A HERO’S REDEMPTION:
Haven Book 2
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
October 2007
ISBN 0373275552
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A HERO’S REDEMPTION
Silhouette Romantic Suspense
Haven Book 2
He was living on borrowed time…
Caught in a supernatural time shift, Dane McGuire was transported back to the week of Calla Jones’ death. He’d be falsely convicted of murder again if he couldn’t stop the past from repeating itself. But Dane didn’t count on his attraction for Calla. The owner of a Christmas tree farm, she’d sheltered him from a raging blizzard. Even the cold couldn’t stop the heat between them. Was this a second chance or a cruel joke played by their enemies? Calla and Dane had two days to discover the truth – and each other – or history would repeat itself, and Calla would die.
Haven: One small town can be otherworldly
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Haven Series
Also Available: SECRETS RISING, the first book in the Haven series.
Coming Soon: Watch for Protected in His Arms, the third book in the Haven series, coming in December 2008…. Marysia O’Hurley played at being psychic until the day she found out Haven’s earthquake and subsequent paranormal activity had changed her game into a gift. Now the last thing she wants is to use the power that allowed her to foresee the plane explosion that took her husband’s life. U.S. Marshal Gideon Brand is on the run and off the case when he comes looking for Mary. He’s determined to protect the beautiful woman who wants nothing to do with the investigation into the bombing… An investigation that is now pointing straight at a high-level federal agent. But the killer has a judge’s six-year-old granddaughter and it’s not only Gideon who needs Mary’s psychic skills to find the little girl within the seventy-two-hour timeframe but Mary who needs the hot, sexy federal lawman….because the killer is after her, too.
Q: How are the “Haven” books connected? Do they have to be read in order?
A: The books are connected by the paranormal activity swirling around one tiny West Virginia town after an earthquake, combined with an electrical storm, unleashes positive ions into the atmosphere, triggering supernatural events. Each book is a stand-alone story, although some characters carry over from book to book.
SECRETS RISING: Haven Book 1, July 2007
A HERO’S REDEMPTION: Haven Book 2, October 2007
PAX League Series
Don’t miss my classic three-book Silhouette super agents series, "PAX League" — Paranormal Allied eXperts. Romance with a sci-fi twist.
THE BEAST WITHIN: PAX Book 1, July 2005
THIRD SIGHT: PAX Book 2, November 2005
DEEP BLUE: PAX 3, February 2006
Also on sale now: November 2007 - The re-release of the PAX trilogy in a special ebook miniseries bundle!
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An Excerpt from A HERO’S REDEMPTION
Prologue
Haven, WV
Lightning cracked, flaring into the dark vehicle, the heavy June night outside suddenly pressing down on the prison transport van, reaching inside, tightening the air. Still dressed in the suit he’d worn to the sentencing, Dane McGuire forgot that his wrists were bound by handcuffs linked to a metal restraining belt at his waist and tried to reach up, touch his face, feel the strange humming pressure filling his head.
In the matter of the State vs. Dane McGuire in the murder of Calla Jones, the jury finds the defendant, Dane McGuire, guilty.
The prison transport van took a sharp mountain turn in the night, bouncing Dane against the side of the vehicle. The chain connecting the shackles at his ankles rattled in the dark of the rear holding cage.
Guilty, guilty, guilty.
If only he hadn’t gone to Calla Jones’ farm. If only he’d arrived a few hours earlier, or later, or-
Lightning shot down again, and the humming turned into a stinging in his skin, all over. The van jerked from side to side and he hit the hard wall of the vehicle as he was thrown, first to one side, then the other. For a split second, he thought he was okay, he was in one piece, maybe just a pothole, then the back end of the van came up, tossing him like a ball, and the vehicle plowed end over end. Time suspended in some awful slow motion, turning, just turning, his body flying out of the seat belt. The last thing he knew was impact and his head striking something hard.
He opened his eyes to darkness, blinking in agonized waves of nausea. Cold, he was so cold. Freezing cold. He battled to move by instinct, to lift himself up, every motion dazed, painful.
The mountain road stretched out before him, empty but for a shimmering wave of some thick vapor that disappeared before his eyes, rushing away in an eerie whoosh that left nothing but silence. Dane’s heartbeat filled the void, heavy, stumbling.
The van, the guards—
There was nothing but eerie stillness. Stillness and….something soft and frozen falling on his face. He looked down, confused, seeing the snowy ditch he’d hit, seeing the shackles on his wrists and ankles….gone.
He felt himself fall back, hit the ditch again, and he wondered if he was already dead.
Chapter One
She’d never touched a dead body before and she didn’t want to start now.
Chuck was practically beside himself, the yellow lab dancing back and forth, barking madly. Do something, he was telling her. Look what I found for you. She jerked into action, half-ran, half-slid into the ditch, instinct overcoming shock. Ice blew sideways, stinging her cheeks.
She dropped to her knees where the stranger lay, still, utterly still. He wore dark slacks and a white button-down shirt and tie, no suit jacket or overcoat, ridiculous for this weather, and- She forced herself to reach out, turn him over. Oh, God. That was blood at the dark hairline of his temple. Frozen blood.
His lips were almost white in the scant light of the early storm-dark. The West Virginia mountains were in for the blizzard of all blizzards if forecasters were right, and she didn’t doubt it, not after the way temps had dropped sharply from noon on. She hoped she wouldn’t have to cancel the “choose-and-cut” for this weekend, the last for this year’s Haven Christmas Tree Farm season. She needed a good season, and the weather wasn’t helping. It hadn’t been a good year altogether, starting with an earthquake that had damaged her house and barn, costing her some serious money in repairs. Now she’d lost both her employees in the peak of her season and if that wasn’t enough, her past was rearing its ugly head again. Now this.
A sick lump filled her throat. She tore off a glove, pushed back her hood, reached for the man’s neck to find an artery, laid her cheek over his face-—was he breathing? She couldn’t feel a pulse, but her fingers were almost instantly numb. Wind blew. God, she couldn’t tell.
Chuck barked again, running circles around the man’s body. She lifted her head. Icy pellets pecked her face. No, that was snow now. And it was thickening quickly, a world of white suddenly spinning around her. She shivered even inside her thick parka, turning her gaze back to the man. There was ice on his lips, on his eyebrows, his hair. And that blood, frozen on his brow. What had happened to him? Had he fallen, or been attacked? And how the hell had he ended up here? It was miles down the mountain to town.
The man’s eyes opened and she screamed. Screamed and fell back, on her ass, hard. Chuck went nuts, barking and jumping.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” She scrambled back to the man’s side. “You’re alive.” He was alive. Her heart slammed into her throat and it was all she could think for a full second, then- “Are you okay?” No, dammit, stupid question. He was so not okay, that was obvious. Who the hell was he and how had he gotten here were better questions, and suddenly she was scared of him. He was a stranger, a bloody stranger in a ditch on the side of the road in front of her property.
No. His mouth formed the word but he couldn’t get it out, or she couldn’t hear it over the hammering of her own pulse. No, he wasn’t okay, he was telling her, and God, he was gray, frozen. She couldn’t leave him here. She’d never turned her back on anything or anyone hurt, but-
“Can you get up? Can you walk?”
His eyes held her, glassy, bright in his ashen face. Blue, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure and the light was going fast. He just kept staring at her and she couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. He didn’t try to say anything else. He had to be hypothermic, and he was hurt- And there was no place to take him but the house, where she lived alone, except for Chuck. Alone, just how she liked it.
And now- She’d call for help. Maybe someone could still get up the mountain.
Maybe.
She was lying to herself. She’d be lucky if the phones even worked now, and she knew damn well the roads from Haven would be impassable at this point.
“Come on,” she shouted, the wind whipping at her words. She wasn’t sure he could hear her, or understand her. She reached for his shoulders, pulling him to a sitting position. He felt heavy, muscular, but utterly helpless, and that should have made her feel better. He was weak—-what could he do to her? Nothing. But his condition just scared her more.
He could still die.
She grabbed his arm now. “Help me, dammit!” she yelled at him. Something inside him seemed to snap to understanding. He made it to his feet then instantly buckled at the knees. If he lost consciousness again- She grabbed him around the waist, holding him up. “You’ve got to walk. Please! I can’t do this alone!”
If he was an inch, he was six feet tall. She was five seven herself, but not near his weight, and just getting him out of the ditch almost did her in. He slipped, twice, and it was all she could do to keep them moving forward then up the winding drive, Chuck barking and bouncing alongside.
The lights from the front windows of her house came into view as they rounded the curve, and she could have collapsed herself in relief. Nearly there. She’d left her other glove behind in the ditch and her hand was nearly frozen from the exposure, and how much colder he was, she couldn’t imagine. He felt like a block of ice in her arms, a very solid, very tall block of ice.
One foot in front of the other. The front porch looked like a mountain all by itself. She could feel him struggling as he made the first step, and she was scared to death he was going to tumble backward and take her with him.
When they reached the door she let go of him with one hand to grab the knob, push it open. He weaved on his feet as if he was going to fall over right there and she threw her arm back around him.
“No! Not here!” She had to get him warmed up, and there was no time to lose.
In the light of the small front room, the man’s gaze connected, glassy and lost, but he kept his feet as if by sheer force of will. She kicked the door shut behind Chuck, who made a beeline for the kitchen and his food bowl. The first bedroom was hers and she didn’t think twice. If she didn’t get him to a bed, he’d end up on her floor, and she’d pretty much turned the second bedroom into an office, the bed in there piled with boxes of soaping supplies for her side business.
She maneuvered him around a small table, between an overstuffed chair and the couch, into the small hallway. Her room was dark, but there was enough light from the front room to see the bed.
A groan escaped him as he literally fell onto the bed. She reached for the lamp on the night table, then the phone.
Please, please, please-
“Dammit.” She slammed the phone down, useless as she’d known it would be, and looked back at the stranger in her house. The enormity of it all hit her.
There was a stranger in her bed, and if she didn’t do something, the right something, he could die. In her bed. Her knees were shaking, and not from the cold.
He was ashen, but even so, she realized with a shock that he was handsome, his jaw square, his cheeks planed, his nose straight. He was maybe in his mid-thirties. He looked half-dead now, but he appeared to be fit and athletic in general. Blood matted his temple and her pulse stumbled as she realized she wasn’t the only one shaking.
Get his core temperature up then she’d clean his wound, figure out what to do next. And she was going to have to get his clothes off. They were icy, and when they thawed, they’d be wet.
He looked so disoriented, she didn’t think he was going to be a lot of help.
Her head reeled just a little. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched a man, let alone a naked man, and that he was helpless as a kitten didn’t make her feel better. Panic didn’t have to be rational, and neither did marrow-deep fears.
She tore off her parka, dropped it on the floor and approached the bed, sat gingerly on the edge of it. He looked huge, filling up her bed. She reached for his hand. God, it was so cold. She pressed it between both of hers, rubbing in what warmth she could. “Hey.” To whatever extent he could help, cooperate, she’d need it.
His eyes opened, blinked. Blue. They really were blue. Searing blue. Her stomach jumped.
She let go of his hand, the awkwardness and strange intimacy rearing that ugly, irrational panic again. She spoke quickly.
“I can’t get help right now. The phone’s out. I need you to stay awake if you can. I need to get you out of these wet clothes.” She reached for his tie, unknotted it. It was a safe place to start. “Maybe tomorrow morning the phones will be working, or I can drive you down the mountain.” In truth, either possibility was slim, but she kept talking, hoping it would give him something to focus on, keep him awake. “I hope there isn’t someone worrying about you tonight.”
Surely he had a family, maybe even a wife. He was clean cut, good-looking, nice clothes. Without thinking, her gaze fell to his hands. No ring.
“Are you from Haven?” she asked. She pulled and the tie slid out from around his neck without him having to move.
“Haven?”
His voice was slurred, a little raspy. Familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place.
“Haven. You know where you are, right? You’re in Haven, West Virginia. Actually we’re a little outside Haven here. This is Haven Christmas Tree Farm.”
He was watching her with that startlingly lost look again. She reached for the buttons on his shirt and suddenly, sharply, he moved one hand and gripped hers. Stared, just stared at her with such intensity she felt her pulse bang.
She swallowed hard. “Come on. You’ve got to get out of these clothes,” she said, trying to pull her hand away. In an effort to distract him, she asked him another question. “How did you get here?”
“Accident. I-” He squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain.
“Accident where? I didn’t see a car.”
He still hadn’t let go of her hand and his cold grip was shockingly strong.
“Come on,” she said again.
His blue gaze blinked and she finally extricated her hand. She moved off the bed, needing that beat of distance. She yanked at the electric blanket cord that was tangled underneath it, hit the highest setting then got back to the bed, to him. She took the buttons of his shirt from the top down, quickly.
Outside, wind howled and the windows were completely dark now. The phones were already out—-how much longer before she lost electricity? She had a generator, but it was dicey at best, old and in need of replacement.
She was midway down his shirt when he reached for the buttons as if trying to help, but she could see right away that his frozen fingers weren’t going to cooperate on such a detailed task. She finished the job for him then slipped her arm around him.
He felt hard, solid, and so heavy. He managed to lean up for a second, just long enough for her to pull the shirt off one arm then he sank back with a groan, closing his eyes again.
She gently tugged the shirt out from under his back. His chest and shoulders, naked in the spill of golden lamplight, were broad and muscular and she realized she was staring at him. She pulled the sleeve down and off the other arm and saw the marks on his wrists.
Sometime, very recently, he’d been bound.
“Oh, my God,” she cried softly. “What happened to you?”
Everything hurt, especially opening his eyes. Dane McGuire’s vision swam, but slowly, in increments, he tried once again to focus on the woman leaning over him. She lifted his hand, touching his wrist. There were bruised marks circling it.
“What happened to you?” she repeated.
Her hair was thick, like a dark cloud, falling around her slender face. Light from the lamp behind her framed her like a halo of fire.
He could hear wind moaning, the creaking of the house in the storm.
That’s why he was so cold. He’d been out there, in the storm. She’d brought him up to the house, gotten him inside. She’d saved his life.
He’d been in an accident. He remembered slashing pain, the force as his body made impact, then- Her. He remembered her….
“Who….?” he whispered roughly. His tongue felt thick, unfamiliar even as his still-swimming vision registered recognition. He remembered her.
“Calla,” she said.
Jones. Calla Jones.
“Jones,” she finished
His mind reeled. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be Calla Jones.
“Can you tell me yours?” she asked.
He stared at her for a beat that seemed to last forever. Pain streaked through his temples and he drew a sharp breath. The agony of his ribs almost had him blacking out.
“Don’t try to talk anymore,” she said sharply. He felt her fingers brush the skin at his waistband. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to ask you anything, not now.”
He struggled to stay conscious, to focus on her, this woman who couldn’t be real, couldn’t be who she said she was. She was a dream, a fantasy. Her eyes were brown, the softest shade of brown he’d ever seen. And she was pretty. So pretty.
She was pretty and she was taking his pants off.
His clothes were wet. That was it. She was just trying to make him warm. He tried to help again, reached for the button of the pants. His stiff fingers shook and wouldn’t bend right. He felt her warm fingers brushing his away. Her long cloud-hair swished across his cold, bare stomach as she leaned over him, then slid away as she moved down the bed, pulled on his shoes.
He felt like a baby. He forced himself up and black spots popped across his vision.
“Just let me do it,” she entreated. He heard her soft voice from far away, but he could feel her right there, her soothing touch as she pulled off his clothes. Then she was back. “Come on, you have to get under the covers.” She reached for him, rolled him to the side, then back as she moved the covers, tucked them around him now.
He’d never been so cold in his life, bone-deep cold even as he could feel the heat of the electric blanket against his skin. For a dream, this one was awfully painful. Inside, deep inside, he was freezing. He drifted, his eyes too heavy…. She came and went, and he was barely aware of her then he felt her hands, gently, at his temples and something stinging-
Pure pain ricocheted through his head and his eyes burst open. He moved and more agony seared his chest.
“God, don’t move. I think your ribs are bruised or broken. I don’t know. I’m trying to be careful, but this is a bad cut.”
He fell back, sucking painful air into his lungs. His limbs felt like jelly. He didn’t think he could move again if his life depended on it. It hurt too much.
“Just be still,” she said sternly and he focused on the seductive sound of her voice. He heard something tear, felt her fingers taping something to his head. Felt himself floating, and he went willingly.
This dream might hurt, but reality wasn’t any better. In reality, Calla Jones was dead.
Copyright 2007 Suzanne McMinn
