Susan Sleeman - High-Stakes Inheritance

“I don’t think the fire was your fault, Jessie,” Mia told her. “It must have been an accident. Maybe electrical.”

“Uh-uh. A man started it.”

“What?”

The little girl trembled. “A really big man drove a truck into the barn. He got out and poured something stinky on the hay. Then he threw matches on it. He said, ‘This ought to scare her.’ Then he laughed and left. Do you think he meant me? To scare me?”

He didn’t mean Jessie. He meant Mia. This was what the letter had warned her about. But who was this man?

“Jessie,” Ryan called from the open doors. “Are you sure that’s what you saw?”

“Uncle Ryan.” Jessie’s voice held relief. She charged into his arms.

Mia sat up, and her eyes connected with Ryan’s troubled gaze. He pulled Jessie tighter and stared at Mia with the implication of Jessie’s words stamped on his face.

The fire was no accident.

grew up in a small Wisconsin town where she spent her summers reading Nancy Drew and developing a love of mystery and suspense books. Today she channels this enthusiasm into hosting the popular Internet Web site TheSuspenseZone.com and writing romantic suspense and mystery novels.

Much to her husband’s chagrin, Susan loves to look at everyday situations and turn them into murder and mayhem scenarios for future novels. If you’ve met Susan, she has probably figured out a plausible way to kill you and get away with it.

Susan currently lives in Florida, but has had the pleasure of living in nine states. Her husband is a church music director and they have two beautiful daughters, a very special son-in-law and an adorable grandson. To learn more about Susan, please visit SusanSleeman.com.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.

—Proverbs 3:5

For my husband, Mark, who always believes in and encourages me to write, for Emma whose grasp of proper grammar has helped me more times than I can count, and for Erin, whose graphic design skills are priceless.

This book couldn’t have been written without the help of others.

Thank you to fellow writers and all-around terrific friends, Sandra Robbins, Janelle Mowery, Elizabeth Ludwig and Marcia Gruver for sharing their writing expertise, thoughtful critiques and wise advice.

To Tina James, editor extraordinaire, thank you for selecting this manuscript and giving me a chance to tell this story. I am thrilled to be working with and learning from you.

For technical details, I give credit to the professionals who shared their time, patiently answering all my questions. Any errors in or liberties taken with the details are solely my doing.

Thank you to Taylor Woods, Program Supervisor/Recruiter for SUWS of the Carolinas, for sharing his expertise in wilderness counseling programs.

To Lieutenant Shaun McNally, Richlandtown Fire Co. #1, who gave of his time to help me understand the complexity of fighting fires, I say a special thanks.

And most importantly, thank You, God, for my faith and for putting seemingly insurmountable challenges in my life to allow me to know without a doubt who is in charge of my life.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Pinetree will never be yours. Leave Logan Lake now or you will pay.

Mia Blackburn stared at the cutout magazine letters glued to stark white paper.

Was this some kind of a joke? Did someone really plan to hurt her for honoring her late uncle’s wishes? To meet the terms of his will, she had agreed to live at Pinetree for the next year in order to inherit the resort. Yet nothing about the idyllic Oregon setting and worn cabins would garner this kind of threat.

With trembling hands, she flipped the envelope and searched for clues. The hate mail held a postmark from three days ago right here in the Logan Lake Post Office.

She rubbed a finger over the neat rows of shiny magazine letters. Anger seemed to leap from the page.

Her mouth went dry, and her throat tightened, nearly cutting off her air.

Only one person harbored such bitter feelings for her. Her father. And knowing him, he’d lurk in the shadows to see her reaction to his threat.

The space seemed to darken with her thoughts.

Was he here, in the room watching her? Or would he be outside on Main Street, sitting in his Cadillac, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he did whenever he grew impatient?

The jarring clang of the front door bells ended her thoughts. She snapped her head up to see who entered.

Not her father, but just as bad. Maybe worse.

“Ryan.” Her ex-boyfriend’s name whispered out like a desperate plea for help as he strolled lazily into the space.

His warm expression and greetings spoke to his love of this small town and its people. He’d changed little since she’d last seen him at high school graduation. He was dressed in worn jeans, rugged boots and an army-green T-shirt that confirmed he hadn’t quit working out. Curly russet hair had been cut short emphasizing his skin bronzed from the summer.

As if feeling her gaze, he turned in her direction. Recognition widened his piercing blue eyes. “Mia, is that you?” he called out with genuine fondness as if they’d parted best friends. He headed her way, giving her a quick once-over on the way. When his eyes returned to her face, appreciation radiated from his expression much like it had when they dated in high school.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with the new look.” He reached out to lift a strand of her shoulder-length hair she’d straightened and dyed.

His touch shot a frisson of alarm through her far greater than the letter had. She searched for a reply, but gaped instead. He directed a counseling program that leased cabins at Pinetree in the off-season so she’d expected them to cross paths. However, she didn’t count on freezing in place when she saw him again.

“I remember that look.” His trademark crooked grin lit his face. “Got it every time I messed up.”

This was too much. He was here…in front of her. The guy who’d hurt her like every man in her life except Uncle Wally. And she wasn’t ready with the quick, witty comebacks she’d often visualized in her mind.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” Fine? She wasn’t fine. How was she going to get out of this situation?

She took a step back and focused on the waffle pattern in his T-shirt. This wasn’t any better than peering into his eyes. The material stretched taut across his chest. A chest where she’d rested and received comfort after battles with her father.

“I’m sorry to hear about Wally,” he said, filling the awkward space and bringing her gaze to his face. “I remember as a kid how I’d count down the days until he left Atlanta and came up here for the summer.” A soft smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “All the kids around here loved his camp. Takes a special person to give so much time and money to help underprivileged kids like he did. I’m gonna miss him.”