The Man From Falcon Ridge. Rita Herron
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from the shadows of the forest as the frail-looking woman opened the door and went inside the house. Who was she? And why had she bought a run-down house that was supposedly haunted?
She obviously didn’t know its history.
A chuckle reverberated in his chest as he pictured her finding out.
The house had once been beautiful, painted blue with white shutters, the outside postcard perfect. The ultimate dream for the happy couple who’d moved inside. Laughter and dreams had abounded within the walls, the patter of small feet and children’s voices filling the empty rooms with life and joy.
Then everything had changed.
Dreams had been shattered. Lives had been destroyed. The world had crumbled down just as the house looked as if it might crumble now.
The pain of the woman’s cries still echoed in his head, the sadness in her eyes, the whisper of death as she’d clawed her way toward the boy….
It had been all her fault.
And now this…this other woman had come.
He had to get rid of her.
The Hatchet House held secrets. Secrets that would ruin his life if exposed. Secrets that would stay behind closed doors.
Secrets that he would kill to keep hidden…
Chapter Two
A whisper of unease tickled Hailey’s spine, mingling with the icy cold temperature, as she entered the house. Rex Falcon’s words about the ghosts echoed in her mind.
But ghosts weren’t real. No, danger came from real, live men who wanted to control the women they were involved with. Not ones who were buried and long gone. Besides, the real estate agent assured her the killer was serving a life sentence in prison.
It was time to stop running and build her own life. She’d held her ground with Rex Falcon, refusing to let his gruff, mysterious demeanor intimidate her. His dark, sexy eyes had trapped her, though, and a spark of awareness had passed between them. A sexual spark that she had no intention of exploring.
The low hum of the snowstorm outside echoed through the house, reminding her she was alone. Rex Falcon’s predatory expression flashed back. He hadn’t wanted her here. She’d sensed that was the reason he’d mentioned the ghosts.
But she refused to let anything chase her away.
And she was not here to get entangled with a man.
The wood floor creaked as she closed the front door and fumbled for the light switch. But the power company had yet to turn on the electricity. The realtor claimed the furniture had been left in place. Maybe there were some candles around, also.
The stale smell of a house having been closed up filled the chilly air as she moved into the parlor. Twilight settled over the interior, painting the sheet-draped furniture with gray, but on the mantel she spotted a silver candelabra. She hurried over, blew the top layer of dust away, then found a pack of matches on the hearth of the brick fireplace. The pack was so old it took three times before she finally lit the slender tapered candlesticks, but she was grateful for the soft glow.
Then she studied the room. Heavy velvety drapes covered the windows and hung to the floor, obliterating the outside, and creating an ominous, claustrophobic feeling. Hailey shivered, her uneasiness mounting. But those curtains shielded her from the outside and any strangers who might be roaming in the woods. And they were thick enough to help ward off the cold, as well.
She’d replace the windows with Thermopane ones, trade the drapes for blinds so the natural light could spill in during the daytime, and she could shut them at night.
The walls were dingy and needed paint, too, and dust motes swirled in the halo of candlelight. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling and a spider retreated into a corner to spin its web. Clutching the candelabra in her hand, she decided to check out the rest of the house.
Her footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as she walked through the hallway to the kitchen. The counters and woodwork were faded and chipped, but the old-fashioned oven and stove supposedly still worked. The refrigerator was an ancient model with no ice maker, but was functional, and there was no dishwasher. Dust covered the dingy beige countertops, and she spotted droppings near the bottom of the wood cupboard door that had probably come from mice. A set of old-fashioned café curtains in faded orange hung over the bay window, but she nudged them aside to look out at a majestic view of the Colorado mountains. The valley below would be green in summer, but now brown dotted the trees, along with an increasing layer of snow.
She imagined the white-topped mountain peaks at sunset, and a smile tugged at her lips.
But the wind howled outside, the thin panes of glass crackling with the force. The floor was darker near the mudroom, too. She stepped closer to examine the deep brown of the planks, but a sense of horror immobilized her.
Was the dark area the bloodstain from the family who’d died inside the room twenty years ago?
TWENTY YEARS SINCE anyone had lived in the Hatchet House. And now this woman…
Rex couldn’t shake his anxiety over her appearance. Hailey Hitchcock was beautiful. But she was in trouble. Running from something. Probably scared of her own shadow although she’d tried to appear unfazed by his appearance.
So why had she bought a supposedly haunted old house in the middle of nowhere in the dead of winter?
Because she didn’t want to be found. But wasn’t she afraid to live alone in a house where a brutal crime had occurred? And who was she running from? Her husband? A lover?
Or could she be in trouble with the law?
His father’s haggard face materialized. Years ago, he’d been tall in stature, a mountain of a man with an animalistic nature and skin bronzed from the sun and outdoor work. Now, he was pale and drawn, the lack of ample light and time in his natural environment killing him. Just as it would kill Rex and his brothers to be locked away, deprived of the very essence of their being.
And his mother…she had suffered so much over the years. She’d loved their father unconditionally, had stood beside him at the trial, had endured the tauntings of the neighbors. Even after his father’s conviction, she’d tried to hold her head up in the town, but some people were cruel. So, she’d finally taken her boys to Arizona, far away from the hateful gossip and condemning eyes.
Just returning to Falcon Ridge, Rex felt those damning eyes as if the past twenty years hadn’t passed, as if he was that same child who’d been ostracized as a killer’s child.
Telling himself Hailey Hitchcock was not his concern, that his job here was to find the man who’d framed his father, he strode through the ten-foot-tall stone walls that shaped his homestead on Falcon Ridge. The icy, cavernous rooms echoed with age, like a fortress that had stood the test of time against the bitter Colorado elements.
Although his mother had hated the monastery-like house and stone walls, the fact that they’d been virtually cut off from civilization during the long winter months, the house resurrected happy memories of his childhood. Of running through the mammoth structure, hiding in the labyrinth of rooms in the basement. Hiking with his dad into the woods to watch the birds of prey.
He went to his basement office, the space he had set up for his P.I. business, booted up his computer and pulled up the old case files on his father’s arrest. The Lyles’ son, eight-year-old Steven, had been the apple of his father’s eye. Mrs. Lyle had become a recluse, though, and kept the little girl, who was supposedly autistic, at home. According to the locals, Lyle, an attorney, had been charismatic, covering for his wife with excuses.
Rex’s father had been the caretaker of the grounds. He’d claimed Mrs. Lyle was afraid of her husband, that he was abusing his wife and daughter. But no one else could corroborate his story. And Rex’s father’s long trek alone into the woods that day had robbed him of an alibi.
Rex skimmed further, trying