Mr december a last hope.., p.1
Mr. December: A Last Hope Ranch Novel, page 1
Mr. December
A Last Hope Ranch Novel
Amanda McIntyre
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Books in the Kinnison Legacy
More Books By Amanda
About the Author
Mr. December
Copyright © 2019 by Amanda McIntyre
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Amanda McIntyre
http://www.amandamcintyresbooks.com
Manufactured in the United States of America
To Kristi, Patti, Jo, Jennifer, to my supportive husband and family and to the many reader fans who believe like I do that Love will find a way.
Chapter 1
Sheriff J.C. Nash toed his boot through a pile of black ash and wondered when this sleepy community had begun to change.
Life in End of the Line had been idyllic when he was a kid—as much as it could be for the son of a small-town sheriff. An introvert, his head was usually in a book. He remembered riding his bike every Saturday morning to the special children’s programs held at the library.
“Possible it’s faulty wiring, J.C.,” said Ben Hodges, the captain of the local firehouse. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving a white mark through the soot caked on his skin.
The brave men of the End of the Line firehouse in town and volunteers from nearby communities had battled the two-alarm fire for the better part of the night, hampered by a blustery north wind.
J.C. glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to midnight. It’d been one long-ass day and it didn’t appear to be ending anytime soon.
“Sheriff J.C.?”
His shoulders fell at the terrified sound of the familiar voice. He wasn’t yet ready to talk to anyone about this. There wasn’t much to tell, at any rate. Not until his investigation and the State Fire Marshal’s were through. This was going to hit the community hard. End of the Line was already suffering the same fate as many small towns—empty storefronts downtown, major roads redirecting tourist travel.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, he turned to face his friend Charlotte Smith. Their friendship developed in junior high and high school when, seeking escape from bullies, he’d hidden out at the bank of computers in the library. Charlotte had been a quiet, studious girl wearing braces that exacerbated her shyness. She didn’t ask why he hid out there and he never bothered her about her braces. And just like that, a friendship was born.
Charlotte loved the library—she loved learning and offering books as a way to teach others. After graduation, she’d returned to End of the Line with a library science degree and had built the programs in the small town to a rousing success.
Her arms wrapped around herself, Charlotte stood amid the tangle of firehoses strewn across the lawn of the town square. The look of utter loss on her face twisted J.C.’s heart. So many years of hard work, and not only Charlotte’s—the entire town had been making efforts to put End of the Line on the map. The city council had recently renovated the train depot in town after it was placed on the National Registry for Historical places. A few years before that, the courthouse and library had also received such an honor. But the winds of change had swiftly moved in, bringing more tourists and curiosity seekers to the once-booming mining town—and with them, possible trouble.
J.C. picked his way over to her. He placed his arm around her shoulder and steered Charlotte away from the devastation. “There’s not much you can do right now, Charlotte.” He searched her face, her gaze focused on the gaping hole where firefighters had to break through a bay of windows to reach the fire.
“When is Nate due home?” he asked. He’d heard news earlier in the week that her husband, Nate, was in Rapid City, South Dakota for a pharmaceutical conference. The dazed look on her face just about did him in. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I know what the library meant to you.”
“The conference is over tomorrow,” she said, her gaze still on the smoldering ashes. “He said he’d be home as soon as he could.” Charlotte glanced at him, then back at the disaster. “Oh, Jacob. Is there anything left? What about our programs?” Her watery gaze met his. “What about the kids?” Her voice caught with emotion. “We were about to start reading readiness week. I’d just ordered the award diplomas.” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the destruction. “You know how the kids love getting those.” She smiled, her thoughts seemingly distant. “You always signed them. As did the mayor.” Her eyes widened. She clutched his arm. “No one was inside, were they?”
J.C. frowned and shook his head. “I haven’t heard, but it’s not likely. It was late. The mayor has been called. He’ll know if anyone had access.”
“Do they think this was deliberate? Oh, my gosh, Jacob, who would do such a horrible thing?” He could hear the panic rising in her voice. She gripped his coat sleeve. “Why?”
She looked to him for answers. He had none to offer. Truth was, he had more questions than answers at this point. He might be the new sheriff in town, but by God, this was his town and if this was no accident, he’d be damned if he’d let anyone get by with it.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay? There will be a thorough investigation, I promise you,” he said, trying to ease her concerns.
“Perhaps it was an accident,” Charlotte said with a frown.
Together they watched as the first responders picked through the rubble.
“You know”—she pulled her jean jacket tighter around her— “the custodians for the building stored their cleaning products in the basement next to the library.” She gave him a quick glance and pointed toward the debris. “I warned the mayor they should find an alternate storage area. I told him it was a disaster waiting to happen, with all those flammable chemicals so near to the furnace area.” She let her arm drop to her side.
In a strange way, J.C. hoped she was right. He patted her shoulder. “Why don’t you go on home now and see if you can get some rest.” He offered a weary smile. “I’ll let you know the minute I hear anything.”
“It’s going to be really hard on the kids,” she said, searching his face.
“We’ll figure something out, Charlotte. I promise.” J.C. walked her to her car and held the door as she got in.
“I should call Nate again,” he heard her say through the open window. Lost in her thoughts, she stared at the wheel.
“That would be a good idea. Tell him I’ll be in touch. Meantime, Charlotte, if you think of anything else, let me know.”
She nodded, though she kept her gaze forward as she turned the ignition. “I will.” She glanced up at him. “I suppose we should contact the radio station and let folks know the Saturday programs are canceled until further notice.” She offered a sad smile. “Those kids love to listen to you read to them.”
His heart fell along with his expression. Shortly after starting his position in town, he’d volunteered to come read to the kids on Saturday, wanting to give back to the program that had done so much for him. He loved watching their faces as he read. Loved seeing the curiosity spark in their eyes. “Yeah, I’ll probably be busy, Char. Why don’t you let me take care of notifying the radio station?” J.C. asked. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come down and assess the damage.”
Charlotte’s eyes welled. Her chin quivered. Damn.
“Listen, maybe we can find another place,” he offered off the top of his head. “Something temporary until this investigation is settled.”
“Investigation?” Her brows knit. “So, you do think this might have been deliberate?”
J.C. sighed and rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I don’t know. But, as of now, we have to consider all possibilities.”
“Are we safe? I mean, is the town safe?” She had a valid point, of course. Thing was, he didn’t need a townful of folks panicked that they might have an arsonist on the loose. He’d seen firsthand what happened when rumors and fear captured the attention of everyone in the small town. Odd that it had also been a fire—arson, more specifically, and the suspects had been caught. Most of them had, from what he knew, anyway. But that had been a long time ago—ancient history. Water under the bridge.
A movement up the street caught his eye. He saw a spry runner in skintight black leggings and a jacket rounding the corner and heading in a hurry up the hill toward the only house at the end of the street—the Evans mansion. He caught a glimpse of the runner’s dark brown ponytail swishing back and forth in the glow of the streetlight. The faint slap of tennis shoes on the pavement echoed with the beating of his heart.
He tapped the roof of the car. “You’re safe, Charlotte. The town’s safe. Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Go on home now. Call Nate—try t o get some rest.”
“You, too, Sheriff,” she said.
Not likely.
He kept a steady gaze on the lone runner disappearing over the crest of the hill. He’d heard Olivia was back in town. Still running, he also noticed. But, from what this time?
Olivia swiped her T-shirt over her face and tossed it on the ever-mounting pile of laundry stacked on the washing machine. She toed off her running shoes and grimaced at the smell. She’d need a shower tonight without fail.
“Laundry is not part of my job description. You are aware of that?” Nadia, the home-care nurse, walked to the mudroom door and gave her an apathetic look.
“Of course, Nadia. I’d planned on getting to it this evening.”
“I’ll have to clock in for overtime as well since your running took you past what you told me,” the woman said, wiping her hands on a towel. “Your mother was very agitated tonight that you didn’t come up for dinner.”
Olivia closed her eyes, took a breath, and smiled. “I’ll be sure to go up and see her. I’ve been busy with family obligations.”
“If you mean sitting in your daddy’s office all day and tossing things in all those boxes you have stacked by the front door, then I understand,” Nadia said, taking her purse off the back-hallway hook. “Looks to me like you’re getting rid of everything your father owned.”
“I’m not paying you to do laundry or to give personal advice about me or my family’s affairs. On that subject, did my mother eat well this evening?” Olivia had taken a carload of her father’s stamp and coin collections to Billings earlier in the day, getting a fair market price for them through the help of a pawn store owner. It’d be enough to pay a few bills and keep Nadia on for at least another month or so. Arriving home, she didn’t feel like eating, much less explaining to her mother where she’d been. So, she’d dressed and started running. While making a stop at the cemetery to see her dad’s grave, she’d run into her old boyfriend.
“That woman eats like a bird,” the woman’s voice jarred her back to the present. “We’re going to have to get her some of those protein milkshakes. You ask her doctor and see what he says about that.”
“I will.” Olivia nodded, watching the woman leave through the back door. “And be sure to add your extra hours to your schedule,” she called after her. She needed to give the woman a break. She was only trying to help.
She locked the door and turned to face the laundry that had slid to the floor. Stooping down, she began the tedious process of sorting what loads to wash first.
Her thoughts wandered to her father’s insistence on how he preferred his clothes washed and pressed—just enough starch, everything pressed to a crisp, clean line. Image had been everything to him. So much so that when her mother hadn’t been able to measure up to his standards, he’d simply found another woman better equipped to provide what he needed. Olivia had heard them arguing, heard the accusations that the woman in the next town was providing more than just laundry services. But her father had always won in those battles, with his usual belittling of her mother until she had no will left to fight.
Olivia would climb out on the roof when they’d start in on fighting. Staring at the stars, trying to shut out the bitter anger she heard being thrown back and forth, she’d sworn to herself that she’d never be reliant on anyone except herself. She’d never allow another person to have power over her. In retrospect, it had motivated her to take risks during her teen years—risks that had molded her into the type of person capable of doing the job she’d have later in life. Just the same, she was lucky to have survived some of them.
Earlier that night, she’d run into Brad sitting on the back of his truck in the cemetery. They had sat on the tailgate and talked about their wild days in high school.
Brad had grinned, leaning back to assess her. “You haven’t changed a bit.” She’d declined his offer of a beer from his cooler, but it hadn’t stopped him from taking one for himself.
Olivia smiled and looked away. She’d changed plenty. Just not in places people could see. But she couldn’t blame Brad. She’d never told him or anyone else about her real life at home. Brad had been a respite from her troubles and Olivia had, for a time, almost allowed herself to believe two people could truly love each other. That is, until she found him with her friend at a party one night after a game.
She scooted away when his hip had touched hers. “A lot of water under that bridge, to be sure.” She gave him a side glance, wondering where the ruggedly handsome boy she’d once swooned over had gone. His hair was long, scraggly and unkempt. His face bore the skin of a man who’d seen too much, experienced the hardness that life often tossed at a person. Brad had forgotten to duck. He looked old, scarred, and sad.
“How are you doing?” she’d asked, unsure where to find a common ground.
“Good. Good.” He shrugged. “It was hard for a while there, you know. People always looking at you after you’ve done your time.” He grinned and took another swig of his beer. “Kind of a celebrity status in a small town. How about you?”
“My job keeps me busy.” She didn’t want to flaunt her success in front of him.
“Yeah, where do you live now?” he asked.
“Well, I have a place in New York I share with a friend.”
“Ah, a city gal. Can’t say I’m surprised.” He smiled. “You always talked about getting out of this crappy small town.” He raised his bottle. “Good for you, catching your dreams.”
“I’m sorry that things went for you the way they did, but they could’ve been better had you not….”
His jaw tensed. She could see his expression change in the moonlight.
“Not all of us had a daddy to make things right, now, did we?” he asked with a weary bitterness.
“Brad, I didn’t—”
He held up one hand, cutting her off as he shook his head. “Sorry, that was a low blow. I know full well that I messed up. Didn’t my daddy—God rest his sorry soul—let me know what a loser he had for a son?”
“Look, everyone makes mistakes, Brad,” Olivia said. “You’ve paid for yours. Maybe it’s time to move on. What’s keeping you here?”
He looked at the ground. “Nothing, I suppose, but me.” He looked at her then. “I’m not sure what I’d do, anyway. Who wants a wanna-be football player who lost his only chance at making something of himself?”
Olivia’s ears perked to the sound of sirens in the distance. “Does that happen often around here?” she asked, checking her watch.
Brad frowned. “Hardly ever. Wonder what’s going on.”
“There’s a fire at the town square,” came a voice from the darkness. A second later, a woman stepped from the shadows, her dark hair braided on one side. She wore a black T-shirt and shorts that made Olivia’s eyes grow wide. “Vivian Hodges?” Vivian had been with Brad the fateful night he’d been arrested. She wasn’t from End of the Line, rather Billings, but often hung out with her and Brad and their friends. Even back then, Olivia suspected that Brad’s relationship with her had more to do with her drug connections than anything else.
“Hey, Liv. Heard you were back in town.” She sidled up to Brad and placed her hand on his thigh.
Not needing to be invited, Olivia had hopped off the truck and wiped the hay from her backside. “I should be getting on home. Good to see you both. Good luck, Brad.” With a quick glance over her shoulder, she noted him raise his beer in the air before he bent down to meet Vivian’s mouth.
Some things never change, she decided as she set the second load of bed linens to wash. She was weary, but the run had felt good. She hadn’t had a chance to run like that in months. She glanced at the light on in her father’s den. She’d left the heavy oak pocket doors open a bare crack when she’d left earlier, debating whether to lock it from Nadia’s prying eyes or not. But she’d chosen to trust the woman, despite disliking her personality.
She paused, debating whether to turn in or tackle more of the paperwork and oddities that made up her father’s possessions. Glancing up the stairs, her eyes met the stern gaze of her father’s portrait that the bank had commissioned. Barely into his first year of retirement, a heart attack—quick and without warning—had changed Olivia’s life from half a world away. She’d taken two days off then to attend the funeral and left immediately on a red-eye back to New York afterward. She was on a flight bound for Egypt before the ink could dry on the funeral check.
