The Hidden Door, Book 1
Secrets of Thornbury Woods
What deadly secrets still lurk beneath Hawthorne Hall? The mysterious estate stood empty for a decade, adding to its haunted mystique. Only a few know the true, tragic story from its hidden depths. Knox Pearson and his close band of friends bonded over that tragedy. Now they have a vision for re-opening Hawthorne Prep School: help at-risk teens. Itâs a path to redemption for the sins of their past. But he isnât sure he will ever escape the crushing guilt from that fateful night long ago. Sara Rutherford has battled to build her renovation business despite being a town outcast. Her natural talent and uncanny ability to âreadâ inanimate objects helped her make headway and defy the powers-that-be who try to subvert her success. Now her Uncle Lou, who was working at Hawthorne Hall, has gone missing. Saraâs not the woman to stop searchingâŚand she suspects the secret passage in the estateâs library holds the key to her questions. Knox isnât about to let her loose unsupervised on his property, so they team up to explore the underground tunnels together. When they discover the hidden sanctuary of a long forgotten secret society, Knoxâs secrets can no longer hide in the shadows. But this time, it just might cost Sara her life. Discover a new gothic southern romance series, inspired by the romantic mystery stories of Phyllis A Whitney and Mary Stewart.
SNEAK PEEK
Running through the misty black night. Heart hammering. Sucking hard for breath. Barely able to make out the shape of the trees as she sped by. Unable to hear her pursuers over her gasps for air and pounding footsteps in the crunchy leaves. Just the memory of that night, Saraâs only night on the grounds of what was now Hawthorne Preparatory School, had the power to jumpstart a racing heart. She wasnât sure why. Sheâd long ago convinced herself that what sheâd seen and heard had all been in her pre-teen imagination. The hands grabbing at her. The struggle to get away. The sounds of someone chasing her. Her cousins had tried to scare her in retaliation for having to drag her along, she was sure. Theyâd vehemently denied it all these years. But standing here now, facing the ornate entry in the heavy morning mist, she told herself that it had to have been a joke played on her younger self. Why it would even faze her as a full-grown, capable adult with the weight of the world on her shoulders, she didnât know. Sara was far too practical for thatâŚnow. Still, that residual adrenaline mixed with her present-day fear for her family, clouding her judgment of the murky surroundings and looming mansion before her. Sheâd like to think she wasnât intimidated by much anymore. Sheâd been in hairier situations while bailing out her uncle and a plethora of aunts and cousins from their bad choices, but her instincts were screaming that whatever was beyond the massive front door was more than all that drama combined. Oddly enough, Hawthorne Prep had also been the building that made Saraâs hands itch and her heart beat a little bit harderâŚusually with excitement. Once known as the Ashley estate, there were over fifty rooms, multiple outbuildings, and land that stretched farther than the eye could see. Her daddy and uncle would tell her about the unusual additions to the mansion, including an indoor pool long before that was a thing and the hand-built church in the now-abandoned village. Even when sheâd been a child working in the woodshop, learning woodworking first-hand at her daddyâs knee, her dad would talk about the time heâd helped build the glass dome in the winter garden conservatory or the legendary spiral staircase in the two-story library. Sara would get all fidgety thinking about the history and the grandeur, the many craftsmen who had labored over the creations hereâjust like she would someday. Only she hadnât imagined her first official visit to be under these circumstances. In the early Tennessee spring morning, she stood in a thick gray mist, staring up at the imposing stone facade. The impulse to find a side doorâone just for the worker beesârose inside of her. Two weeks from now, when she joined her uncle on the library renovation job they had landed, she would have done just that. Joyfully fulfilling the dreams of her childhood. But todayâŚtoday she had to march through that impressive front door despite her worn jeans and work boots. Today she wanted answersâfuck the job. She needed to know what had happened last night. Uncle Lou was in trouble. Clenching her teeth, she straightened her shoulders and marched up the short stone steps, ignoring the swirl of the fog around her boots and the eerie silence, so unnatural for a massive estate that had been turned into its second iteration of a preparatory school. This one for at-risk teen boys. Nothing spooky here. Time to put aside scary childhood memories. Despite the heavy reluctance weighing down her limbs, Sara grasped the ornate metal knocker and slammed it down three times. Why they would still adhere to this old-fashioned method instead of a modern doorbell or even a camera, she didnât understand. Especially since sheâd heard they were already hosting their first class of test students before the grand re-opening but she had to admit it added to the ambience. It made her grateful for the softly worn leather gloves she wore. Goodness only knew how many people had touched this very knocker. She had enough emotions rolling through her without taking on any others. The door emitted a deep creak as it eased open a few inches, sending unnecessary shivers racing over her skin. Sara found herself facing Cassius, the long-time caretaker of the estate. Seemed like heâd been here a hundred yearsâthough she knew that wasnât trueâbut he sure looked it. Guess the knocker wasnât the only thing that hadnât changed. âYes,â he said. His stern tone turned the simple word into a command rather than the expected question. Sara shouldnât be surprised. Cassius had always been the epitome of grouchy, scary custodian, reminiscent of another era where shooting at people to get them off your lawn was completely acceptable here in the South. Well, that might still work for some people. Not exactly the image the new estate owners should be going for, but the fact that theyâd kept him employed after over forty years of service was a credit to them. âCassius, itâs Sara. Sara Rutherford.â The sour expression on his craggy face didnât change. He simply stared through her as if he didnât recognize herâor didnât want to. âSara of Rutherford Restorations?â she pushed. âIâm here to check on Uncle Lou.â His milky gaze finally connected with hers before flicking down her front. âYou donât have an employee badge.â What did that have to do with anything? Impatience mixed with her fears, causing her to shift closer. Still, she tried to mitigate her clipped tone. Yes, he was old, but she knew he could be a little set in his ways. âI know. I donât start here until next week. But I need to see my uncle. He started renovating the library, remember?â Cassius narrowed the gap in the doorway as if afraid she would push her way inside. So he did remember her, but she only became pushy when pushed. Sheâd stay professionalâŚfor now. The extreme pull between her fears and the desire to keep this renovation job warred within her. Sheâd dreamed of working on that spiral staircase in the library since the first time her daddy had described it to her. It was one of her life goals. But she needed inside now. Not next week. If she could just see the library, touch Louâs tools, then she would know. She crowded closer, her boots bumping against the threshold of the door. âIs Lou here?â The door swung a few inches closer. His aged, lined face seemed to grow even deeper crags as his watery gaze flicked over her. His wrinkly lips drew up in a knot. âOnly employees are allowed inside. Mr. Knoxâs orders.â âI realize that, Cassius,â she said through clenched teeth, trying to control herself by a thin thread. âBut Iâm here to see Lou. I need to know if he came to work today. Iâm his boss, remember?â âSorry,â he snapped from between thin lips. âEmployees only.â Was Cassius just being his usual difficult self? Or was there another reason he didnât want her to see her uncle? She narrowed her gaze on him as he moved to swing the door shut. Sara slammed her work boot into the disappearing gap. Luckily the steel toes protected her foot from the impact. Patience was now gone. âLook, I donât care who you need to talk to, but I am not leaving until I see my uncle. Got it?â So much for professionalism. His eyes widened but she no longer cared. Family came first. Even if she lost the job, Lou was all that mattered. Heâd been her rock since heâd sobered up four years ago, and she couldnât lose him now. Fear and anger mingled below her skin. âNow let me in.â For once she could live up to her undeserved rep as a hard-assed bitch in this town. She had a fraction of a second to register the surprise dawning on Cassiusâs face before something heavy slammed into her from behind and drove her shoulder into the solid side of the centuries-old door-frame. Pain reverberated through Saraâs shoulder on her way through the door, then exploded in her head as it also slammed into the frame. The pressure from behind kept her moving forward, her legs stumbling to keep up. She was several feet through the door when strong hands jerked her to stop.đ Start the series today with Book 1, The Hidden Door! đ
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- A mysterious manor house under renovation
- A hidden past crime
- A broken vow
- Secret passageways
- A ghostâŚor is it?
Change is inevitable, someone said, but if Iâm honest, itâs my least favorite thing in the world.
I like comfortable, cozy, familiar. Change feels like an itchy wool sweater, only I have to wear it 24/7. Even good change is difficult, because my body/brain doesnât know the difference between happy stress and difficult time stress. Iâve officially dubbed this season the âSummer of Changeâ. I thought it would start and end with my childrenâs graduation (one from college, the other from high school), and the youngest one starting college in the fall. This is a bittersweet season for us. While Iâm excited to see my babies find their wings, and they arenât completely leaving the nest because it takes time to get established as an adult, itâs still the realization that they no longer need us as much anymore, and theyâre becoming their own independent selves. I certainly hope that they find a sure footing as they move forward, and happy, healthy lives, doing things that they love. But with the oldest moved home, unexpected medical issues (not me), unexpected feline medical issues, getting everything set up for sonâs college start, house painting projectâŚand the big oneâan upcoming job change for me. Thatâs right. After this month, Iâll no longer be working at the university. Itâs good (more money, less stress, great company). Itâs sad (Iâve loved working on campus and am going to miss so much about it, including a lot of the people). Itâs hectic (lots of paperwork, arrangements, forms, appointments, etc). Big changeâŚand my body is super stressed. Enough Iâm not sleeping. Ugh! Hate it when that happens! But one YAY factor? Iâm using the deadline of starting the new job to motivate me to push to finish the book Iâm working on. Learning a new job will require brain power, not to mention getting used to a new environment. I can probably edit, but not write new words (author brain is weird!). This weekend is my first big push. Iâve got 2 more to finish the last 3rd of the first draft. Fingers crossed I can jump that hurdle for a fast finish! Have you faced any major changes lately? I'd love to talk about it over on my Facebook author page! Follow me at: https://www.facebook.com/dani.Love Small-Town Suspense? Try my Small Town Secrets series!
BENEATH THE SURFACE is FREE on all platforms! Welcome to Cadence, TNâwhere secrets can be deadly. Too many secrets⌠Hidden in a quiet town along the Tennessee border, a secret society exists where the privileged fulfill their darkest desires. One of their members initiates a desperate act designed to bring home his lifelong obsession: Emma Hartwell. A past not forgotten⌠Drawn back to her hometown by the psychic connection with her twin, Emma must fight the stubborn silence of those around her in her quest to find her missing sister. Colin McIntyre hopes to make up for his past mistakes with Emma by helping her, but his own ties to the Gathering might be exposed along the way. Time is running out⌠Exposure could be dangerous for his family, along with himself and Emma. Can they fight the secrets and lies to rescue Emmaâs sister⌠and their own chance at life-long love? Other books in the Small Town Secrets series (can be read in any order): BEHIND THE SCARS SNOW BOUND Amazon B&N Kobo Apple BooksIt Caught My Eye...
As you know, we have a whole clowder of cats in our house, but we only have one outside cat. Her name is Ghost. My daughter caught this awesome picture of her this week and I just love it! I hope you do too!- Sometimes, you canât do it all.
- Sometimes, forcing yourself to do something doesnât produce your best work.
- Sometimes, you have to set goals aside for a season and come back to them when you can.
- Sometimes, the âdig deepâ button is not worth resurrecting. (Brene Brown)
New Release: Shadow Manor
Secrets of Covington Corner Novella
LIVE TODAY! Read Chapter One below!
Sheâd watched him from afar for yearsâŚnow heâs up close and personal.
Shy librarian Cara spent her life overshadowed by her three older brothers, while secretly crushing on their best friend. After a family tragedy, he cut himself out of their lives, but she still watches his house on the hill from the darkness of her bedroom every night.
Then she gets a second chance to reveal the man behind the mask. A night of revelry leads to passion and high hopes, until her tortured heroâs troubled past rises from the shadows.
Will he retreat into the darkness once more or let obsession lead him to her love?
CHAPTER ONE
Cara Gatlin strode down the hillside path in the dark, intimately familiar with every twist, turn, and buried root that might trip her up.
Despite her motherâs many admonishments to not walk on the land that was no longer theirs, Cara couldnât keep herself away. It called to her on long nights when her restlessness grew until she couldnât sit still. Tonight that restlessness mixed with an overwhelming anxiety that came with the bombshells from work this week.
Besides, walking here was also her quiet form of rebellion against its new ownerâŚunder the guise of giving her parentâs new puppy a good workout before bed. Bernard might still be a baby, but his long legs and gangly body didnât understand that.
Tonight, of all nights, Cara needed to be out in the crisp autumn airâmoving, breathing, living in more than just the history books she worked with every day.
The well-worn path across the wooded hill bordering her parentsâ Tennessee farm provided just enough incline to challenge her, just enough familiarity to comfort her. And hopefully the puppy would sleep all the better for running around her on the trails.
As if on cue, she found herself standing in a tiny clearing about three quarters of the way up the hill. The mature trees closed around her, providing protection. But years had taught her that standing in just the right spot gave her a clear view straight to the top⌠and the tall antebellum-era mansion that had stood like a monument there for so long. She could hear Bernard rustling in fallen leaves, then give a sharp bark before running off into the woods.
The two-story, boxy structure gave it a looming appearance from this angle, where the intricate wrought-iron work on the balconies blended with the darkness. Now that only one person lived there, the upper floor often remained still and inky-black. Cara was ashamed to acknowledge that she often tracked its inhabitantâs presence through the lights on the lower floor.
âWhat are you doing here?â
Startled, Cara spun around.
His voice was the last thing sheâd expected to hear. Not the boyâs voice that she remembered as scraggly and newly deepened. No, this was the manâs voice, deep and smooth as fine bourbon, with the same amount of burn. The voice sheâd heard on the news throughout the years speaking about responsibility to community and his goals of helping their fellow citizens through providing good jobs in his familyâs factories.
A voice that she woke in the night thinking about, dreaming about.
Though he lived within sight of her apartment above her parentsâ garage, she hadnât actually seen him in person or spoken to him since the funeral when he had been eighteen. Ten years ago now.
Realizing that several moments of silence had passed, she pushed away her quick flash of embarrassment and answered, âIâm walkingâŚI could ask you the same.â
âIâm not a woman in the woods, alone in the dark. That doesnât seem to be the most prudent of decisions.â He stood several feet away, in the deepest of the darkness surrounding them. But sheâd know him anywhere. The fact that he was actually present, not too far from her, sent an illicit thrill down her spine.
She tried to immerse herself in anger instead. âIâve walked these woods all my life. Iâm perfectly safe.â
âAnd trespassing.â
She didnât have a justified stand against his accusation, but the quick flare in her internal fire was welcome. âIâm not hurting anything by walking here.â The strict rule-following part of her personality said her excuse was weak, but it was true, nonetheless. Just like with her brothers, she felt the sudden need to defend her choices. âI can assure you, I know how to protect myself,â she insisted.
Silence fell. Her anger faded into a sense of uneasiness that made her shift, crunching brush beneath her boots. In all the years sheâd walked the trail up the hill, sheâd never run into another soul. What was he doing here?
The successful businessman who lived in the house at the top of the hill. Caraâs mortal enemy.
Jacob Montgomery was a man she should never let occupy a single thought in her brain. After all, heâd walked away from her and her family despite all theyâd done for him. Oh, they hadnât had the riches or influence his family had flaunted, but when he was a child, theyâd given him love and acceptance and a welcoming home away from his parentsâ indifference.
As much as Cara resented it, resented him, Jacob was never far from her thoughts. An obsession she hoped her family never found out about. They would surely see it as a betrayal.
Jacob took a few steps closer, giving her a glimpse of the boyhood half smile she rememberedâand never saw on TVâbefore the moon moved behind a bank of clouds.
Those appearances on the news only showed the super serious side of him. Never smiling or laughing. Always with a deeply contemplative expression, as if everything in life were to be pondered and picked apart. Which made her wonder just how hard his parentsâ deaths had been on him.
As if on cue, she heard a rustling to her left, a low growl, then a dark shape sprang from the bushes to crowd the space between her and Jacob.
The lanky gray pup wouldnât harm a fly, she knew, but he talked a good game with his whiny teenage growl. One day his ferocity would grow into his body and become truly intimidating. But just like her brothers, his personality was all protector with no aggressor.
She stepped forward to lay her palm on the puppyâs head, his height giving her the gift of not having to bend over. Bernard instantly sat back on his haunches and waited, but she could feel an alert tension beneath her fingers as she pet his neck.
âI guess I wasnât alone after all,â she boasted.
Jacob braced his legs, his all-masculine stance enhanced by the arms folded over his chest. Had his shoulders really gotten that wide or was it a trick of the full moon that had her heart beating fast for all the wrong reasons?
âSo thatâs where all those soulful howls are coming from at night?â
She guessed the sound probably traveled up the hill to his place, if he was ever there to hear itâŚ
âMy parents got him recently. He sleeps better at night after a little walk.â Which wasnât the only reason she was out here tonight, but it was the only one she was willing to share with him.
Her long-lost friend. Fantasy lover. Voted most out of reach for a lowly librarian.
âYou didnât say what you were doing out here.â She didnât want to know, shouldnât want to know, but she pressed for an answer anyway. Though heâd bought the land when her parents had been forced to sell it to pay for her brotherâs medical bills, Jacobâs presence was highly unusual after all these years.
âWalking off the demons.â
Too honest. Too raw. Caraâs body went on alert, as did Bernardâs, rising to his feet as if in preparation to defend or run, she wasnât sure which.
âI apologize for questioning you, Cara,â Jacob said, though his tone didnât indicate any such thing. âI forgot I was dealing with a grown woman.â He moved a few steps closer, not intimidated by the big animal between them. âOne old enough, and smart enough, to receive the state wide smarty pants commendation. Or should I say, the Jenkins Memorial Librarian Excellence Award?â
A jolt of surprise shot through her. Yes, the announcement from earlier in the week that sheâd been chosen for a state wide award for preserving the special collections in the district library had made the news, but not the front page, like he usually did. Why would he have paid attention to that?
Only a moment later did she register the smarty pants remark, which was a phrase he and her brothers had teased her with many a time growing up. The reference was disconcerting, as was him bringing up the very thing that had left her anxious tonight.
For just a single hour, Cara wished for someone to hold her, encourage her, and tell her how the hell to get through the special event she now had to attend to represent her district at the state capital in a few weeks.
Didnât the Powers That Be realize librarians preferred books to people?
Desperate to focus on something besides herself, she blurted out, âSpecial collections is nothing compared to running a company that keeps half the county employed.â
Why, oh why, did she say that? The last thing she wanted was for him to think sheâd been keeping tabs on him. Even if she wasâŚ
He cocked his head to the side in a move sheâd seen so many times when he was younger. But the night was too dark for her to read his expression this time. She stroked Bernard, anxious for his comforting warmth in this awkward situation.
âWell, considering your most recent collection is on my family and my fatherâs art, in particular, Iâm grateful to know itâs in good hands.â
His words did not match his tone. Instead irritation seemed to ooze from beneath the surface of his words. Cara had forgotten that little tidbitâŚand the many times her requests to his lawyer for additional information and materials had been met with utter silence.
Before she could gather her courage to ask about that, he said, âWell, grown-up Cara, I believe Iâll let you get back to the house.â
The tension in her dropped a degree as he turned away, only to rebound as he paused to look back at her over his broad shoulder. âBut I believe Iâll be seeing you again soon.â
Breath suspended in her lungs as he disappeared beyond the tree line. His final words circled in her mind.
âWhy?â she called out, confused by the encounter after ten years of silence. Ten years of only seeing him on the screen. Knowing him only through her research on his family.
Her only answer was the whine of Bernard beside her, and the rustle of crisp autumn leaves in the night breeze.
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