One Spring Night

Chapter One

Present Day

Kara Keaton opened her eyes to a cool spear of worry that accompanied the stormy dawn. Because that worry rose into fear faster than the morning light could lift away the darkness, she slid out of bed to begin her day with only a subtle silver glare showing the way.

Distraction was the name of the game when fear threatened battle. And after years of practice, Kara was a worthy opponent, armed with a creative mind, decisive momentum, and gritty humility.

Of course, after being knocked down by life, learning that her creative mind was a trusty weapon in her arsenal had been quite shocking. As a child, whenever she played war with her brothers, she'd armed herself with knobby sticks and a secret stash of acorns. If she'd tried to fight the likes of William and Liam Wyatt with her mind, she would've been laughed at then taken prisoner.

Likewise, if she tried to fight fear with sticks and acorns, she was also liable to find herself defeated.

The memory of family, the good times, led her back to the slippery edge of worry.

Coffee would save her, she decided. It was a good enough weapon for the morning.

She started down the creaky stairs of her ancient home. She'd renovated the hundred-year-old place, one project at a time. But something about those creaks that sounded as she made her way up or down the stairs made her feel like she was part of the home's history. These were her few contributory steps in the vast years of many. And if she fixed the squeaks, what stories would there be?

Then again, she was a writer so she appreciated the stories those stairs could undoubtedly tell. Similarly, if she fixed all the squeaks in herself, what evidence would there be of her past, her stories?

Still clad in thermal pajamas, she slipped her socked feet into her bright red pair of galoshes, tugged on a hat and tucked her long spill of dark hair beneath it, then walked out through the French doors, into the raging rain.

Coffee could wait. She'd battle her morning chores first, then claim her victory cup of caffeine.

Her warm breath was immediately pulled out of her, the clouded mist of it disappearing into the soggy darkness. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she decided not to go back in for her jacket, and instead make the trip a short one.

Kara strolled through the rain—not terribly bothered by something as inconsequential as a storm—across the stone steps she'd hauled and set last summer.

Her brilliant white oak towered tall and proud in her deluged back yard, its spiny fingertips piercing the thick clouds that had gathered under the cover of night.

And beside the protective old tree was the modest greenhouse she'd hired a contractor to frame. Then, after researching the best materials to use and watching several how-to videos, she'd filled in the details after the contractor left. She'd done everything from installing the greenhouse plastic, to lugging in and filling the raised beds. Then she'd celebrated the completion by hanging a sign that read, "When Life Gives You Shit, Grow A Garden."

She opened the door to the greenhouse—which she'd stubbornly hung herself—as the ground shook under the threat of growling thunder. At the warning, she quickly scooted inside, half expecting the three-headed Cerberus to appear snarling through the mists, nipping at her chilled cheeks.

It certainly felt like winter had come back and swallowed the spring she'd looked forward to. And that was a new thing—looking forward. But this day, this storm, kept her safely tucked into the present and she was glad for it as her mind tempted her to drift into the territory of worry over the news she waited on.