Page 3 of Finding Forever

Wren and Gideon are about as cute as can be, but I’m not sacrificing my heart going that route again. I lived with Aunt Gertrude in this little town near Lake Tahoe during my high school years when my parents were so busy with their careers Gertie’s offer to have me live with her was met with gratitude. After my marriage imploded, I made the decision to come home to Heartbreak Falls.

I have great friends, the town’s eccentric vibe is fun, and enough tourists pass through to support Falls View Inn. Aunt Gertie may be gone, but the inn she left to me is my pride and joy. A slightly dated pride and joy that I’m determined to make shine.

I check my phone again. Nothing. Then I notice the tiny “no service” message in the corner. Right. Mountains plus storm equals black hole. At least the inn’s landline works.

I feed another log into the woodstove in the corner. With no guests, heating the whole inn is wasteful and expensive, so I use the stove to heat the kitchen and my small living quarters.

Minestrone is simmering on the range: rich tomato, beans, and vegetables. I stir it and the aroma is amazing. With the bread proofing in the oven, I’ll have meals for a couple days.

A sharp crack shatters the quiet and I jerk upright.

A gunshot.

Penny bolts for the door, barking furiously. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I edge to the window, instinctively crouching, and peek outside.

There, barely visible ducking behind a Jeffrey pine, is a man wearing orange pants. Prison pants. A match to Beckett’s description. The fugitive.

My heart slams in my chest and I rush to shut off the lights. Scooping up Penny, I lock her in my room off the kitchen. She’d be zero help against a desperate man, and I don’t want her hurt.

My hands are shaking when I grab the double-barreled Winchester. I slide four extra shells in my sweater pocket and stash the box in a drawer.

Swallowing hard, I move to another window, staying to the side. Snow cuts visibility, but I spot the fugitive again, a red stain blooming against the orange on his backside. Someone shot him. But who?

I have no close neighbors. I sincerely hope it’s law enforcement and that they’re close by.

The fugitive seems focused on something on the slope. I smother a gasp when he raises his arm, a pistol in his hand. That’s when I see another man, armed, wearing dark clothing, running toward my shed.

He’s blurred by snow, but clearly not wearing orange.

My pulse hammers in my ears, making it hard to hear. I press against the wall, trying not to shake. The fugitive aiming at him makes me think he’s law enforcement. He breaks from the trees and there are sharp reports of gunfire. He’s firing at the fugitive as he races for the inn.

I make the decision to trust my instincts that he’s one of the good guys. If he reaches me, I’m letting him in.

It takes me only a second to disarm the security system. That done, I move to the door and crack it open. He’s sprinting, but hampered by the snow. I hold my breath, willing him to make it. He’s nearly across the clearing when another shot rings out. He jerks, spins, then collapses.

The fugitive steps cautiously from the trees, moving closer, gun raised for the kill.

I do the only thing I can. Shotgun heavy in my hands, I slip out the door. I cross to stand by the fallen man. Bringing the shotgun to my shoulder, I sight down the barrel.

The fugitive sees me too late. His eyes flare and he stumbles back, falls, and scrambling to his feet, points his pistol at me.

I fire.

The kick of the shotgun slams me back a step, and he dives behind a tree. I have no idea if I hit him. I’m about to fire the second barrel when the injured man surges to his feet. In a fluid motion, he grabs me around the waist and runs for the door.

CHAPTER THREE

Luke

I haul the woman into the inn, kick the door shut, and flip the deadbolt. Ignoring the numbness in my shoulder, I scan fast. Mudroom, kitchen, a hallway beyond, and carry her through the kitchen into a short hall. No windows. I set her on her feet and finally get a real look at her.

My adrenaline is pumping, and not only from being shot. Gray-green sort of hazel eyes lock on mine, and something hits low in my gut. The room tilts. Blood loss, I tell myself. Not the woman who just risked her life for mine. She’s striking, sure, but it’s more than that. Looking at her feels like getting shot all over again.

I shake it off.

“Stay here.” My voice comes out rough. “I need to see where he went. If he gets past me, shoot him again.”

“If you hadn’t grabbed me, I would’ve had him.”