RaeAnne Thayne - Blackberry Summer

RaeAnne Thayne

“Mystery, romance, vivid characters and a

wonderful story; really who could ask for more?”

—Debbie Macomber,

#1 New York Times bestselling author

“A solid plot, realistic, compelling characters and

strong tension make this story hard to put down.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Cold Creek Baby

(4 ½ stars)

“A richly plotted story with characters

that are easy to care about, this one is as emotional

as it is funny. Keep some tissues handy.”

—RT Book Reviews on A Cold Creek Holiday

(4 ½ stars)

“Sure to touch many hearts with its wonderfully

sweet romance and exquisitely written characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on

The Cowboy’s Christmas Miracle (4 ½ stars)

“Well-developed characters,

plus plenty of raw emotion—and humor—

add up to one of the author’s finest books.”

—RT Book Reviews on His Second-Chance Family

(4 ½ stars, Top Pick)

“A warm, wise story with

emotionally complex and intriguing characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Daddy Makeover

(4 ½ stars)

Dear Readers,

More than twenty years ago, my husband and I bought our first home in a small rural Utah town. At the time, we were focused on the charm and potential of the old house itself, too young and naive to think much about the neighbors or the community we were joining. We made friends, had our first child, settled into small-town life.

We didn’t truly realize the importance of community until after we had our second child, who was born with serious medical complications. Suddenly our neighbors and friends rallied around us with countless acts of kindness. Meals and lawn-mowing, a quick note of encouragement, a basket of home-baked treats. During our most difficult moments in the years since, our neighbors and friends have always stepped in to buoy us up.

We have seen the very best of people and we have also learned that a few determined souls can lift and strengthen an entire community, causing ripple-effect kindnesses and bringing everyone together. That’s the message I hope readers take away from Blackberry Summer—that when we reach beyond ourselves, even just a tiny step outside our comfort zone, together we can change lives.

All my best,

RaeAnne

As always, to my wonderful husband and children,

who fill my life with laughter and love.

Special thanks to Nicole Jordan for a hundred

different things, but mostly for believing in me.

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

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“We are each of us angels with one wing. And we can only fly embracing each other.”

—Luciano de Crescenzo

LOUSY, STUPID HOROSCOPE.

Claire Bradford stood with one hand on the doorway and the other clutching her coffee go-cup as she stared at the chaotic mess inside her store.

According to the stars—at least according to the horoscope in the Hope Gazette she’d scanned while standing in line at her friend Maura’s coffee shop for her morning buzz after dropping the kids off at school—she was supposed to prepare herself for something fun and exciting headed her way today. She had been thinking more along the lines of a few dozen new customers at her bead store or maybe a big commission on one of her more intricate custom pieces.

Discovering that String Fever had been burglarized during the night didn’t exactly fit her personal definition of either fun or exciting.

Beads covered the beige berber in a glittery, jumbled disaster as apparently someone had yanked out an entire vast display of tiny clear drawers and dumped their contents all over the floor. Her cash register drawer was open and the small amount of cash she kept on hand to make change was missing. Her office door had been left ajar, too, something she never did, and even from here, she could see a big, dusty, empty spot on her desk where her computer should be.

She could handle the material loss and her computer was automatically backed up off-site several times a day. The mess, on the other hand, would be a nightmare to clean up. Claire gave a tiny whimper and closed her eyes, dreading the hours and days of work ahead of her, re-sorting all those scattered beads into their hundreds of proper compartments. String Fever was hanging by a thread anyway in the uncertain economy. How could she afford the time and energy involved in setting things to rights again?

Chester whined beside her, his basset hound features even more morose than usual. He was uncanny at picking up her emotions. She scratched behind his acres-long ears. “I know, buddy. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

She dug in her coat pockets to find where she’d stowed her cell phone so that she could dial 9-1-1. She had only punched in one number before the phone vibrated in her hand and suddenly the nuclear meltdown alert ringtone she had programmed for her mother sounded its death knell through the empty store.

Yeah, not much fun or excitement there, either. Rotten horoscope.

Chester whined again. He hated that ringtone as much as she did. Claire swallowed her groan and despite thirty-six years of better instincts, she hit the talk button to accept the call. Ruth Tatum had trained her daughter well. “Mom, I can’t talk right now. Sorry. The store has been robbed. I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay?”

“Robbed? You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Really, Mom? You think I’d joke about something like this?”

“How would I know?” Ruth went on the defensive, as she did so well. “You’ve always had a weird sense of humor.”

Yeah. That was her. Making up stories about her store being robbed just to go for the cheap laugh. “I’m not joking. The store really has been robbed.”

“That’s terrible! What did they take?”

“I don’t know yet. I just walked in the door and barely had a chance to even react before you called. I need to go so I can call the police, Mom.”

“Well, call me as soon as you can and tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to come down there?”

Sure, like she needed to stick a couple dozen earring hooks in her eyeballs. “Not right now. Thanks for the offer, though. I’ll call you later.”

She hung up and quickly dialed the police.

“Hope’s Crossing Emergency Dispatch. What is the nature of your emergency?”

She recognized the dispatcher as a neighbor and one of her frequent customers, Donna Mazell, though her voice seemed pitched a little higher than normal.

“Hey, Donna. This is Claire at String Fever. I need to report a crime. I just came in to open my store and discovered an apparent burglary.”

“Oh, lordy be. Not another one!”

“Another one?”

“You’re the fourth store in town to report a break-in today. We’ve got ourselves a genuine crime spree! The guys are going crazy trying to stay on top of everything.”

Hope’s Crossing, Colorado, had a population of only five thousand year-round residents, although those numbers swelled in the wintertime to ten times that with skiers and those who owned vacation homes or condos in the canyon near the vast Silver Strike Ski Resort. Still, Claire knew the town’s police force consisted of only eight officers, supplemented by deputies from the county sheriff’s department when the need arose.