Rachel Lee - The Man from Nowhere

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Cover

Title Page The Man from Nowhere Rachel Lee www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time. Her bestselling Conard County series (see www.conardcounty.com) has won the hearts of readers worldwide, and it’s no wonder, given her own approach to life and love. As she says, “Life is the biggest romantic adventure of all—and if you’re open and aware, the most marvelous things are just waiting to be discovered.”

Dedication For Kristin T who daily makes lemonade out of some of life’s sourest lemons. I admire you!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Copyright

RACHEL LEEwas hooked on writing by the age of twelve, and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time. Her bestselling Conard County series (see www.conardcounty.com) has won the hearts of readers worldwide, and it’s no wonder, given her own approach to life and love. As she says, “Life is the biggest romantic adventure of all—and if you’re open and aware, the most marvelous things are just waiting to be discovered.”

For Kristin T who daily makes lemonade out of some of life’s sourest lemons. I admire you!

Patricia Devlin, Trish to her friends, felt edgy, edgy enough to come to the sheriff’s office. A pretty woman of about thirty, with auburn hair and moss-green eyes, she drew a lot of male attention and spurned all of it. She had and kept her secrets. Only children and fools did otherwise.

Gage Dalton welcomed her warmly in his back office at the Conard County Sheriff’s Department. With his burn-scarred face and tortured past, he’d once earned the nickname in the county of “Hell’s Own Archangel.” Nobody thought of him that way anymore. Today he was the “new sheriff,” a moniker that would probably take years to erase after he’d replaced the town’s long-time and well-beloved sheriff, who’d retired a few years ago. But it was “Hell’s Own Archangel” Trish was here to see. The man Gage had once been, maybe, would understand.

“Hey, Trish,” he said when he saw her at his office door. He smiled and waved her in. “What can we do for you this morning?”

Trish, dressed in the local uniform of jeans, cowboy boots and a light jacket over her shirt, returned his smile and slid into the creaky old wood chair. She wasn’t at all sure she was doing the right thing. “Well, I’m not sure you can do anything, Gage. I’m probably just being paranoid.”

He leaned forward a bit to rest his arms on the desk. “I never ignore paranoia.” His tone was encouraging.

“Yeah, but I don’t like to give in to it.”

“Apparently, something is bothering you enough to come here, so just tell me. We’ll figure out how to handle it.”

She hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”

“I doubt you’ll get anyone into trouble who doesn’t deserve it. What’s going on?”

His logic made her smile again, uncomfortable as she was. Once more she hesitated, reconsidering, but then reminded herself this was the whole reason she’d come here: to get information so she could put this matter out of her mind. She had enough on her plate already without worrying about some stranger who was acting a little…odd.

“Well, there’s this guy who comes and sits in the park across from my house every night at one in the morning. At first I just thought he was resting there, but…” Again a moment of hesitation. It sounded so stupid when she said it out loud, but she forced the words out, anyway. “He sits in the same bench every night, Gage, and it’s like he’s staring straight at my house. He just sits there and stares. Not at my windows or anything specific that I can tell. Just at the house. Then about twenty minutes later, he gets up and walks away.”

Gage frowned slightly.

“I know, I know,” Trish said quickly. “Public park and all that. And he limps so badly, he’s probably just resting. And if he was any threat, why tip his hand by doing it every night?”

Gage held up a hand. “Hold on. Every night?”

“Since I first noticed him. I mean, honestly, I thought it was nothing, but when it kept happening night after night…well, finally I started checking to see if he’s there. He is, every night.” She sighed and looked down at her hands, feeling even more awkward now that she’d framed her concern out loud. “It’s probably nothing. I’m making too much of it.”

Gage shook his head. “You’re not. You have every reason to feel uneasy. And you’re not the only one who has noticed this guy, although I hadn’t heard before that he’s going to the park.”