Free Echoes of Darkness by Rob Smales Page A

despicable.”
    She straightened, folding her arms once more. “My father’s worked himself into a sickbed trying to bring the harvest in, trying to ward off the foreclosure he saw coming—worked harder than both our young field hands, and he is not a young man. So you take that envelope of yours and you bring it back to your Mr. Capshaw, and you tell him to bring it back himself if he has a mind to. I doubt he will, but if he does, then at least I’ll have the chance to give him a piece of my mind as well.”
    Eva was breathing hard, her head hot with righteous anger. The messenger-man held up a palm.
    “Before you go on,” he said, in that irritating, nasal way of his, “please allow me to introduce myself properly.”
    He offered her his hand.
    She stared for a moment before good manners took over, and she reached out to take it.
    “Evangeline Clarke?” he said, raising an eyebrow. Startled to hear her name upon the stranger’s lips, Eva gave only a quick nod. The little man tightened his grip on her fingers.
    “Wonderful to meet you. My name is Devin Capshaw.”
    Eva froze.

    Devin was pleased when his revelation shocked her into silence. Being upbraided by a woman no older than his daughters was almost more than he could bear, though he had to admit the young lady possessed a certain fire his own progeny lacked. He nearly smiled as he considered his real reason for coming out into the middle of nowhere to serve papers personally. Though he did want to see all the property that would soon be his, and he would never admit it to them, it was the gossip from his process servers that had really goaded him out into this world of dirt and sun and mud.
    Bedroom adventures. Haybarn romps. Grateful widows and farmers’ curious daughters. To overhear the men who worked for him, to listen to their talk, you’d think every farmhouse in the plains was home to at least one woman of dubious morality, if not two.
    Maybe even three.
    It had been enough to spark even his old imagination.
    He’d paid little attention to her words, wondering instead what all that passion would be like when translated into action. He watched her bosom heave with barely suppressed emotion, and imagined it heaving for completely different reasons. Butterflies fluttered about in his guts. He faltered. He wondered how he could possibly dare. Then, gripping the papers that gave him legal and financial authority over this young woman, he took advantage of her stunned silence to launch into a little speech of his own, one that had been at the back of his mind each time he’d approached a door out in this godforsaken land, only to forget all about it when the door was opened by a leather-faced farmer or his even more leathery-faced wife.
    This was his chance.
    “My dear Evangeline,” he said, showing every one of his teeth. “It is not a matter of my wanting to do ill to you and yours; it is a simple matter of the facts. Fact: you owe the bank a debt. Fact: I own said bank, so, fact: the debt you owe is mine to collect, and I am collecting—in full measure. The paperwork I have here is all aboveboard and legal, according to the laws that govern this country and separate us from the beasts of the field. Now I could be like your Mr. Henson and offer extensions left and right, but that is not my way. It has always been my practice to collect the full measure of what is mine just as soon as it becomes mine, and I see no reason to alter that practice today.”
    He tightened his grip and tugged lightly, pulling her just the slightest bit off-balance before licking his suddenly dry lips, and taking the plunge.
    “Of course, you could give me a reason.”
    Her lovely eyes, blank with surprise when he’d revealed his identity, had hardened over the course of his speech. Now they went round with confusion, and just a touch of hope.
    “A reason? Me? To do what, change your way of doing business? What do you mean?”
    “Oh, I think you know.” He hoped to