing the antiques.
