Chapter 1
1999
Nat O'Connell knew almost everyone in Rainbow Valley, having lived there all his life, but he hadn’t yet been introduced to his new neighbor. And as he watched the petite young woman pacing back and forth across the dilapidated deck of the old Erickson cabin, muttering to herself and stabbing the air with a huge butcher knife, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know her.
Was she rehearsing a murder? That’s what it looked like to him.
Common sense demanded that he turn Blue around and ride back to the ranch house. Curiosity made him stay. Besides, how dangerous could she be? She might be as mad as a March hare, but she couldn’t outrun his horse.
She paused, shouted some words he couldn’t quite make out, then switched the knife to her left hand and thrust it through the air again.
Nat had known some screwball people in his life, but this gal beat anything he ever laid eyes on.
Suddenly she turned the blade’s point toward herself, holding the hilt with both hands. Then she yanked it into her chest. With a painful cry, she fell backward onto the porch where she lay perfectly still.
Shocked into action, Nat dug his heels into the gelding’s sides and rode forward at a gallop. He vaulted to the ground even as Blue slid to a halt in front of the cabin.
The woman sat straight up before Nat’s boots hit the first step. Her eyes widened as she squealed in alarm, “Who are you?” As she jumped to her feet, the butcher knife clattered to the deck. “What do you want?” Her gaze darted to the knife, then back to him.
Her fearful questions brought Nat to an abrupt halt. He could tell she was weighing the risk of grabbing for the dropped weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that, frightened or not, she would use it if she had to.
“It’s okay.” He raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “I thought you were hurt. I just wanted to help.”
She didn’t look quite as crazy now as she had a few moments before. Odd, maybe, in her oversized, bright purple-and-yellow tie-dyed T-shirt, her cutoff jeans with the frayed hems and her curly brown hair pulled into a bushy ponytail. Odd, but not crazy.
“Are you Miss Vincent? Shayla Vincent?”
Wariness remained in her dark blue eyes as she replied, “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I saw your notice over at the Rainbow Laundromat. For secretarial or housekeeping work? That’s why I came to see you.”
“You’re looking for an experienced secretary?” She seemed to relax a little.
“No, a housekeeper.” Cautiously he stepped onto the deck and offered his hand. “I’m Nat O’Connell. I own Paradise Ranch.”
She shook his proffered hand. Her grip was firm for such a tiny gal.
“I guess that makes us neighbors,” she said.
He nodded. “That it does.”
She observed him in silence a moment longer, then released his hand. “I must be honest with you, Mr. O’Connell. The only reason I’m looking for work is so I can afford to make repairs to my cabin. Once they’re done, I’ll give my notice. I came from Portland to write a novel, not to clean other people’s houses.”
“You’re a writer?”
She nodded, then smiled wryly. “Well, I hope to be. I’ve just started my first book. It’s a murder mystery.”
Understanding dawned, and Nat chuckled.
“It isn’t that preposterous, Mr. O’Connell.” Her smile turned to a scowl. “I can write, I assure you.”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to look serious. “I wasn’t laughing because I thought you couldn’t be a writer. It was … well … when I saw you stab yourself, I thought you might be…” He tried to think of a polite word for insane—loco, crazy, nuts. Nothing came to him that seemed any better, so he let it drop. “Anyway, now I understand what you were doing with that knife.”
She smiled again, presumably seeing the humor in the scene he described. “It must have looked kind of weird at that. I was trying to figure out the angle of the entry wound. It all depends on how tall my murderer is and how short the victim.” She picked up her weapon. “It’s a trick knife. It’s got a retractable plastic blade. See? It’s harmless.”
Definitely odd, he thought as he watched her demonstrate how the knife worked. But cute, too.
Shayla pointed with the blade toward a wooden bench. “Would you like to sit down while we talk about your job offer?”
“Happy to oblige.” He took a step forward, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. “I had a thought. Would you be interested in trading services? At least for part of your wages? I’m a good carpenter and plumber, and I guarantee I can get to it quicker than the guys in town. They’re always running behind.”
It would sure help his cash flow if she agreed to this plan. He needed a housekeeper, but ready cash didn’t keep regular company with a rancher.
“In fact,” he continued as he settled onto the bench, “I built those cabinets in the kitchen, and I was going to patch the roof. But then Miss Lauretta moved away. The place has been empty ever since. I didn’t know it was up for sale.”
“It wasn’t for sale. I’m Lauretta Erickson’s niece.”
That explained a lot. Miss Lauretta was also a strange one.
“Her great-niece, actually. Aunt Lauretta was my grandmother’s younger sister.”
“Was?”
“She passed away this spring.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. She was a nice old lady. I liked her a lot.”
“She was the best.” Shayla looked toward the cedar shake roof of the cabin. “She left me this place in her will. Only, I remembered it as being in a whole lot better shape than it is now. Of course, it’s been twenty-some years since I was here for a visit. I was about seven or eight, so maybe I didn’t notice the things that were wrong.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d come again before she was forced to move away. She loved it here. I wish I’d …” She let her words drift into silence as her eyes filled with tears.
Nat didn’t say anything. He knew firsthand about losing someone you love. The hurt didn’t go away overnight. It took time.
Sometimes it took years.
Shayla turned her back toward Nat O’Connell, not wanting a stranger to see her tears. She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her or thinking she was weak.
But it was hard not to cry when she thought about Aunt Lauretta being gone for good. Even though they’d never lived in the same state—or seen each other often through the years—she and her great-aunt had shared a special bond, a unique understanding of each other. Aunt Lauretta was the only family member who hadn’t told her she needed to be practical and responsible. Her aunt had encouraged Shayla to follow her dreams, to take chances in life.
Until this spring, she hadn’t tried to follow that advice. It had seemed too impossible, something out of her reach. Moving away from her family. Writing a novel. Crazy ideas that were doomed to fail. But because of Aunt Lauretta, she’d been given a chance. She wasn’t going to waste it. If only to honor her aunt’s memory, she wasn’t going to waste it.