Czytaj książkę: «Redemption At Hawk's Landing»
A missing sister, a murdered father and a dangerous reunion years in the making.
The last place Honey Granger wants to be is Tumbleweed, Texas—the judgmental town that made her childhood a living hell. But when Sheriff Harrison Hawk informs her that her alcoholic father has been murdered, she reluctantly joins his investigation. The sexy sheriff has long suspected Honey’s father in his sister’s disappearance and vows to solve both mysteries. But keeping his professional distance from the vulnerable blonde proves nearly impossible. He’ll guard her 24/7 until her life is out of danger. But how will she feel if Harrison proves her father was a murderer?
Badge of Justice
“I’m going to find out who did this,” Harrison said. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Honey.”
She started to say something but he stopped her. “Shh.” He pressed his finger to her lips to quiet her. “I mean it. People in this town haven’t been nice to you and it’s not right. I should have stood up for you a long time ago, when we were kids.”
A blush stained her face and she averted her eyes as if bad memories had assaulted her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of the past.”
“I can’t ever forget the past,” Honey said. “Not until we figure out if my father killed your sister.”
Their gazes locked. Tension escalated. Emotions and desires flamed between them.
She shivered and Harrison realized he’d wanted to soothe and protect and touch her ever since he’d seen her at the morgue.
No longer able to resist, he stroked her cheek with the back of his thumb, then lowered his head and kissed her.
Redemption at Hawk’s Landing
Rita Herron
USA TODAY bestselling author RITA HERRON wrote her first book when she was twelve but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance, and now she writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. Rita lives in Georgia with her family. She loves to hear from readers, so please visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.
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To the fans of The Heroes of Horseshoe Creek series
who asked for another family—meet the Hawks!
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
Title Page
About the Author
Dedication
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Excerpt
Copyright
Chapter One
The dead man lay sprawled on the mountain ridge at Dead Man’s Bluff, his eyes blank, his arm twisted at an odd angle.
He’d probably broken it in the fall. Blood matted his graying hair from where he’d hit the rock as he’d gone over the edge of the ridge.
Sheriff Harrison Hawk cursed. Dammit, he’d recognized him immediately.
Waylon Granger.
The man his mother blamed for his sister’s disappearance eighteen years ago. They’d never been able to prove he was at fault, though.
And now he was dead; they might never know the truth.
Curiosity over what had happened nagged at Harrison. Granger was a known drunk, and a mean one. Even his daughter, Honey, had left home after high school graduation to escape the bastard.
What was Granger doing here at Dead Man’s Bluff?
This was the teenage hangout—just as years ago he and his friends had been drawn to the swimming hole and dark mines with the mysterious ghost stories that surrounded them, the local high schoolers still frequented it.
The two thirteen-year-old boys who’d called in the body sat hunched by Granger’s rusty pickup, their young faces etched in horror.
The scent of death hit Harrison, the summer heat accentuating it.
Memories of the night his little sister, Chrissy, had gone missing bombarded him. The years since hadn’t dulled the pain or trauma. It felt as if it had happened yesterday.
He was seventeen at the time and supposed to babysit his siblings that night while his parents attended a party. Instead, he’d sneaked out to meet his buddies at this very place.
He inhaled sharply. He’d thought Lucas, fifteen, would watch their thirteen-year-old brother, Dexter, eleven-year-old Brayden and their ten-year-old sister, Chrissy. But Lucas had a friend visiting and hadn’t noticed when Chrissy and his youngest brother, Brayden, sneaked out. Dexter claimed he and Chrissy had argued because he was playing video games and she kept interrupting. Brayden and Chrissy rode their bikes to the bluff to see what Harrison was up to.
While they were exploring, Brayden tripped and sprained his ankle. Chrissy went to get help. Brayden thought she’d run to Honey Granger’s, but Honey denied seeing her that night.
The sheriff organized a search party, and they’d searched the mines and town and dragged the swimming hole. But they hadn’t found her.
Someone claimed they’d seen Granger’s truck drive by, casting suspicion on him. Granger denied picking Chrissy up or having any contact with her.
Desperate for a big-sister role model, Chrissy had taken a shine to Granger’s daughter, Honey. But Harrison’s mother didn’t like Honey and had forbidden her from hanging out with the teenager.
Honey’s father didn’t allow Honey friends or visitors, so Harrison’s mother suggested that the man had caught Chrissy on their property, lost his temper and done something to her.
The boys’ voices sounded from Granger’s truck and dragged Harrison back to reality. The taller one stood and walked toward him, his eyes wide with fear. “C-can we go home now, Sheriff?”
Harrison felt for the boy. He and his friend were only kids and had no business being out here by themselves. The mines and bluff were dangerous.
Hopefully they’d learned their lesson.
Unfortunately neither had seen anyone else at the bluff. They’d been horsing around, throwing rocks off the ridge when they noticed the vultures, then spotted Granger’s body on the ledge below.
“Yeah, but be careful. If you think of anything else you saw, call me.”
The boy nodded, then jogged over to his bicycle. His friend joined him, then the two of them began pedaling as fast as they could to get away. Tonight they’d probably be glad to go home to their parents.
A siren wailed in the distance, indicating the rescue team and crime team were approaching. Once they recovered Granger’s body, they’d transport it to the morgue for an autopsy.
Although most likely Granger had been drunk and had simply slipped and fallen, Harrison had a job to do. Whether or not he liked the man didn’t matter.
He had to verify that his death was accidental.
His stomach knotted. He also had to call Honey and deliver the news that her father was gone. It was one conversation he dreaded.
* * *
HONEY GRANGER WIPED perspiration from her forehead, the Austin summer heat stifling as she studied her latest project—a brick ranch built in 1960 that she was renovating.
The scent of dust and old weathered wood blended with the hint of new pine she’d bought to replace the rotting boards on the kitchen floor.
Adrenaline pumped through her. Taking dilapidated, run-down houses that had been left for dead and refurbishing them was challenging but stimulating. She loved transforming the ruins into something beautiful, and had built a successful business out of it.
She’d been trying to do the same for herself for years—take the battered girl who’d run from Tumbleweed, Texas, and make her into something to be proud of. Sometimes she thought she’d succeeded.
Other times she felt like the tainted teenager with the thrift store clothes and shady family, who’d run away when the gossip and rumors became too crushing.
Her contractor and business partner, Jared North, strode toward her, swinging his sledgehammer.
Today was his favorite part—demo day.
He tilted his hard hat. “You want that wall between the kitchen and living room knocked out?”
Honey nodded. “Everyone wants open concept these days, to be able to see their friends and family while they cook and entertain.”
“Got it,” Jared said. “It’s load bearing, though, so we’ll have to install a support beam.”
“It’ll be worth it.” Honey stepped back, mentally picturing the reconfigured design of the kitchen. “With the wall gone, we can install upper and lower cabinets, and build a large center island, maybe from reclaimed wood, for more prep space and storage beneath.” She walked over and examined the fireplace. “Remove the Sheetrock. My guess is there’s shiplap below it. Exposing it will add character to the space.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Honey laughed at his mock salute. The planning and design stage, she was in charge. But when it came to the actual construction details and labor, Jared took command and she saluted him.
“How about the bathrooms?” Jared asked.
“We’re gutting them.” The outdated tiles and flooring had to go. She just hoped they didn’t find water damage or mold.
Her phone buzzed at her hip, and she checked the number. The area code wasn’t Austin’s, but it seemed familiar. It took her a moment to realize the location.
Tumbleweed.
Nerves fluttered in her belly. The sheriff’s office.
Fear and anger resurfaced quickly. Good grief, she’d recognize that number anywhere. What had her father done now? He’d been arrested for public drunkenness, disorderly conduct and driving under the influence when she lived at home. And she’d had to bail him out.
But she’d cut off contact when she’d left town and told Sheriff Dunar not to bother calling her when he locked her father up again.
The phone buzzed again. Jared frowned. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Honey shook her head. She didn’t give a damn if her father was in trouble. He had shamed her enough in high school. She’d moved away years ago to escape the stigma.
She refused to let him taint her newfound life here in Austin.
The phone settled, and she and Jared walked through the rest of the house. She pointed out her plans—a new window here, French doors off the living room to open up to the patio they were resurfacing, removal of all the popcorn ceiling, bathroom remodel.
Her phone buzzed again just as they finished. The same number.
Damn.
“What’s wrong, Honey?” Jared asked.
She bit the inside of her cheek. “Nothing.” She snatched up the phone. “I guess I’d better take this.” She’d tell Sheriff Dunar to lose her number and never bother her again.
Her lungs tightened as she hurried outside to the backyard for air. Just the thought of her father made her feel dirty.
Ready to get the call over with, she pressed Connect. “Hello.”
A heartbeat of silence passed. “Is this Honey Granger?”
Honey heaved a breath. It didn’t sound like Sheriff Dunar. “Yes, who is this?”
“Harrison Hawk... I’m sheriff now.”
Honey swallowed hard. Harrison Hawk was sheriff of Tumbleweed?
Good God. She’d had such a crush on him when she was younger. But then his little sister went missing, and her hellish life became a real nightmare when her father became a suspect.
“Harrison?” Honey rubbed her damp forehead, wiping at the perspiration. “How did you get my number? Why—”
“Just listen, Honey. It’s important.”
She leaned her back against a sawtooth tree and waited, but her gaze homed in on the sagging porch and rotting awning of her renovation project.
“I have bad news,” he said in a gruff voice. “It’s about your father.”
Was there any other kind of news where he was concerned? “What has he done now?”
Another tense moment passed, then Harrison cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Honey. I hate to have to tell you this, but he’s dead.”
Honey’s legs buckled, and she felt herself sliding to the ground just like the rotting exterior of her latest project.
* * *
SEVERAL TENSE SECONDS passed as Harrison gave Honey time to absorb the news.
A rescue team and the medical examiner sped up the winding road to the clearing at the top of the hill and screeched to a halt.
“Honey, are you still there?”
The rescue team climbed from their vehicle, followed by the ME. Harrison waved them over to the ridge and pointed out the body.
“Honey?”
“I’m here,” she said in a strained voice.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just thought you’d want to know.” Or maybe not. She hadn’t returned to Tumbleweed in years. He didn’t know if she’d spoken to her father recently or if they’d communicated at all since she’d left.
“How? His drinking?”
“I can’t say for sure until the autopsy.”
Another strained silence. She was obviously in shock.
“I’ll transport the body to the morgue,” he said, hating to sound callous but he didn’t know what else to say. Better to just stick to business. “I didn’t know if you wanted to come back and make arrangements—”
A heavy sigh. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
“All right.” He watched as the rescue team anchored a harness so they could climb down and bring up the body. “If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
Honey murmured, “Okay.” A second later the phone went silent, leaving him wondering if she’d been alone or with someone. He should have asked before he dropped the bomb.
But he and Honey hadn’t exactly been friends when she lived in Tumbleweed. Worse, his sister’s disappearance had cast a dark cloud over both their families.
The rescue workers’ voices jerked him from his thoughts, a reminder he needed to focus on the job. He strode to the edge of the bluff and looked down.
One of the workers was kneeling by Granger’s body.
Harrison used his camera phone to take pictures before the men moved it. The ME stepped up beside him.
“What happened?” Dr. Weinberger asked.
Harrison shrugged. “Don’t know. Looks like he fell. A couple of kids called it in. I took their statements and let them go home. They were pretty shaken.”
The ME glanced around the area. “They see anyone else up here?”
Harrison shook his head. “No. They were throwing rocks off the ridge when they saw vultures circling over Granger’s body. See that blood on the back of his head?”
Harrison nodded. Granger lay facedown, arms at odd angles. “Looks like he broke his arms trying to brace his fall.”
“Yes, it does,” the ME said. “He fell face forward. So how did he get the gash on the back of his head?”
The air around Harrison stirred, bringing the scent of impending rain and the whisper of the ghosts the locals gossiped about. Some said it was the miners screaming when the mine had collapsed on top of them.
Others justified the eerie whistle of the wind as just that—the wind rolling off the mountain ridge.
The ME’s words echoed in Harrison’s ears. Granger fell face forward. The back of his head was one bloody mess.
His gaze met the doctor’s as he realized the implication. “Damn. He didn’t just fall, did he? He was murdered.”
Chapter Two
Honey ignored the grief stabbing at her the rest of the day as she finalized plans for the house renovation. She left the project in her partner’s hands, trusting him with implementing her design, then drove back to the small Craftsman-style bungalow she’d bought two years ago.
This was home sweet home. Her happy place.
Here she was safe from her past. From the rumors and gossip and the nastiness that had been her life.
She had no idea how long she’d be in Tumbleweed. Only as long as it took to address her father’s will and handle his burial. She definitely would not give him a memorial service.
It wasn’t like anyone would attend if she did.
Her father hadn’t been a popular man in Tumbleweed when she lived there. She couldn’t imagine he’d made friends since.
She took a deep breath as she entered her home, savoring the cozy interior she’d personally designed to her taste. She liked the farmhouse, shabby-chic look, but avoided anything reminiscent of her childhood home.
Memories bombarded her—sleeping in a room with no heat, with raggedy quilts piled so thickly on her that she couldn’t turn over. The furnace in the den barely kept that room warm. The summers were hot and stale, the rooms reeking of smoke, rotting wood and booze.
She blinked back tears, walked to her bedroom and dragged out a suitcase. The earthy tones mingled with slate blue in the room to soothe her nerves after a long day.
But as she gathered jeans, shirts, boots and a couple of skirts, the memory of the wind jarring the windowpanes in her father’s house taunted her as if she was standing in that old house.
She would be soon.
Scrubbing her hand over her eyes to blot out the tears and wipe her emotions away, she braced herself. She wouldn’t let that place or her father’s death get to her.
Not ever again.
In her mind, he’d died a long time ago. This visit was just a formality, then she could erase him, Tumbleweed and its residents from her life forever.
* * *
ANXIETY KNOTTED HARRISON’S shoulders as he parked at the morgue the next morning. Honey Granger was meeting him here.
He hadn’t slept the night before for stewing over the fact that she was coming back to town. He didn’t exactly know why that thought unnerved him, but it did.
His first instinct had been to call his family together and relay the news about Granger’s death, but he’d kept the information between the ME, his deputy, Mitchell Bronson, and himself.
Telling his mother and brothers would dredge up all the pain again.
He also wanted to verify the cause of death. Everyone in town knew that his mother hated Granger, which would no doubt lay suspicion on her. Truthfully on his entire family.
He wasn’t ready to deal with that suspicion or to throw his mother and siblings into the line of fire.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he climbed from his SUV onto the hot asphalt and walked toward the hospital. The morgue and ME’s office were located in the basement. Already the noonday sun was beating down full force and the temperature was climbing.
His phone buzzed. Dr. Weinberger. He punched Connect. “Sheriff Hawk.”
“Harrison, Honey Granger is here.”
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I just parked.” He ended the call and took a deep breath as he entered the hospital. The image of Honey Granger at sixteen with her golden-blond hair, big brown eyes and long legs made his gut tighten.
As a teenager she’d been pretty but homely, with her ragged secondhand clothes. The popular girls had been mean to her, and the boys had joked about getting into her pants. Two football players had made a bet to see who could screw her first.
A foul taste settled in Harrison’s mouth. She had definitely gotten a bad rap.
Oddly his little sister was the one who’d stood up for Honey instead of him. He wasn’t proud of that.
Chrissy had liked Honey’s flashy clothes, jewelry and makeup.
But their mother had forbidden her from hanging out with the girl, saying Honey was too old to be friends with Chrissy and that Honey looked like a tramp.
When Honey left town abruptly after high school, rumors surfaced that she’d gotten pregnant and had gone away to have the baby.
He’d hoped that wasn’t true, that she’d found a better life.
The air-conditioning hit him as he entered the hospital, stark against the blazing summer heat. He strode to the elevator and rode down to the basement, the scent of cleaner and antiseptic was strong as he walked down the hall to the ME’s office.
The receptionist waved him in. When he’d phoned Honey, she’d obviously been shocked at the news of her father’s death and hadn’t said much.
He had no idea what to expect today. Granger was her father and the only family she had left. He was surprised she hadn’t asked for more details, but everyone reacted differently to bad news. She probably would be asking now.
And he needed to find out the answers.
He knocked then eased open the door to Weinberger’s office. Dr. Weinberger stood and nodded in greeting, then Harrison’s gaze fell on Honey.
The teenager with the too-flashy clothes had disappeared.
This woman wore jeans with a silky-looking deep blue top and strappy heels that made her legs look endlessly long. Her hair was just as blond and golden looking, her big brown eyes smoldering hot, sensual, like liquid pools a man could drown in.
His gut clenched. Dammit she was...beautiful. In a wholesome, almost-innocent way.
“Honey?” He offered his hand.
Her hand trembled as she placed her slender palm in his. Heat rippled through him at her touch.
A wary look flashed in her eyes, and she rubbed her palm on her jeans as if she’d felt it, too. Then her soft lips pressed into a thin line, and a frown darkened her face.
“We were waiting on you,” Dr. Weinberger said. “I explained to Honey that she doesn’t need to make an ID, that we recognized her father, and DNA confirms it’s Waylon. But if she wants to see him, that’s fine, too.”
Harrison arched a brow, waiting on Honey’s response. He needed time to get his reaction to her under control.
Their past was way too complicated for him to be attracted to her now.
* * *
HONEY QUICKLY AVERTED her gaze from Harrison.
Good heavens. She’d thought he was cute when he was seventeen, but he was so handsome now he could bring a woman to her knees.
He’d morphed into a mountain of a man with big, broad shoulders, a muscular body, the deepest amber eyes she’d ever seen and an all-gruff, masculine exterior. His tanned skin and dark hair accentuated his high cheekbones, square jaw and the cleft in his chin.
He had dimples, too, when he smiled, although that smile had disappeared after his sister went missing. It was still gone.
In fact, his frown suggested he found her lacking.
His mother’s hateful words had been imprinted in her brain forever. “You’re trash, Honey Granger. You’re not welcome at Hawk’s Landing. My daughter is not going to associate with the likes of you.”
“Have you decided on arrangements?” Harrison asked, jarring her from the painful memories.
Honey shrugged. “According to Daddy’s lawyer, Truitt Bennings, my father wanted to be cremated.” She was surprised that her father had a will, but grateful he did. He’d left the house to her. Owning it outright would make it easier to sell.
She didn’t intend to stay in this town any longer than necessary.
“I can call the crematory for you if you want,” Dr. Weinberger offered.
“Thank you,” Honey said. “I’d appreciate that.”
Dr. Weinberger gave her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want to see him now?”
Did she? No. When she’d left town, she’d sworn never to see or speak to him again.
But some inner voice beckoned her to at least say goodbye. After all, he was her father. And he hadn’t deserted her as her mother had, although some could argue that drinking himself into a stupor was his way of abandoning her and reality.
She stood, lifting her chin and putting on a brave face. “Yes. Let’s get it over with.”
Harrison and the doctor exchanged an odd look, but neither commented. She almost asked what was going on, but decided they’d probably discussed her before she’d arrived. Gossip in small towns was hard to overcome. For all she knew, everyone in Tumbleweed knew of her arrival.
She lifted her chin. Dammit, she didn’t care what the people here thought of her anymore. She’d made herself a new life, and she was proud of who she’d become.
Still, their quiet looks made her uneasy and reminded her of the reason she hated Tumbleweed.
Dr. Weinberger led her from the office through a set of double doors past a room labeled Autopsy, then into a smaller space. She took a deep breath to brace herself, then followed him over to a steel gurney. The room was so cold that she shivered.
Her father lay beneath the draped cloth.
The ME stepped to the opposite side of the table. “Are you ready, Ms. Granger?”
She nodded.
He pulled the cloth away from her father’s face, but she didn’t react. It was as if she was looking at a stranger, someone she’d met years ago, someone who hadn’t meant anything to her. Age had turned his hair gray, carved deep lines in his craggy face, and he’d lost weight. The yellowish-gray pallor of his skin coupled with the bruises on his face looked stark beneath the harsh lighting.
“What happened?” she asked. She’d assumed it was the liquor, but his face looked like he’d been in a bar fight.
The doctor shifted. Beside her, Harrison’s breath puffed into the air. “I found him at Dead Man’s Bluff.”
Honey looked at him for confirmation. “Why was he there?”
“I don’t know,” Harrison said.
“How did he die?” Honey asked.
“Cause of death was head trauma,” Dr. Weinberger said.
“So he was drunk and fell?” Honey said, disgusted.
A tense second passed. Harrison cleared his throat. “He didn’t simply fall, Honey. It looks like he was struck by a rock then pushed over the edge.”
Shock bolted through Honey. “You mean someone murdered him?”
“I’m sorry,” Harrison said. “But yes, it looks that way.”
Now she understood the odd looks between the men.
Her mind began to race. Her father hadn’t had any friends in town. A lot of people didn’t like him, but no one hated him enough to kill him.
Except...
Her gaze met Harrison’s. Except for his family.
* * *
HARRISON SAW THE wheels in Honey’s mind turning. She was jumping to the same conclusion that everyone else would—that one of his family members might be responsible.
“Do you know who pushed him?” she asked, tactfully avoiding an accusation.
He didn’t have the answer to that question.
“Not yet.”
He would find the truth, though. That was his damn job.
“Would you like a few minutes alone?” Dr. Weinberger asked.
Another tense heartbeat passed. Honey twisted her hands together, looking fragile for a moment, then she gave a slight nod.
“Let us know if you need anything,” the ME said.
For some reason, Harrison was reluctant to leave her alone. She’d grown up in a house filled with turmoil. Had suffered at the hands of her mother and father. Had left nearly two decades ago.
And now she’d traveled back here alone to say goodbye to the man who’d failed her.
Compassion for her made him reach out and squeeze her arm. “Are you okay?”
A sad smile curved her mouth. “Of course. I’ll just be a minute.”
Harrison nodded, then followed the medical examiner into the hallway. Worried about her, he turned and watched her through the window in the door, unable to leave.
“She seems to be handling it okay,” Dr. Weinberger said in a low voice.
Either that or she was good at acting. He had a feeling Honey Granger had done a lot of that over the years—pretending the rumors and gossip hadn’t hurt her. But deep-seated pain colored her eyes.
He had the sudden need to make things right for her. To strip her of the anguish she was suffering.
But he didn’t have a clue as to how to do that.
Besides, she would probably leave town as soon as she handled the details surrounding her father’s death, the cremation and possibly the sale of his house. Unless she decided to move back and live in it.
A sardonic chuckle rumbled in his throat. He didn’t see that happening. Ever.
“Did you find any forensics?” Harrison asked.
Weinberger crossed his arms. “Slivers of rock and dirt were embedded in the back of Granger’s head where he was struck. My guess is that he was hit with a rock from the bluff.”
Harrison shifted. “That would imply the murder wasn’t premeditated, that something happened on that ledge that triggered the other party to attack.”
He’d have to go back to the bluff, look for that rock, see if there were fingerprints on it.
“Anything else?” Harrison asked.
“Dirt under his fingernails and a short brown hair.”
Harrison gave a nod. “Send it to the lab. That hair may belong to our killer.”
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