No more looking back for either of them. They had the future and rest of their lives together. Kate thought of their daughters, who would have their father to walk them down the aisle at their weddings. She thought of their grandchildren playing on Galveston Beach as she and Danny had when they were young. She thought of all the memories they would make together.
She smiled at her husband as he took her hand again, and they walked up to the house. They were just getting started.
* * *
Look for the next novel in the
Buckhorn, Montana series by
New York Times
bestselling author
B.J. Daniels.
Available March 2021
wherever HQN Books are sold.
Everyone says the hotel Casey Crenshaw inherited is haunted. She wants to sell it as quickly as possible, but Finn Faraday is throwing a wrench in her plans. He’s determined to figure out what happened at the hotel years ago, but Finn and Casey will soon discover that digging into the past can be dangerous...
Read on for a sneak preview of From The Shadows,
the second book in the Buckhorn, Montana series
by New York Times bestselling author B.J. Daniels.
From the Shadows
by B.J. Daniels
Chapter One
FINN LAY ON the dusty floor of the massive, old and allegedly haunted Crenshaw Hotel and extended his arm as far as it would go into the dark cubby hole he’d discovered under the backstairs. A spider web latched onto his hand, startling him. He chuckled at how jumpy he was today as he shook the clinging strands from his fingers. He had more to worry about tan a few cobwebs. Shifting to reach deeper his fingers brushed over what appeared to be a notebook stuck in the very back.
Megan Broadhurst’s missing diary? Had he finally gotten lucky?
The air from the cubbyhole reeked of age and dust and added to the rancid smell of his own sweat. He should have been used to all of it by now. He’d spent the past few months searching this monstrous old relic by day. At night, he’d lain awake listening to its moans and groans, creaks and clanks as if the place were mocking him. What are you really looking for? Justice? Or absolution?
What he hadn’t expected though was becoming invested in the history of the place and the people who’d owned it, especially the new owner—who would be arriving any day now to see the hotel demolished. Casey Crenshaw had inherited the place after her grandmother’s recent death. Word was that she’d immediately put it up for sale to a buyer who planned to raze it.
Finn had been looking for a place to disappear when he’d heard about the hotel, which had been boarded up and empty for the past two years. He’d known it would be his last chance before the hotel was destroyed. It had felt like fate as he’d gotten off the bus in Buckhorn and pried his way into the Crenshaw. He’d been in awe of the hotel, which had once been popular with presidents, the rich and famous and even royalty, the moment he stepped inside.
He’d only become more fascinated when he’d stumbled across Anna Crenshaw’s journals. That’s why he felt as if he already knew her granddaughter, Casey. He was looking forward to finally meeting her.
His fingers brushed over the notebook pages. He feared he would only push it farther back into the dark space or worse that its pages would tear before he could get good purchase. Carefully he eased the notebook out.
This was the first thing he’d found that had been so well hidden. He hoped that meant it was the diary that not even the county marshal and all his deputies had been able to find.
He coughed from the thick dust that floated into the air as he sat up, bringing the notebook with him as he got to his feet. As he did, he caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall and was startled by the man he saw. His dark hair was way too long, his beard scruffy.
Shaking his head, he had to smile. Most everyone in Buckhorn, Montana, thought he was homeless and that’s why he’d been hold up in the hotel for the past few months. He definitely looked the part.
He ran a hand over his beard, hardly recognizing himself. For months he’d avoided mirrors, avoided looking himself in the eye. At one time, it had made sense coming here. He’d known the place was empty. It had been boarded up due to the elderly owner’s declining health and subsequent death.
But now new owner, Casey Crenshaw, was on her way. From what he’d heard, she couldn’t wait to have the hotel razed. That seemed odd—unless you’d spent some time in this hotel at night, he thought with a laugh.
Last night, he’d stood at the window looking out at Buckhorn and wondering who was looking back at him. That feeling of being watched had never been stronger. What he hadn’t expected? After all, the Crenshaw was famous for its ghosts—especially Megan’s.
But there was also the chance that Casey Crenshaw wanted the hotel destroyed as soon as possible because she was trying to cover up a murder.
He’d come here looking for answers, but now he wondered if he was really ready to know the truth about this place—let alone the new owner. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he bent down and shone his flashlight into the hole. There was nothing more in the space.
Rising, he considered the notebook. He felt like an archeologist who’d dug for days to discover nothing. Just this morning, he’d been telling himself what a waste of time this had been, but time was something he had plenty of, didn’t he.
He flipped open the notebook, hoping, but was quickly disappointed. All there appeared to be were blank pages. Finn let out a curse. He was covered with dust and grime and had gone to all that trouble for nothing. He started to fling the notebook away when his gaze caught on a page with scrawled words. He squinted to read the cramped handwriting.
I’m not a psychopath. I’m just sick. It’s not my fault that I kill them.
Finn felt his pulse jump. What the hell was this?
I shouldn’t write this down. I’m not supposed to tell anyone or they will put me away. But when I’m dead no one will understand. They’ll blame me. It’s this hotel. There’s evil here and sometimes it makes me do things I don’t want to do. I shouldn’t keep a list of their names, but I do anyway because they shouldn’t be forgotten.
I know other people don’t feel like this. But I can’t control it.
There is something wrong with me and I have to hide it. She tells me to bury it deep so no one can ever know what I’ve done. But I can feel it building again and it scares me.
I don’t want to do it again. Someone please help me.
Please don’t make me do it again.
He examined the notebook looking for a date, a name, anything else.
There was nothing. Just the one page, the writing becoming smaller and less legible toward the end. He told himself it could be nothing more than someone’s imagination on paper.