Mistaken
Mistaken
First Impressions Are Never What They Seem
Karen Barnett
Nashville, Tennessee
Mistaken
Copyright © 2013 by Karen Barnett
ISBN-13: 978-1-68299-844-1
Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202
www.abingdonpress.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in
any retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form
or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording,
or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher,
except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the
creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Barnett, Karen, 1969-
Mistaken : first impressions are never what they seem / Karen Barnett.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4267-7449-2 (binding: pbk., trade pbk. : alk. paper)
I. Title.
PS3602.A77584M57 2013
813'.6—dc23
2013014893
Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 18 17 16 15 14 13
To my parents, Ken and Janette Dunmire,for teaching me to say, “Yes, I can.”
Acknowledgments
It takes a special person to be married to a writer. My husband, Steve Barnett, has taken on far more than his share of the load . . . of everything. Steve, I will never be able to write a hero that can hold a candle to you.
I am thankful for my kids, who have graciously allowed me to drag them to museums, car shows, historical societies, and antique stores. They have been wonderfully patient with their mom even when it means vacating the house so I can write.
Many wonderful writing friends have offered both critique and encouragement on this project, especially Connie Brzowski, Heidi Gaul, Marilyn Rhoads, Patricia Lee, and Tamera Bowers. Thank you for sharing your knowledge with me!
I am grateful for the many writing instructors and mentors from the American Christian Fiction Writers, Oregon Christian Writers and the amazing Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, especially Randy Ingermanson, Brandilyn Collins, Mary DeMuth, Tricia Goyer, and Lauraine Snelling.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the kind people of Port Angeles, particularly Kathy Monds and the staff of the Clallam County Historical Society, the Historic Joyce Depot Museum, and Don Perry of the Port Angeles Underground Heritage Tour. (I apologize for my characters referring to Port Angeles as a “dirty mill town”—today it is a sparkling gem in the shadow of the Olympics.)
Thank you to my dear friend Sarah Sundin for her guidance with the pharmacy scenes and to Dr. Aaron David for helping me refine the medical scenes. As always, any errors are mine alone.
I could not have done this without the prayers and encouragement of my church family at Willamette Community. Thank you!
To my agent extraordinaire, Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Agency: your calming spirit has seen me through many anxious moments. I can’t imagine walking this road without your wise guidance. And to my fellow Bookies—I love you all.
And finally, I will be forever grateful for Abingdon Press and their willingness to take a chance on a new writer in a tough market. I particularly want to thank Ramona Richards, Cat Hoort, Jenny Youngman, Susan Cornell, the fantastic art department, and everyone else who has worked behind the scenes to make this project a success. It’s been a blessing working with you.
1
Port Angeles, Washington. 1926
Laurie Burke clutched the steering wheel of her father’s Model T as the car lurched down the deserted road toward the beach, the headlights barely denting the dark night. Rain spilled over the edges of the canvas top and soaked her coat, wetting her to the skin. The automobile plowed through a low bog, tires casting up a spray of muddy water.
If it weren’t for her brother, Laurie would be asleep in her bed. She tapped her fingernails against the wheel and breathed a quick prayer. One honorable man in my life—is that too much to ask, God?
As the road veered to the west, tracing the coastline, Laurie slowed the automobile to a crawl, scanning the murky shadows for signs of life. A darkened vehicle waited on the side of the road. Perched near the edge of the bluff, the car’s front wheels pointed in the direction of the Straits, not that one could see the water on a night like this.
Carefully, she guided the Ford in beside the other automobile. Empty. She hadn’t expected to spot lovers necking in the front seat, but only fools would be out on a storm-swept beach in the dark of night.
Laurie twisted a long strand of beads as her stomach churned. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Please God, don’t let my brother be one of those fools.
Hands shaking, she retrieved the flashlight, one of her father’s prized possessions from his time in the Great War. In his current state, she couldn’t imagine he’d notice it missing.
Before lifting the hood over her hair, she ran fingers through the short locks, still adjusting to the sensation of the cropped edges curling around her ears. She’d long admired the girls at work with their stylish bobs, so when Amelia had offered, Laurie jumped at the opportunity, even against her father’s wishes. Now, with the cold air rushing down her neck, she felt like a freshly shorn lamb turned out to an icy pasture.
The wind pressed against the door as Laurie rattled the handle. With a mighty heave, she flung it open, her shoes squelching in the mud as she stepped to the ground. The gale sent her hood flying, chilly droplets pelting her face. The flashlight tumbled from Laurie’s fingers as she turned her back to the wind.
Laurie wrestled the hood into place before scanning the ground at her feet. She crouched, feeling around in the muck until her fingers brushed the cold metal. With a push of the button, the light clicked on. Standing, she swung the beam in a wide arc, searching for the path that wound down the bluff to the beach. Images of long-ago summer picnics flooded her mind, the memory of mother’s hand warm around hers, Johnny running ahead to be the first to the water’s edge. The plan seemed sound earlier, but now her knees trembled. The tree branches above her head thrashed like a thousand arms waving her away. Laurie steeled herself. If her brother was on that beach, she wanted to know.
Movement near the other automobile drew her eyes and lifted the hair on her arms. She aimed the beam at the car—empty. She swung the flashlight in a protective circle, pausing at each suspicious shadow.
Just pretend it’s a lovely summer afternoon. Laurie squared her shoulders and stepped away from the relative safety of her father’s car. Her confidence lasted for all of six steps before she caught her toe on a tangled root and pitched forward, landing on her hands and knees in the mud. Tears stung at her eyes. Johnny, I’m going to wring your neck when I catch up with you.
Laurie wrinkled her nose at the muck and pushed herself up to her knees. The flashlight created a comforting bubble of light around her.
It also helped her see the unexpected hand as it clamped onto her arm.
Laurie shrieked. Swinging the flashlight, she brought it down on the strange wrist with a loud crack.
The arm recoiled as a yelp rang through the dark night.
Hear
t pounding, she swung a second time, the glow illuminating the man’s face just before the hard metal impacted it, the flashlight ricocheting from her fingers. Laurie scrambled backward, dragging her new coat through the mud.
“Wait, wait,” a voice panted.
Laurie swallowed the urge to scream, her throat clenching. Could she find the car in the dark? And what good would it do? She’d never get it cranked in time.
The light blazed in her direction. She struggled to her feet, determined to put a safe distance between herself and this stranger.
“No, stop! I’m not going to hurt you!”
Laurie darted for the trees and threw herself into the ferns surrounding their bases, heart pounding.
“I was just trying to help. I’m sorry I frightened you.” He pointed the flashlight under his chin, the light illuminating his features and pooling under the brim of his hat. “Please, come out.”
The glowing face did little to reassure her. Laurie shivered in the brush. Which terrified her more—the strange man or the pitch-black forest? She cleared her throat. “Who are you?”
The light swung back toward her, glaring in her eyes. Laurie pressed lower into the dripping plants.
“My name is Daniel Shepherd. And I—well, as ridiculous as it sounds on a night like tonight—I was delivering something. I thought I saw lights out on the beach, so I stopped.”
Laurie lifted her head. “Let me see your face again.”
The stranger obliged. Not one of Johnny’s mill buddies—a point in his favor.
Laurie struggled to her feet, her coat slimed with a combination of mud and pine needles.
The man remained motionless, pointing the light at her feet as if to guide her steps. “I am sorry.”
She stopped a few feet away and stretched out her hand. “I’ll need my light.”
“Of course.” He held it out, handle first. “I hope you won’t be using it as a weapon this time.”
She snatched it and scuttled backward.
He touched the red welt below his eye and winced. “Can I ask a question now?”
Laurie swallowed, willing her shaking knees to still. “Yes.”
“Who are you—and do you know why those people are out on the beach during a rainstorm?”
“That’s two questions.” She scrutinized him in the flashlight’s dull glow. The man’s nice coat and hat set him apart from the typical Port Angeles mill-rats. Perhaps a banker or a doctor? He didn’t look like trouble. Sometimes a handsome face equals trouble.
She held the light with one hand and jammed the other into her coat pocket for warmth. “Th-they’re oyster picking.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Oysters?” His cheek twitched as if he fought a smile. “Of course.” Rain dripped from the edge of his hat, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “Is this a good beach for . . . oysters?”
“The best.” Laurie tipped the beam higher so she could get a clearer view of the dimple in his cheek. “Do you like oysters, Mr. Shepherd?”
“Well, I haven’t had them in years, but I believe it’s practically a staple around here, isn’t it?” He lifted a hand to shield his eyes.
Laurie lowered her arm so the light puddled on the man’s chest, illuminating the tie and jacket and the chiseled edge of his chin. “Yes. We love our oysters.”
The rain pattered down around them, the silence growing awkward. She shook her head at the absurdity of the moment. “Does it strike you odd we’re discussing seafood in the middle of the night?”
“In a rainstorm, yes.” The dimple reappeared, accompanying a brief smile. “Perhaps we could discuss it another time?”
A flutter rose in her belly. “What do you mean?”
He took a step closer. “I mean to say, I hope we can speak again, sometime. In the daylight, of course.” He tipped his hat back, providing a clear view of his face.
Nice face. Laurie shook herself. She needed to remember why she was here. Flirting with strangers wasn’t on the agenda. “I should go. My friends might need help with their”—she cleared her throat—“their oysters.”
“Would you like me to walk you down there?”
Laurie pulled her mud-splattered coat close. “I’m familiar with the trail, thank you.” She took a step backward, hesitant to leave the warmth of their brief conversation.
“You didn’t tell me your name.” His soft voice crossed the space between them
“Laurie—Laurie Burke.”
His eyebrows rose. “Burke? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Burke. I think I know some of your family.”
Her hope faded like a candle snuffed by the rain.
“My name is Shepherd, I—”
“Yes, so you said. Now, if you’ll please excuse me . . . ” She spun on her heel, leaving him standing in the rain. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss her family.
“Good night, Miss Burke.” His voice trailed after her.
The rain eased, but her shoes slipped along the leaf-strewn ground. Laurie chose her steps with care. She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, but Mr. Shepherd had been swallowed by the shadows. A twinge tugged at her heart. It’s for the best. Still, meeting a handsome and mysterious stranger on the bluff brought a flicker of excitement to this otherwise discouraging night.
She picked her way down the steep trail. The sky cleared, a gusty wind driving the clouds from their places and the moon casting a dim radiance over the beach. Switching off her light, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
In the distance, a lantern rested on the sand, illuminating the feet and legs of a small group of people gathered around two boats. The men hefted bulky, burlap sacks, stacking them on the ground. Crude voices and laughter rang clear in the damp air.
Laurie pushed her fingers deep into the pockets of her wool coat, all traces of warmth vanishing. She stalked toward the figures, the sand shifting with every step. Pausing a few feet away, she flicked on the flashlight, its beam slicing through the darkness. The men shouted, arms flying to shield their faces. Two dove over the side of the boat into the shallow surf. The burst of activity reminded her of kicking over rocks to watch crabs scuttle across the sand.
She directed the light at each individual in turn, recognizing several—from church, of all places. Her brother stood stock-still at the water’s edge, a bag balanced on his shoulder, his hat pushed low on his head.
“Johnny.” Her stomach twisted.
Squinting against the glare, he lowered the burlap sack onto the shore. “Laurie? Blast it all, girl—what are you doing here?”
A couple of heads popped up from the waves like sea lions.
Johnny strode to where she stood and wrenched the light from her as he swung his own in a wide arc around the beach. He turned on Laurie, eyes bulging. “Are you crazy? What were you thinking? You could get us all locked up.”
Laurie folded her arms. “I was thinking my brother had more sense than to fall in with rumrunners. But I guess I was wrong.”
Johnny grabbed Laurie’s elbow and yanked her away from the boats. “How did you know?”
“I heard you on the telephone. I’d hoped you’d taken a real delivery job, not this sort of nonsense.” She spit the words in his face. “What about Dad? Are you the one bringing him liquor?”
“Just shut up about it, will you? You know we need the money.” He glanced up at the bluff. “How did you get out here?”
Laurie set her jaw. “I drove the Ford.”
“Our lookout just let you waltz onto the beach? What is he doing, sleeping?”
Laurie’s heart fell. Daniel Shepherd—it figures.
Johnny kicked at the ground, sending up a spray of wet sand. “Worthless piece of dung.” He pushed his hands against his eyes. “Shoot, if you’d been a G-man you could have busted this whole operation wide open.”
Laurie grabbed his arm. “That’s what I mean. It’s not worth the risk.”
He shook her loose. “Go home, Laurie.” Johnny turned and trud
ged away.
She stumbled and fought to regain her balance on the slippery rocks. “Maybe I should call those federal agents.” Her voice rose over the roar of the wind.
When her brother rounded on her, Laurie gasped and darted toward the path. He caught her three steps later, his arm locked around her midsection, pinning her arms to her sides.
She shrieked as he spun her around, the icy gleam in his eye reminding her of their father. “Johnny, I’m sorry.”
He grunted in response, hauling her to the grass at the bottom of the bluff. “Go home. And keep your trap shut.”
Laurie wound her way up the path, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.
Mr. Shepherd waited at the top. He reached out a hand as if to assist her in the final climb. “So, how are those oysters?”
A sour taste crawled up her throat. She brushed aside his hand. “I just remembered, there’s a law against gathering oysters under the cover of darkness.”
He glanced toward the pinpricks of lights on the beach. “Well, if it’s the middle of the night, who’s going to know?”
Laurie examined the man’s rugged jaw and wide smile in the moonlight. If she’d met him on the streets of Port Angeles, she’d never have guessed he was a common criminal. “Doesn’t make it right.” She headed back toward the automobiles.
“I suppose there’s a few men down there who might get hurt if somebody were to find out.”
A prickle climbed Laurie’s back. A threat? She pulled her coat close. “Then we’d better make sure nobody says anything.”
Mr. Shepherd reached for the Ford’s crank. “They won’t be hearing it from me. I’d hate to see harm come to anyone.” The engine rattled to life.
Mistaken Page 1
