Free Peppermint Creek Inn by Jan Springer Page B

feelings of being here before. But maybe it was because the house and barn had been shrouded in almost total darkness when he’d arrived a few nights ago.
    Or maybe he’d been just too darn tired. That night it had taken every last piece of energy he could muster just to climb up the front stairs and plop himself onto the cozy porch when the storm had hit.
    The eerie deja vu feelings must mean he’d been here before. He must have met Sara. That’s why she seemed so familiar. Why did she say she didn’t know him?
    But then again, she had admitted she’d given his description to the cops. Had said she knew him that night he’d arrived. Then she’d changed her story. Even given him a new name.
    Why? What was she hiding?
    Suddenly impatient, he ignored the angry protests of his sore muscles as he cautiously proceeded, quite intent on finding the shadow, Sara and answers to his arsenal of questions.
    —
    Muttering angrily under her breath, Sara picked up one of the two metal buckets she’d just sent sprawling onto the floor. Cripes! She was all thumbs today. First she’d spilled some red paint over the brightly colored Navajo rug covering the pine floor of her painting loft, and now she was knocking over her buckets. Ever since awakening from the dream, she’d been tense, on edge, as if waiting for something to happen. Surprisingly, along with the dream came that old familiar inkling of wanting to paint again. Something she hadn’t done since it had happened.
    But when she’d picked up the paintbrush and dipped it into the paint container, her hand had shaken so badly, she’d spilled the contents of the watercolor all over the desk and floor.
    Sara sighed with frustration.
    She’d been stupid to think she could start where she’d left off. It had been a dumb idea. Why she had even bothered to try again was beyond her.
    The passion was lost. Finished. Gone forever.
    Suddenly a bright yellow slant of light rushed across the stairwell leading up to the loft instantly capturing her attention.
    A frosty warning of caution prickled across the rear of her scalp, scrambling down the back of her neck, settling like a cobra between her shoulder blades. Her heart did a triple beat as she quickly grabbed a palette knife off the nearby wooden bench.
    The slant of light dissolved and she heard the door close quietly.
    Silence followed.
    Had to be the wind. She must not have closed the door properly.
    God! She was jumping at every little sound. What a way to live. She had to relax.
    Dropping the palette knife onto the nearby chair, she thrust the metal bucket under the nearby tap and half filled it with water before returning her attention to the carpet where she started vigorously scrubbing the red mess, all the while muttering irritably beneath her breath trying to convince herself that nobody was lurking around.
    To distract herself, her thoughts traveled over the many things she needed to get done before the summer opening of her campground and the cabins. This morning she’d finally ventured away from the house. On her walk, she’d discovered a few trees had fallen over around the campground and one of the old cabins had a major leak in the roof.
    It had taken hours to clean up the water damage and when the phone was working, she needed to make some calls to get the debris from the fire cleared away and then call in the log builders to see if they were still on schedule to come and rebuild the inn.
    And then there was the poor romance tree. It needed to be cleared, chopped and stacked and—
    The barn door creaked open again. Another buttery glow of sunshine spilled across the stairs leading up to her loft.
    She kept scrubbing cursing herself for being so jittery.
    It was just the wind again. Just the wind.
    The bottom step creaked.
    Oh, shit!
    Not the wind.
    Jumping to her feet, she grabbed the palette knife and clutched it tight in her hand.
    Another step creaked.
    Damn! No time for a proper weapon! She had to hide! But