Saving Grace (Madison Falls) Read online

  By Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Madison Falls

  Home of faith, love, peach pie…and a dollop of danger.

  Saving Grace

  Book 1

  Jill Came Tumbling After

  Book 2

  Coming Summer 2014

  Lefty Lucy

  Book 3

  Coming Spring 2015

  Other books by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  Montana Hearts

  Christian Romance

  Lights, Cowboy, Action (Heartsong Presents)

  Book 1

  Big Sky Bachelor (Heartsong Presents)

  Book 2

  Rocky Mountain Romance (Heartsong Presents)

  Book 3

  Find out more at lesleyannmcdaniel.com

  Saving Grace

  Madison Falls, Book 1

  Copyright © 2013 by Lesley Ann McDaniel. All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner, images ©

  www.fotolia.com, File: #30097055_L

  www.shutterstock.com, File: #shutterstock_537119

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  Photoshop Swirls by Obsidian Dawn, www.obsidiandawn.com

  Scripture taken from NIV. THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Saving Grace is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination.

  Printed in the U.S.A.

  Chapter 1

  Warm air prickled the back of Grace’s neck. The porch creaked under her feet as she stole a glance over her shoulder at the dark street. Nothing.

  “…excited to have you here ….”

  The real estate agent’s lilting voice hummed in Grace’s ear. She turned, marveling not only at the whiteness of the agent’s slacks, but at the boldness of that fashion choice for a woman whose figure resembled that of a snowman.

  “…cab ride even longer than your flight.”

  Something pinged against the wooden planks. Grace jolted, dizzied by days of wakefulness. The agent dipped down gracefully as her plump fingers extended.

  Just a dropped key.

  “I know you’ll fall in love with this adorable house. The pictures on our website don’t do it justice.”

  Her chipper tone set Grace’s tired nerves on edge. Why couldn’t the woman move a little faster? Casting a wary eye down the shadowy street, Grace eased the strap of her computer bag off the tense spot on her shoulder. Her over-worked adrenal glands pulsed as the agent—what was her name…Cookie? No. Spritz. Spritz Cole, that was it. As Spritz righted herself and lifted the rescued key toward the mahogany Craftsman door.

  “Of course,” Spritz lobbed her an encouraging smile. “Most people want to actually see a house first before signing the papers. You must be anxious to start out fresh.”

  “Yes.” Grace coerced a steady tone. “This place just felt right.”

  An air of confidence spread over Spritz’s carefully made-up face. “You won’t be disappointed.” She clicked the key, and the deadbolt gave an obliging swoosh. Pushing the door open, she took a theatrical step back. “Welcome home.”

  Grace’s heart made a thump that could have come from the score to a Hitchcock movie. She peered in. Her lungs filled with paint-infused air as she took a careful step across the doorsill and into the foyer.

  She blinked away welling emotion, plunking her suitcase down on the polished wood floor of the vacant bungalow. Her chest ached as she perused the living room, which looked bigger than her entire studio apartment back home. Its white walls stared at her like a vast canvas.

  “Well?” Spritz’s voice glistened with just enough gusto to instill consumer confidence without falling into phoniness.

  Grace forced a step further into the house which now bore her name on the title—or rather her chosen name. She found it impossible to whip up much enthusiasm when all she really wanted was her life back. “It’s…adorable. Just like you said.”

  The door ka-thunked shut, sending Grace’s heart into her throat.

  Spritz let out a pleased breath. “You were smart to snap it up. Houses like this don’t come on the market very often. Why, folks in Madison Falls tend to stay put till they die.”

  Grace shot her a fretful glance. Was she being funny or merely factual?

  Apparently oblivious to Grace’s unease, Spritz breezed into the living room. “Let me just give you a quick tour.”

  Exhaustion jabbed at Grace like a maestro’s baton. “No, you don’t have to—”

  “You’ve come all this way,” Spritz cajoled. “I can’t just abandon you at the door. I don’t mind at all.”

  Too weary to argue, Grace ran a jittery hand through her hair. Startled once again by the shortness of her cut, she flinched. “Alright then.”

  As Spritz took center stage with a clearing of her throat, Grace backed up just enough to secure the deadbolt. She forced attentiveness, though frankly her only architectural concern was the structure’s ability to keep danger at bay.

  Spritz stepped seamlessly into tour guide mode. “The key feature of this cozy room is of course the striking Craftsman brick fireplace.” She recited the painstakingly penned text of her own website.

  Feeling like a reluctant audience to a friend’s baby-picture-slideshow, Grace swallowed her protest and stepped into the living room.

  “…loads of light from this generous picture window.” Spritz pulled a cord, sending the front blinds clattering upward.

  Grace shrank back, feeling the same vulnerability as she did whenever someone burst into her dressing room unannounced. The darkness outside chilled her. Why hadn’t she planned for a day-lit arrival?

  “…cut glass…original to the house.” Spritz dropped the cord. Her arm extended toward the smaller windows above the built-in bookcases which flanked the fireplace.

  Keeping a polite focus on her guide, Grace slid toward the picture window. She felt for the cold metal of the latch, breathing easier at its firmness. She gave the cord to the blinds a quick yank then twisted the wand to smooth the slats.

  “…1920’s charm.” Spritz clasped her hands in front of her, clearly moved by her own narrative of the home’s features. A well-rehearsed pause, then a twirl toward the dining room.

  Forcing her tired eyes to stay focused, Grace pulled shut the blinds on the smaller windows. 1920’s charm, indeed. Feigning cheerful interest, she crossed under the wide arch which separated this room from the next.

  Spritz drew her arm with a flourish in the direction of a built-in china hutch. “This room is perfect for entertaining.”

  Grace huffed at the suggestion that she would actually invite people over. Spritz’s eyes narrowed.

  “I…I…” Grace stuttered, dismayed that fatigue had wiped out her ability to self-censor. “I just never had my own dining room before. I didn’t know I needed one.”

  Spritz’s face lit like a make-up mirror. “Our neighborhood progressive dinner is coming up. I’ll be sure to add you to the circuit.”

  Grace shivered, giving in to a long blink. Just what she needed. An invitation to the biggest event of the Mayberry social season.

  Spritz swung open a double-hinged door, taking a calculated step through it as she spoke. “I just love the charm of this vintage style kitchen.”

  Grace cast a polite look through the doorway. Vintage style? Was that real estate lingo for badly-in-need-of-an-update?

  “Cute.” Too bad she coul
dn’t cook. All those years of dorm food and take-out had made that skill superfluous. At least she knew how to make coffee.

  Thoughts of a comforting beverage warmed her momentarily, then vanished as her inaugural step into the kitchen almost sent her plummeting.

  Spritz let out a yelp, catching her by the elbow. “Sweetie! Are you okay?”

  Her heart racing, Grace clutched Spritz’s arm as her feet surfed for solid flooring. “I… I’m fine. Thanks.” She let go, testing the tiles using the care of a person treading through a minefield. One tile near the door had a definite trampoline-like quality. Funny that hadn’t made the web site’s list of fancy features.

  Spritz gave the floor a healthy stomp with the heel of her Easy Spirit pump. “I really had no idea there was a problem here.” She patted Grace’s bicep. “Not to worry. We’ve got a wonderful handyman in town who’ll fix it for a song.”

  Grace’s stomach fluttered. The last thing she needed was some strange man in her house expecting her to sing. “I’m sure I can take care of it myself.”

  “Oh, a DIY girl, huh?” She looked impressed. “Why not let Sam handle this, and put your energy into the fun projects?”

  With a decisive nod, Spritz stepped over the aberrant flooring to the rectangle of a hallway. Grace followed, anxious to finish the tour and get on with her plan. All she needed was to be left alone, to let down her guard at last, and fall into a deep sleep.

  “Storage closet. Linen closet. Basement.” Spritz flung open each door in turn. “The floor is original to the house, but it’s been refinished. Let me show you the back bedroom.” She disappeared, rattling off facts as if her audience still needed convincing.

  Grace’s body followed her eyes to the cracked-open bathroom door. A golden trail of light across the floor taunted her. Flashes of that last moment before her life had changed for good. She looked intently at the light—an eerie implication that someone else had recently been in the house. Be strong. What other choice did she have?

  She reached out. A light touch to the crystal doorknob. Good grief, it’s only a bathroom. Wouldn’t be practical to avoid it indefinitely.

  Shoving the heavy door with one hand while instinctively clenching the other, her own breath threatened to choke her.

  The bathtub held a dead body.

  No! Reflexively, her hands shielded her eyes. Then through parted fingers, she forced a second look. It was just a bathtub. Clean, white…and empty.

  It had been more than two years now, but the image of the blood splattered porcelain still haunted her.

  “Don’t you just love the claw foot tub?”

  Grace sucked in a sharp breath, jolted by the perky voice from behind. She shook off the memory. Why couldn’t the place just have a shower, like her apartment?

  “Let’s take a look at the front bedroom,” Spritz chirped with an air of unruffled confidence. She stepped into the room to her left, flicking a switch to illuminate it.

  Grace followed, heavy with fatigue. She hovered in the doorway of the big white box that would be her bedroom, piqued by Spritz’s unnecessary perkiness.

  Spritz beamed with professional pride. “The bedrooms are the same square footage, so it really depends on which view you prefer.”

  Grace heaved an anxious sigh. She had already decided she’d sleep in this room. Best to keep track of the world out front—as if anything would happen in a town this size. Yawning, she lifted her wrist slightly, shocked at the hour—nearly eleven. One o’clock in the morning back home. Her eyelids felt like they had stage weights in them.

  “Where’s my head?” Spritz crossed toward her, hands outstretched. “You flew all the way from Seattle, then had that long cab ride from Missoula. You must be dead on your feet.”

  Grace’s stomach pitched at the ill-chosen words, but she coerced a smile. Spritz had shown such kindness without even knowing how much Grace had needed it. She allowed the realtor to enclose both her hands in a solid, warm grasp.

  “I’ll see myself out.” Spritz gave Grace’s hands an extra squeeze. “You just call if you need anything.” She turned for the door, speaking over her shoulder as she walked. “Or stop by my office. It’s on Main, right across from the park. You can’t miss it.”

  Grace chuckled to herself. As if finding anything in this town would require the use of MapQuest.

  Grateful for her long-awaited solitude, she bolted the door after Spritz’s exit and lowered the blinds over its small cut glass pane. Talk about impractical. Why would anyone want a window in their front door?

  Looking around the quiet house, she surrendered to a welcome yawn. She hadn’t been this tired in a very long time. All she needed was a refreshing night’s sleep to plan her next step for surviving this ordeal.

  She dragged her feet back to the bedroom and stopped. Looking down at the hard wood of the floor, she let out a throaty moan. Where had her head been? She had always prided herself on her ability to think things through down to the minutest detail. How could she have neglected to arrange for a bed?

  She sat down with a thud and buried her face in her hands, not knowing if she would burst out in laughter or sobs.

  “Good grief, Grace Addison.” A quiet laugh escorted her words. “Or whatever your name is. Get your act together, would you?”

  Chapter 2

  Stepping onto her front porch and into the morning sun, Grace groaned. She rubbed her aching shoulder, making a silent promise not to spend another night on the floor. By comparison, her Murphy bed back home was a feathery cloud. She pulled the door shut and locked the deadbolt, vowing to add ‘get some kind of bed’ to her To Do list.

  As she turned to face the street, her stomach roared like the lion at the beginning of an MGM movie. Even though she felt like signing up for the hermit’s union, survival forced her to plunge headlong into a limited exploration of the town.

  Taking the initial tread down the steps that bridged her front porch and the rest of the world, she scanned the tree-lined street. Two women with strollers, and a couple of kids on stingrays. Just an ordinary summer day in Small Town, U.S.A.

  As her foot left the bottom step, a movement caught the corner of her eye. Someone sprang up from the flower bed, as if they’d been lying in wait. Terror shot through her.

  Her heart could have auditioned for a seat in the timpani section as her body propelled forward. The heel of her sandal hooked her pants hem, landing her face down on the pebbly pavement. Panicked, she pulled her legs under her and scrambled to her feet.

  Stumbling ahead, she threw a glance over her shoulder, then lurched to a halt and reeled around. As she looked down into a pair of deep brown eyes, a wisp of relieved laughter escaped with the breath she’d held for the past several seconds. Scruffy fur, coffee-brown with clouds of cream, covered a scrawny knee-height frame. Her guest gave a tentative wag of his long ratty tail and Grace tittered. If the former homeowner had left this forlorn canine behind, that couldn’t be her problem. She could barely take care of herself much less a dog.

  “You’re a pretty boy, but I can’t keep you.” She gave her linen pants a quick swipe. “You wouldn’t want in on my life anyway if you knew what a mess it is. Go on!”

  He cocked his head with a questioning whimper.

  “You heard me.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand. “Go find someone who has their act together.”

  He gave one more high-pitched plea before lowering his nose and ambling down the walkway. When he was several houses away, Grace set off in the opposite direction, chuckling to herself. Clearly, she’d have to adjust to being out west where packs of wild dogs roamed the streets.

  There had been a time when a walk, or better yet a run, on a clear early summer day like this would have soothed her soul. Now, as she strode under the arch of trees that enclosed the street, she wondered how hard reclusiveness would be, what with the internet and home delivery.

  Taking care not to trip where a tree root had turned the sidewalk into a roller coast
er track, she rallied her thoughts. Had it really only been three days since she had shut her eyes and circled her finger over a map of the United States? Madison Falls, Montana had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Now the reality seemed strikingly unromantic.

  Still, she had to go somewhere. Kirk had left her no choice.

  A few minutes later, she looked up at the street sign on the corner of the undeniably charming main street. Main Street. At least something in this new world made sense.

  Her nose caught a distinctive scent. Pleasant…oh yes very. Instinctively, she turned to the left and inhaled her way past quaint little shops until the spicy sweet aroma enveloped her. As it became clear that the Madison Bakery was to be her first stop of the morning, she did a quick calculation. Twenty hours since that skimpy little sandwich at the airport. No wonder the fresh-baked smell lured her like a carnival barker.

  The creak of the old wooden screen door announced her entrance, and the dozen or so people seated at café tables turned on cue to look at her. She stopped cold, overtaken by stage fright. It wasn’t an audience she craved. Not anymore.

  Forcing a feeble smile, she honed in on the pastry case just a few feet ahead. Get a bagel and get out. Her will to live instructed her to stay nourished and, besides, she smelled coffee.

  “You from out of town?” The chipper young girl behind the counter greeted her.

  Grace sputtered. Did she look out of place? Why weren’t these people going back to their newspapers and small talk? It felt as if they were all waiting for her response.

  “Yes. I mean, not anymore. I just moved here.”

  “No kidding. Oh, you must be the woman who bought the Miller place. I heard about you.”

  What had she heard? Grace’s mind raced as she tried to recall every detail she’d given to Spritz. Most of it had been made up, but still. Her palms grew clammy and her appetite slipped into hiding.