IMPERFECT LIES is the newest romantic suspense from the writing desk of Elizabeth Noyes. Right now, the e-book is available for pre-order at a 40% discount.
Catch Elizabeth Noyes discussing the category of suspense with Write Integrity Press's executive director, Marji Laine Clubine, on Publishing Laine on Tuesday, August 1, at 7PM Central on Blog Talk Radio. Here's the
LINK.
And as a special gift, enjoy the first chapter:
“Yes!”
Mallory
clapped a hand over her mouth, startled by how loud her shout sounded in the
empty house. She wanted to giggle, jump up and down, and shout to the world.
The New York Times had seen her article! They knew her name. Chicago and
Seattle, too. They wanted her to come for job interviews. Her. Mallory Cameron,
from Hastings Bluff, Idaho.
A
dozen twirls around the kitchen left her a little breathless, but did nothing
to slow the adrenaline rush. She flopped onto one of the tall barstools, jumped
up again, and paced the kitchen. Of all the times for her family to disappear
on her. Here she’d just received the biggest news of her life and had no one to
share it with.
She
could talk to TJ, but her brand-new sister-in-law wouldn’t be free until late in
the afternoon. The principal of the elementary school in Challis where TJ taught
frowned on cell phone use during class hours.
Jonas
was an option. Mallory considered a run over to the big barn, but decided
against it. The youngest of her brothers had left out before dawn that morning,
concerned about one of the mares due to foal. If he took the time to listen to her, all he would offer was a
caveman grunt, and then they’d both feel weird.
Her
thoughts turned outside the family to her friend, Shea, who worked at the
diner, but a quick glance at her wristwatch nixed that idea. By the time Mallory
finished her chores, got cleaned up, and drove into town, the lunch rush would
be in full swing there. Shea wouldn’t have time to breathe between orders, much
less sit down and chat.
Mallory
tapped her lips with an index finger and smiled. Hazel eyes came to mind. “James,
it is,” she said aloud. “Even sheriffs have to eat sometimes, right?”
Her
oldest brother, Garrett, had brought him home more than two years ago to
recuperate from an injury. A shudder went through her at the memory of the
ragged gunshot wound in his side. He’d been grumpy at his helplessness, but also
grateful for help in his vulnerable state. She’d fallen a little in love with
him that day, and sank deeper with every day that passed.
Regardless
of whether he reciprocated her feelings, James was a friend. She tapped out a
quick text and hit send. Free for lunch?
His
reply came back seconds later. Sure. Come
by the office.
Her
stomach lurched. Would it upset him to know she might move away, or would he wish
her well and say goodbye? She’d find out soon enough.
Be there at 11.
Chores
first. Rascal, their foreman and her dad’s oldest friend, had asked her to feed
and water the animals in the small barn adjacent to the house this morning. She
didn’t mind, but it worried her a little. Rascal never asked for help. The
foaling mare must have a problem.
In
the mud room off the kitchen, Mallory slipped her cell phone in her jeans pocket
and donned a heavy jacket. She stomped her feet into well-worn boots and
stepped outside into the brisk morning air.
A
flock of birds drew her attention as she walked to the barn. The black mass
swooped and wheeled in complete synchronization, until they lit among the
treetops behind the barn. Bare limbs swayed in the light breeze. Denuded
branches coated with hoarfrost glistened in the weak sunlight and framed the
dark clump against the gray sky.
A
moment later, the birds erupted from the branches in a furious cloud, and
disappeared beyond the forest.
Uneasiness
made her skin crawl. Ravens had long been considered harbingers of bad luck,
probably because of their glossy black plumage.
She
shoved the superstitious thoughts away. Anything could startle a flock of
birds—rustles in the underbrush, a glint of sunlight on metal, a sudden wind …
or perhaps the primal instinct all animals possessed when danger loomed.
The
same intuition that made the hair on her arms stand on end.
Unnerved
by where her imagination led, she ended that train of thought and entered the heated
barn through the small door on the side. The big sliding doors stayed closed in
the winter months, opened only when the horses were taken out for riding or
exercise.
Soft
whinnies greeted her. The horses knew breakfast was late.
Mallory
chattered, aware of how her voice soothed the animals. “I know, I know. I’m
late. Bet you guys are hungry, huh? Well, hold your horses.” A laugh burst out
at the pun Rascal always used.
Using
the scoop in the barrel, she measured oats into one pail and fortified feed into
another, enough for all seven horses. Let the feeding frenzy begin. Thank
goodness, one of the hands would come over and muck the stalls later.
When
she reached the empty stall at the end, her throat tightened. Buffy’s loss had
hit her sister, Cassie, hard. All of them, really. Such a senseless waste.
Mallory
blinked away unexpected tears and headed outside to tend to Edwina, the ornery
old billy goat she and Cassie had rescued once upon a time. With everything
stored away again, it was time for a much-needed shower.
Three
steps outside the barn, the stillness made itself known. The wind had died
down, but everyday sounds should still remain—bird titters, rustling branches, small
animals in the underbrush, whinnies from the pastured horses.
That
same awareness she’d felt on her way out here returned, a sense that if she
turned at the right moment …
Wow,
her imagination had a mind of its own this morning. She put a clamp on the wayward
thoughts, but did a slow, three-sixty sweep of the surroundings anyway.
All
of nature seemed to hold its breath.
Unnerved
again, she hurried for the safety of the house.
Inside,
the deadbolt on the kitchen door complained from lack of use. The family seldom
locked up given the distance of the ranch from town. They’d even given up on
the state-of-the-art security system that her middle brother, Wade, installed
two years past. No one came this way unless they had a reason to. And when they
did, the locked gate at the property’s entrance announced their presence.
Mallory
considered rearming the security system as she shrugged out of her coat.
Garrett always said you should trust your gut. She pulled off her boots, patted
her pocket to make sure she had her phone, and started toward the front of the
house. Whether imagined or real, she would feel better with locked doors and
windows between her and whatever lurked out there.
The
quiet snick of the front door lock and chain fed her uneasiness. She finished a
sweep of the first-floor entry points, windows included, and decided to rearm
the security system.
Jonas
would probably set the alarm off when he came home. He’d get mad, and then make
fun of her.
Tough.
She
headed upstairs.
The
grandfather clock in the foyer struck a double four-count of Westminster
quarter chimes. Half past ten. Feeding the horses had taken longer than she expected.
She
made short work of checking all the upstairs windows and hurried through her
shower. Time for her battle gear. The black skinny jeans should get the job
done, the ones Dad called ‘vacuum-sealed.’ Paired with her new Lively boots and
the sapphire turtleneck that made her eyes pop, James wouldn’t stand a chance.
He was, after all, a man.
Fifteen
minutes later, Mallory pulled on her new Shearling jacket and a pair of leather
gloves, and started for the barn again. Alert and wary, her eyes strayed from
side to side, in constant motion.
She
covered the distance between house and barn in record time, surprised when her
anxiety didn’t return. What also surprised her was the big F-150 Super Crew
Raptor in all its shiny black and chrome Ford beauty parked next to her
sister’s little Ranger.
Jonas
must have come back while she showered.
Mallory
changed directions and stepped inside the barn. “Jo?”
No
answer.
“Jonas?”
Her
footsteps slowed. Diablo’s stall stood empty. Jonas had taken his horse and
ridden into the mountains again. Which meant something bad must have happened.
Wade
claimed Jonas had nightmares and sometimes just needed time alone, to find peace
and quiet. Curious how her two oldest brothers had seen a ton of deadly action
in the Middle East, but didn’t feel the same need for solitude that Jonas did.
These
solitary jaunts of his had increased in frequency. Lately, his jokester nature
made fewer and fewer appearances. How long would he stay away this time? Two
days? Three? That thought made her worry grow. Jonas knew how much she hated
staying alone in the house.
She
whipped her cell phone out and pressed pound-five, the speed dial number for
Jonas.
The
call went straight to voice mail.
Of
course, it did. She dialed pound-eight next.
Rascal
answered on the first ring. “H’lo.”
“Why
is Jonas’s truck parked at the house?”
A
long silence. “We lost them both, the dam and the foal.”
Both?
The news crushed her. How much worse for her brother. Jonas put his heart and
soul into the Triple C breeding program. “He took Diablo.”
“Figured
he would. Let him be, honey. If he’s not back in a couple of days, I’ll go
check on him.”
“Thanks,
Rascal. I’m so sorry.”
“Me,
too, little girl.”
The
thrill of the phone calls she’d received that morning disappeared. Her
eagerness to see James receded. She almost sent him a text to cancel, but then
wondered why. Not seeing James wouldn’t bring the mare or the foal back. And she
still wanted to share her good news.
She
climbed in her sister’s truck. After Cassie lost her driver’s license and
Mallory totaled her Honda, there didn’t seem to be any urgency in replacing her
car. A quick twist of the key and … nothing. Not even a click. A second attempt
yielded the same result.
“Are
you kidding?” Dad took it in for the 60,000-mile service last month. It should
work fine. She pounded the steering wheel. “Aaaagh.”
Okay,
now what?
Had
the weather not turned bitter cold, she’d consider riding one of the horses into
town. But that would take too long, plus she’d end up smelling like Eau de
Horse Sweat. Ugh.
She
could call James. He would come get her, but she wanted her own way home if things
turned awkward between them.
She
turned her head and stared at Jonas’s truck.
These
jaunts of his typically lasted one or two days, sometimes more. He’d kill her
if he found out. Jonas had named the darned thing, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t
let anyone, not even Dad, drive Darcie.
But
he wouldn’t know.
With
a silent promise to be uber-careful, Mallory entered the small office inside
the barn and twisted the combination on the lock box. An array of keychains
hung on hooks inside, one for each of the family vehicles—a horsehead for Dad,
a tiny BMW logo for Mom, and giant letters for the rest of them. She grabbed
the “J” and hurried back outside. One click and … beep-beep. The doors unlocked. Lights flashed.
It
took her several minutes to readjust the seat and mirrors to fit her more
diminutive five-feet-five height. Jonas took after their dad and the other
brothers. At well over six feet, they all had legs that stretched into
tomorrow. “Please, Lord, help me remember all the settings so I can put everything
back the way it was.”
Darcie’s
roar made her little Ranger sound like a sewing machine. Mallory reached for
the gearshift. She hesitated. What if Jonas did come back?
An
old gas receipt nestled in the cup holder between the seats. A pen that had
teeth marks on it lay on the floor. She scribbled a quick message and made a
mad dash to secure the note under the Ranger’s windshield wiper.
Guilt
assuaged, she climbed back inside and shoved the truck into gear. Time to go.
The
drive from the house to the main road spanned not quite two miles. She slowed
as the double-entry neared, and punched every button on the visor until one
triggered the opening.
The
left gate jerked, out of sync with the other one.
She
made a mental note to tell Rascal, and then drove through in the middle of the
lane.
A
thump and a crunch sent a shockwave through the truck.
“No,
no, no.” Mallory glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the faulty gate rebound
off the rear of Jonas’s truck.
Once
clear of the entry, she hopped out to check the damage. The glass bulb of the
taillight remained intact, thank goodness, but a pile of red plastic shards lay
on the ground, all that remained of the cover.
“Agggh!”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Jonas will kill me.”
Her
mind jumped into problem-solving mode. Toby, down at Wrangler’s Auto Parts and
Service, could order a replacement. She’d pay to have it overnighted. Maybe he
would deliver and install taillight cover, and take a look at Cassie’s truck
while he was there.
Behind
her the defective gate closed flush with the other one, but then it drifted
ajar a good two-feet. A swift kick wouldn’t accomplish anything, except maybe
bruise her foot. She squatted and gathered up the plastic fragments instead. Now,
she was late, and Mr. Punctual, a.k.a., Sheriff James Evers, would give her
grief about it.
How did God respond to the prayers? What can be learned from these and how can that knowledge be applied to everyday life?
