The Way Back to Erin

by Cerella Sechrist

  Her heart was so full, she feared it couldn’t contain her joy. They had begun the necessary paperwork for Burke to legally adopt Kitt, and her son had started referring to Burke as Dad on occasion, as if trying out the sound. Aunt Lenora had moved into the house on the point with them, and she was enjoying all the holiday festivities at their new home now that the winter months were almost upon them.

  Erin and Burke’s wedding had been a very quiet, private affair. Given Burke’s recent engagement to Tessa, it didn’t seem quite right to flaunt their nuptials. The ceremony had been simple but precious and had included a special tribute to Gavin. They hadn’t invited any of their friends. Instead, they were hosting a holiday get-together at their new home next week to invite people to share in their new life together.

  Erin was enjoying the thought of the upcoming Christmas holiday, especially since she had a special present for Burke. Her doctor had confirmed her pregnancy just this week, but she had decided to hold onto the news for a bit so she could tell Burke on Christmas day. She was a little wary of how Kitt would receive the news, but she had a feeling he’d be thrilled with the idea of a brother or sister. And she’d be able to finish out her classes at the culinary institute in time for the baby to be born.

  Of course, Aunt Lenora fussed over her in a way that made Erin suspicious the older woman already suspected her news, but she didn’t want to share it with anyone else until she had told Burke.

  Kitt tugged his hand free from hers as he caught a glimpse of Neal Weaver in the crowd. Neal had been a regular feature at their new home as he helped Burke take care of some remodeling. The older man had become like a father to Burke and a grandfather to Kitt, for which Erin was grateful, given her own dad’s distance.

  And Kitt had blossomed in the months since the move, the aura of soberness gone. He’d become more animated and had made a few friends since the school year had begun, though he still maintained that Scout was his best friend in the whole wide world.

  The way Kitt had grown made her realize that Aunt Lenora was right. It had been time for a new chapter—both for her and for the inn. She wasn’t sure any of the miracles of the last couple of months would have taken place if she’d still been living at the Moontide, tied to it and the past.

  Now, however, she walked through the old house with new eyes, appreciating all the care and detail the historical society had gone to in creating the Findlay Roads museum. The parlor was dedicated to the first settlers in the area, including Donal Findlay, the town founder. There was a copy of the land deed he’d obtained to found the town, along with detailed descriptions of what Findlay Roads had been like during those early days.

  Each room in the first floor of the house featured some of the major milestones in the town’s history, and Erin was fascinated to find that a wall of the dining room had been excavated to reveal the secret passageway slaves had used to hide in the attic during their journeys north on the Underground Railroad. She rested her hand on the glass that enclosed that space and felt a shiver of gratitude that she had lived in this house that had seen so much, for as long as she had.

  She continued through the rooms, occasionally greeting townspeople as she passed. She spotted Mrs. Cleary and waved, but the woman turned her back.

  Erin didn’t let it bother her. She knew Mrs. Cleary thought it shameful that she and Burke had married when Burke was Gavin’s brother, and so soon after he’d been set to marry Tessa, but Burke had said it well when he told her he didn’t care what other people thought. She knew Gavin would have given his blessing to them, were he able, and that was all that mattered to her.

  When she entered the library, she paused, noticing a brass plaque hanging by the door. She expected this one to mention Allan Worth again—so many of the inscriptions did since Allan had donated the Moontide to the society. It chafed a little, seeing his name stamped all over the inn, but it hurt far less than seeing the old house destroyed.

  This commemoration, however, was different, and her eyes filled with tears as she read it.

  This room is dedicated to one of Findlay Roads’ most precious sons, Army Sergeant Gavin Daniels, who lived here with his wife, Erin, and his son, Kitt, before his untimely death. He was a beloved husband, a loyal brother and a true friend.

  She wiped at her eyes and then sighed as she felt Burke’s arms come around her. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “Aunt Lenora donated the money for it, but she asked me to write the inscription. I hope I did him justice.”

  Erin turned in his arms so that she could face him. “You do him justice every day by the way you love me and Kitt.”

  He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “Does it bother you? Being back here?” he asked.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m surprised to say, not even a little. I love this place. I’m so grateful it’s still standing. But it’s no longer my home.”

  Burke opened his eyes, and they were so close that she could see every dark fleck within the blue.

  “My home is wherever you are,” she whispered.

  He touched his lips to hers. “And right here in Findlay Roads is where I plan to stay.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HIGH COUNTRY COP by Cynthia Thomason.

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  High Country Cop

  by Cynthia Thomason

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHIEF OF POLICE Carter Cahill was working the ten-to-six shift in Holly River, North Carolina, on this Friday. Since he had some extra time in the morning, he’d driven the patrol car out to Hidden Creek Road and stopped in to do some chores for his widowed mother. Carter or his younger brother, Jace, stopped by the family home at least once a week to help Cora with her to-do list.

  Satisfied that the leaky pipe under the kitchen sink was fixed, Carter headed back to town, the place he’d called home his entire life. When his cell phone rang, and he recognized the number of the police station, he initiated the car speaker. “This is Carter. What is it, Betsy?” he asked his dispatcher.

  “Just got a call from a witness who said he could shed some light on last night’s break-in at the hardware store, Carter.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That he saw Dale Jefferson’s old Jeep in the alley behind the store at the approximate time of the robbery.”

  Carter wasn’t surprised. Whenever a crime was committed in Holly River, Dale’s name was usually suggested as the perpetrator, or at least as someone wh
o could provide information. In all fairness, if Dale was guilty of even 20 percent of the crimes he’d been accused of, Carter didn’t know when he’d have time to eat or sleep. Dale was adept at not getting caught. He’d served only a handful of short stints in the county lockup though he’d been accused of everything from public intoxication to stealing grapes from the supermarket.

  “Who is the witness?” Carter asked Betsy.

  “Mitch Calloway.”

  “Great, another call from Mitch. Maybe someday he’ll get over the fact that Dale stole a few chickens from his coop and quit associating the guy with every minor crime in Holly River.”

  Betsy chuckled. “It’s no secret that Mitch, and most everybody else in town, would like to see Dale locked up for good, but you’re going to investigate anyway, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. Since I’m so close to the station, I’ll stop on my way and see who’s on duty today. I doubt I’ll have any trouble at the Jefferson place, but it never hurts to know who my backup is.”

  He drove the last few blocks of downtown Holly River, an area that was familiar and comforting to Carter. The town consisted of quaint streets, a few mom-and-pop restaurants and shops, churches and a small college. There was one traffic light in the middle of everything, which was conveniently located between the police station and his brother’s mountain adventure business, High Mountain Rafting. Carter noticed Jace’s SUV in the parking lot of High Mountain and figured Jace was preparing for the day’s first white-water trip. In view was Sawtooth Mountain, the highest peak in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Once he determined that Sam McCall, the department’s newest rookie and Carter’s friend, was his backup, Carter left the station and headed out in the direction of Laurel Hollow Road, where the Jefferson clan had lived for decades. The fifteen-minute drive to Liggett Mountain would take Carter from the charming ambiance of sleepy Holly River to the run-down shabbiness of the cabins outside town. This was the part of the county the tourists never saw and the part where few residents ever managed to escape their poverty.

  He smiled when he remembered Betsy’s warning when he’d left. “You take care, Carter,” she’d said. She was almost like a favorite aunt and never failed to issue similar warnings to all of Holly River’s eight officers.

  Soon the terraced, manicured lawns of Holly River’s more prosperous residents gave way to the scrub and unkempt forested areas of the folks who couldn’t afford gardeners, HOA bills or even ride-on lawnmowers. Some of the lawns, if a guy could even call them that, hadn’t been tended in years and had been taken over by rocks and dry, sandy soil.

  An old tire with a weary-looking mailbox post sprouting from its center marked the Jefferson cabin, the one Dale’s parents had left to their oldest son—the one where the younger brother, Lawton, lived now after getting out of prison. Lawton hadn’t been as lucky as his older brother. He’d been caught red-handed spray painting the mayor’s BMW. That might not have landed him in the state penitentiary, but the twenty pounds of freshly manufactured methamphetamine next to the illegal firearm in the trunk of his old Buick did—for eight years.

  As he pulled up the gravel drive to the house, Carter couldn’t help noticing how worn out this place was. He didn’t know why the battered chimney, looking like a mouth of missing teeth, was still standing. And surely the dozen patches on the shingle roof didn’t keep the rain out. Carter figured there wasn’t much extra cash for repairs. Dale’s part-time jobs barely kept the electricity on and oil heat burning in the winter.

  Carter climbed the three steps leading to the narrow porch, careful to avoid the holes in the rotting wood. He knocked on the front door and waited.

  After a minute, Dale answered, wearing flannel pants and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. He scowled at Carter. “What is it this time, Carter? What’re the folks in town accusing me of now?”

  As usual Dale appeared unkempt and soiled. His dark hair hung in limp strands to his shoulders. His face was gaunt. But strangely he didn’t look particularly tired, like he wasn’t out at one o’clock in the morning when the robbery supposedly took place. Dale grabbed the loose hair around his shoulders, pulled it all back to his nape and let it fall again. A tall man, he seemed thinner, more wiry than he had in recent years. His eyes were lined in the corners. His cheeks seemed high and hollow. If Dale was practicing a life of thievery again, Carter wondered why he didn’t target the supermarket in town. At least his thievery would benefit his health.

  “Where were you last night, Dale?” Carter asked. “About one in the morning.”

  “Just leaving the Muddy Duck,” he said. “Came home right after.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  “Sure. Sheila was there all night. She’ll tell you she and I were the only ones in the bar that late.”

  Carter nodded. Great. Dale’s on-again, off-again girlfriend who tended bar at the Duck would vouch for Dale anytime.

  “We have a witness who says your vehicle was parked behind the hardware store on County Road 17.”

  “That’s right,” Dale said. “I didn’t know there was a law against parking on a county road.”

  “There’s not,” Carter said. “But the hardware store is more than a block from the tavern, so why did you park there?”

  “I had a good reason. There’s a particular lady I didn’t want to see the Jeep in the area.” He grinned in a conspiratorial man-bonding way that meant nothing to Carter. “You know how it is, Carter. We can’t let all our lady friends know what we’re up to, now, can we?”

  “Did you see any unusual activity along the road when you left?” Carter asked. “Maybe anyone sneaking around the hardware store?”

  “Nope. The whole area was as quiet as a church.”

  Carter took his phone from his pocket and reread an email he’d received that morning from the officer on duty. It contained a list of items gone missing from the store. Only twenty bucks had been left in the cash register by the owner. The full amount had been stolen, but the store owner, Carl Harker, was moaning as if he’d lost a fortune. One item caught Carter’s eye. He looked up at Dale. “You planning to start a garden anytime soon, Dale?”

  “That’s an odd question, Carter. You know most of my food comes from the Baptist Food Bank. Why would I grow my own?”

  “Just curious,” Carter said. Hoping Dale would slip up and mention some of the stolen property, Carter wasn’t about to tell Dale that a dozen irrigation hoses were taken, along with several pole-type sprinklers. He evaded by saying, “Seems like whoever took this stuff is planning to cultivate a crop in a major way.”

  “Wouldn’t be me, Carter. I got enough work on my hands with my chickens and them goats out back.”

  “Mind if I have a look around your place just the same?”

  “You have a warrant, Carter?”

  He didn’t, and by the time he requested one from the county judge, if Dale was the proud owner of a new sprinkling system, the evidence would be nowhere to be found. “I’ll come back with a warrant if I need one, but for now I’ll just keep my eyes open for any new crops going in,” he said.

  Dale leaned against his door frame. “You know how it is...folks around here are always cultivating one thing or another, always waiting for a bumper crop.” He gave Carter another grin. “Is there anything else?”

  “I think I’ll have a word with Lawton. Is he here?”

  Dale jutted his thumb toward the back of the house. “He just got some company. The two of them are in the backyard discussing something, but I don’t suppose it will bother them if you interrupt. Besides, you know the person who showed up this morning out of the blue.”

  Carter carefully maneuvered the steps to the ground. “I’ll just go around back, then. And, Dale...”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not forgetting that you were within a block of the robbery last night. So if y
ou remember anything, even the smallest detail that might help us out, you give me a call.”

  “You know I would, Carter...”

  When hell freezes over... Carter thought.

  Anything else Dale might have said was muffled by the closing of the door.

  Now, who could be visiting Lawton? Carter wondered as he walked around the cabin. He’d been released from prison just two weeks ago, and Carter hadn’t heard that he’d made any friends or renewed acquaintances in town. In fact, Lawton hadn’t even been seen in town, except for a visit to the grocery store. Maybe his parole officer was here. Or someone from one of the church groups. Or maybe...

  He stopped dead at the corner of the rear exterior wall of the cabin. Lawton sat on a rickety old bench beside a young woman—a woman whose posture and size and shape were so familiar to Carter that the breath was trapped in his lungs.

  It couldn’t be Miranda. She didn’t have a reason to come back to Holly River. Her daddy was dead. Her mother had moved to a condo in Hickory. True, she’d been raised a Jefferson. Her family had lived for a few generations in these hills just like her cousins Dale and Lawton and their parents had. But Miranda hadn’t been able to wait to get away and make a life for herself. No matter whom she hurt in the process.

  Her family had lived for years here on Liggett Mountain in a cabin slightly better than her cousins’. Still the more fortunate Jeffersons had struggled on one income brought in by Miranda’s father, Warren. Carter couldn’t take his eyes off the woman on the bench. Finally he released the breath he’d been holding. No, it wasn’t Miranda Jefferson, or Miranda Larson now. His Miranda...funny how that phrase popped back into his mind after so many years...had light brown hair. This woman’s shoulder-length waves had streaks of blond. He blinked hard. A successful woman could afford to change her hair color, couldn’t she?