Shirlee McCoy - Running Scared

“I just don’t want any part of the media hype surrounding you and your son, Eli,” Maggie said. Kane almost believed her.

Almost believed her, but didn’t.

Kane dealt with secrets every day. He knew when a person was hiding something.

Right now, he had no choice but to let her keep her secrets, but Kane had no intention of letting Maggie suffer because of the part she’d played in bringing Eli home.

“Okay.”

“What do you mean, ‘okay’?”

“You’ve got a right to your privacy. Whatever your secrets are, I’m not going to try to uncover them. But if you’re in trouble because of what you’ve done for my family, I’ll do whatever it takes to help.”

“Are you in trouble, Ms. Tennyson?” Eli asked. Kane could have kicked himself for giving his son more to be anxious about.

He wanted to find out what was really going on, but doing so in front of Eli wasn’t smart. Kane would bide his time, wait until he had a chance to speak to Maggie alone, and then he’d try to get to the bottom of things….

has always loved making up stories. As a child, she daydreamed elaborate tales in which she was the heroine—gutsy, strong and invincible. Though she soon grew out of her superhero fantasies, her love for storytelling never diminished. She knew early that she wanted to write inspirational fiction, and began writing her first novel when she was a teenager. Still, it wasn’t until her third son was born that she truly began pursuing her dream of being published. Three years later she sold her first book. Now a busy mother of five, Shirlee is a homeschool mom by day and an inspirational author by night. She and her husband and children live in Washington and share their house with a dog, two cats and a bird. You can visit her Web site at www.shirleemccoy.com, or e-mail her at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.

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For you have delivered me from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.

—Psalms 56:13

To my daughter’s other family. May God bless you abundantly for the love you give to the children whose lives you touch.

And to my parents, Edward and Shirley Porter. You have taught me the two most important lessons of all—the value of faith and the value of family. Thank 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

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

The wind howled, throwing ice and rain against the windows and roof of Maggie Tennyson’s attic apartment. She shivered, grabbing a thick flannel shirt and tossing it over her fitted T-shirt. It was a good night to stay inside, snuggled up in front of a glowing fire, reading a book, drinking cocoa, maybe even watching a movie.

Too bad that wasn’t an option.

She grabbed her duffel bag and the satchel that contained the day’s ungraded tests, slipped into her coat and hurried out the door and down a flight of stairs that led to the Victorian bungalow’s spacious foyer. The tinny sound of the television drifted from the living room, its flickering blue light splashing across the hardwood floor as Maggie tiptoed past the open door.

The old wood floor creaked beneath her feet, and she hurried forward, turning the doorknob and pulling open the front door. Cold air blew in, carrying icy winter rain and the sharp, crisp scent of pine needles.

“Maggie Mae? Where in the world are you going?” Edith Lancaster peered out of the living room, her eyes flashing with curiosity.

“Out to the house,” Maggie responded, closing the door and turning to face her landlady. She didn’t have time for explanations and conversation, but trying to dodge either would be like waving a red flag at a bull. Better to give Edith a few answers inside the house than to be followed out into the rain and waylaid on the front porch where anyone could see her.

“On a night like tonight? Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Edith stepped into the foyer, her sharp brown eyes taking in everything. The bulging duffel. The satchel. Maggie’s faded jeans and wool coat, her gloves and hat.

“It’s a long weekend. I figure I can get quite a bit done on the house over the next four days.” Could Edith hear the slight trembling of Maggie’s voice? Could she hear the fear in it?

“Maybe, but I still don’t think going out to the Miller monstrosity on a night like tonight is a good idea.”

“It’s not the Millers’ place anymore, Edith. It’s mine, and if I don’t get some work done on it, I won’t be out of your hair by Christmas.” It was as good a reason as any to leave at nine o’clock at night during a wintry storm. The breaking news story about Nicolas Samuels was an even better one. No. Not Nicholas Samuels. Eli Dougherty. A child missing for nearly five years and now reunited with his father. Eli and the woman who’d called herself his mother had shown up in town a month before school began. They’d made no friends, had taken no interest in the community. Until Eli walked into the classroom where Maggie worked as a teacher’s aide, he had been a complete stranger. It hadn’t taken long for that to change. There’d been something about the solemn little boy that had tugged at Maggie’s heart, and she’d spent extra time helping him with assignments and encouraging him to take part in playground activities. She’d also listened, really listened, to what he’d had to say about his life before he’d moved to Deer Park.

And now Eli’s story was running on every local and national news station in the country.

Was that what Edith had been watching?

Maggie didn’t dare ask.

No one could know about her part in the unfolding drama. Not Edith. Not Maggie’s friends and coworkers. And most definitely not any of the reporters who were scouring Deer Park, Washington, searching for anyone willing to talk about the little boy and the woman who had been posing as his mother for five years.

“You’ve never been in my hair, and you know it. You’re one of the best renters I’ve ever had, and I’ll be happy to extend the rental contract for a few more weeks. Even months if you need the extra time,” Edith said, and Maggie blinked, trying to refocus her attention on the conversation.

“You’re sweet, but you and I both know that you have another renter lined up to move in the day after I leave.” They’d discussed it several times in the month since Maggie had purchased the property outside of town.

“The renter is my grandson, and he can wait a few extra weeks. So, why don’t you stay home for the night? We’ll have popcorn and watch television together. Every single station is running the story about that little boy who was taken from his father five years ago. Can you believe he’s been here for months and no one knew?”