Home Is Where Your Bark Is

Chapter 1

The oven timer was buzzing when Josie pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. It was hard to believe two hours had sped by since she’d placed the six trays of blueberries into the commercial ovens to dry them out. With the tea garden hosting their first wedding, there’d been no doubt it would be a whirlwind of a weekend, but Josie hadn’t expected this craziness. She’d been going nonstop since dawn, and her empty stomach was grumbling in protest.

She was loading the last of the trays onto the baker’s sheet pan rack when the doorbell rang, its melodic chimes resounding through the old mansion.

Leaving the oven mitt on the kitchen counter, she headed down the hall toward the front. She was almost to the door when the back screen door thwacked open.

“Mooooommm! Mommy?” Zoe called, her tone brimming with the demanding urgency of a six-year-old.

“Up front, babe. Someone’s here.”

Josie checked out the side window before unlocking the door, proving old habits never die. She ran through a mental list of the expected guests. She’d thought everyone who was coming had arrived. The crowded back terrace certainly made it seem so.

This guest was alone, and just the kind of guy whose presence instinctively stirred up female hormones. He was taller than Josie by half a foot and, judging by the fit of his jeans and black T-shirt, in good shape. He was older, too, but not by much, early- to mid-thirties maybe. His eyes, bright blue-green, warred for attention with a broad smile accented by the short, brown stubble on his cheeks and chin.

Zoe zoomed down the hall and smacked into Josie, plastering her petite body into the back of Josie’s leg. Half-hidden, she peered around Josie’s hip at the visitor while muttering something about the two boys she’d been building sandcastles with.

“Hang on a second, Zo.” Before returning her attention to the man, she ran her hand over Zoe’s long chestnut hair, her fingers raising a few of the baby-fine ends by her forehead like little exclamation points. “Hi. You’re here for the wedding?”

The stranger’s easy smile widened at her question. “Well, that depends. If you’re the bride and you’re still taking offers, I could be tempted to throw my name into the hat.”

Josie worked to keep her jaw from falling open. Did guys really say things like that anymore? She was a bit out of touch—by design—but she was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to.

Zoe tapped Josie’s arm, demanding her attention. “Did you hear me, Mommy? Those boys aren’t sharing.”

Josie scooped Zoe up at the same time the man offered his hand.

“My bad, sorry.” Clearly, he’d picked up on her lack of enthusiasm for his compliment. “I’m looking for Myra Moore. I believe she’s expecting me. I’m a freelance journalist working on an article for the New York Post .”

A rush of lightheadedness flooded her. A journalist? She attempted to readjust Zoe, who was too big to be held any longer, on her hip. “Why?” she managed to get out, forgetting about his white teeth and blue-green eyes.

“I’m in town researching a missing person and what might be an unresolved murder. I’m hoping she can help me find the answers I’m looking for.”

Josie’s muscles went rigid. No, no, no. Not like this. I’m not ready. Her mouth gaped, but nothing came out, and her vision went from spotty to almost completely gray. Her arm locked around Zoe’s slim torso as she struggled to remain standing and alert.

Swaying, swaying. Was it the room swaying or her?

She smelled the stranger closing in around her before her spotty vision could process it. The woody, sweet scent of sandalwood filled her nostrils, the one concrete thing she could process.

She might as well have been a doll in The Nutcracker . She could feel Zoe sliding off her body and onto the floor and the man stepping closer, and she could hear their muffled talking but couldn’t process the words. She struggled to stay conscious—to tell him to back off—but words wouldn’t come. Then she was in his arms and he was carrying her, and her vision was clearing from gray to spotty again.

The next thing she knew, Josie startled to find herself lying on the couch in the front parlor when she hadn’t even realized he’d set her down. She startled even more to find the stranger hovering over her, staring. Had she passed out? It hadn’t seemed that way, but the last couple seconds—or minutes—were disjointed.

Movement in the entryway caught her attention. Zoe was pulling Myra, the tea garden’s eighty-year-old owner, into the parlor and tugging on her skirt. Myra’s faithful Corgi-Pomeranian mix, Tidbit, trailed in at her side.

“You won’t believe it, Myra!” Zoe chirped. “Mommy’s eyes were fluttering like butterflies and I thought we were going to fall and this man catched her and carried her all the way over here.”

Caught . The word rose to Josie’s lips reflexively, even though she couldn’t voice it. The irony didn’t escape her that she was worried about Zoe’s grammar at a time like this. Somehow, she forced herself to sit up using limbs that reacted like boiled noodles.

The stranger cleared his throat and directed his words to Myra. “Sorry, ma’am. I let myself in. Your, uh, this woman fainted—sort of.”

“Heavens.” Myra leaned over and pressed her palm across Josie’s forehead. “She’s been running herself ragged the last few days. Zoe, be a dear and get your mom a glass of water, will you?”

Zoe gave Josie a questioning glance. “You’re all better now, Mom, right?”

“I’m fine, baby.” Her words come out squeaky, barely audible.

If Zoe had been distraught to see her collapse like that, she seemed to be processing it fine now. “Make sure nothing happens till I get back.” Then she dashed out of the room and down the hall.

“You all right, Miss?” the man asked.

Josie dropped her gaze to the floor and repeated that she was fine.

Standing beside him, Myra offered him her hand. “I’m Myra, and this is my house. Bob phoned just now and said you’d be coming. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Carter.” The man took Myra’s arthritic hand with care. “Carter O’Brien.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Carter. Once I see to Josie, I’m happy to answer your questions.” Myra sank onto the sofa next to her. Tidbit scooted back to make a running jump to clear the couch with his short legs, then nestled down between them. “You all right, dear?”

“I’m fine.” Josie kept her hands folded across her lap as Tidbit sniffed her arm. How could Myra know he was coming and not tell me?

Like a rabbit frozen in the grass, she waited for him to proceed with whatever devilry brought him to her doorstep. She couldn’t imagine how he knew. All she could think was it had to have been the shady man in Chicago who’d forged her and Zoe’s papers. The process had been complicated, to say the least. But Josie and Zoe Waterhill were legitimate people now. Falsified, maybe, but legitimate. They had social security numbers and birth certificates. Josie hadn’t been comfortable using the man’s services, but she would never have been able to register Zoe for school otherwise.

But what might it have cost her?

Carter squatted in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet, resting his forearms against his thighs as he eyed her in concern. “When I was growing up, I had a cousin with low blood sugar. My aunt kept orange juice on hand. It helped when she crashed. If you have any, I’d be happy to get you a glass.”

“Do be a dear and try, will you?” Myra answered for her. “If Linda, the kitchen manager, isn’t in the kitchen, Zoe will show you where the glasses are kept. It’s down the hall and to the right.”

He nodded and headed down the hall toward the back of the house. Josie finally noticed the gaping-open front door. His bag—most likely a laptop case—was still abandoned on the stoop. A ridiculous urge flooded her to grab it and run for the river where she could toss it into the gray-black water in hopes it might carry its secrets into the abyss.

But even if her spent legs would obey, there’d be no point. Whatever information he had in there was surely backed up somewhere else. No, whatever Armageddon he was bringing was already rushing her way.

Beside her, Myra swept aside a lock of her hair and brushed her thumb over Josie’s cheek. “I know what you’re thinking, Josie. I was coming inside to tell you about the call and heard him as I walked in. I’m sorry for the scare it has caused you, but you’ve got it wrong. The wind that blew him here has nothing to do with you.”

Josie searched Myra’s gentle eyes for the truth since, for the first time in over five years, she found herself doubting her words.