The Secret Heiress. Terri Reed

dotted by the occasional modest home, rusted car or abandoned farm equipment overgrown with weeds. It all looked so lonely and desolate.

       Caroline consulted the map, then pointed to a sign that read Fayette Road. “It looks like we turn right up here.”

       They left the main highway for a more rural road. Another turn put them on a narrow, unpaved road that ran along a creek. Tall pine and hardwoods provided some relief from the pelting rain but there was no respite from the hot, choking humidity, even with the air conditioning on. Her winter wool jacket wasn’t very practical for this climate. She hadn’t thought to check the weather or even bring an umbrella. Her mind had been focused on meeting her biological family and learning something—anything—about the woman who’d given birth to her.

       “What in the world?”

       Don’s mutter drew Caroline’s attention. His gaze was fixed on a truck bearing down on them at a rapid speed from the opposite direction. Don slowed and edged as close to the side of the roadway as possible. Trees and brush lined the road, their branches scratching the paint of the car. The truck mirrored their movement without slowing.

       Gripping the door handle, Caroline tried to breathe past the knot of apprehension tightening her chest. The older model Ford truck seemed intent on playing some sort of game of chicken as it roared ever closer, directly in their path.

       “Don?”

       “Hang on!”

       At the last second Don revved the motor and swerved to the other side of the road out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. The truck passed close to the passenger side in a rain-splashed whirl of color. Caroline couldn’t make out the driver’s face, only that he wore a baseball cap.

       Don accelerated. Caroline twisted in her seat to stare after the truck until it roared out of sight.

       “That was random, right?” She worked to calm her heart rate.

       “Given someone stalked you, broke into your apartment, then bombed said apartment? No.”

       Dread chilled her blood. “This incident can’t be related to… I mean, how would anyone know what kind of vehicle we rented and that we’d be on this road at this time?”

       “I don’t know. But apparently someone is keeping tabs on your movements.” He slanted her a glance as the car slowed to a normal speed. “We could turn back and go home right now.”

       She shook her head. “No. Whoever is after me clearly knows where to find me. Running won’t help. And it won’t give me any answers about my family.”

       He gave a rueful shake of his head and resumed staring out the front window. Tension rolled off him in waves, making her taut nerves stretch tighter.

       “The road leading to the Maddox estate shouldn’t be much farther,” she said.

       At the five-mile mark, Don turned the car down a long graveled drive. Large trees lined the road, their spindly branches tangling together overhead to form a canopy. Soon the tree line ended, opening up to a flat lawn stretching on either side eventually leading to more trees.

       A large, two-story, redbrick home with a white colonnade across the front came into view at the end of the drive.

       Through the pouring rain, Caroline studied the structure.

       At first glance it appeared majestic, as if they’d stumbled on an old pre-Civil War movie set. But soon she started noticing signs of decay and disrepair. They passed a shed that looked ready to crumble and a more modern detached garage big enough for at least three cars. It seemed more stable than the shed—but not by much. As they drew closer to the main house, she noticed the peeling paint on the columns, the brown and green moss creeping up the edges of the foundation. Several of the cracked blue window shutters hung off their hinges.

       The old plantation home appeared uncared for, resembling something more fitting for a horrible B slasher movie than a wealthy Southern family at Christmas time. No festive decorations spruced up the place. No sign of celebration at all. A stark contrast to her parents’ home with twinkling lights, a glittering tree visible through the front bay window, and a nativity scene on the front lawn.

       A shiver of disquiet skated across her flesh. Maybe she really had made a mistake in coming here. This felt all wrong—nothing at all as she’d imagined when she thought of coming here. Maybe she should have left well enough alone.

      No. She squared her shoulders, determined not to back down now.

       Don parked at the foot of a set of crooked stairs leading to the front entrance. “This isn’t exactly the prosperous Southern estate I expected.”

       More misgivings stirred. “I don’t get it. Someone tried to kill me for this?”

       “Looks can be deceiving.”

       “True.”

       “Not too late to turn back.”

       Keeping her gaze on the house, she shook her head. Now was not the time to lose her courage.

       “Okay, then.” He shrugged into his water-resistant coat. “You ready?”

       Not really. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Nervous tingles made her feel a bit queasy. Pushing her anxiety aside, she quickly buttoned her jacket to protect her blouse from the steady stream of rain.

       Forcing herself to appear more confident than she felt, she nodded. “Yes. I need to do this.”

       They exited the car and hustled up the stairs to the porch under the overhang. Humidity hung in the air, making her rethink the buttoning of her coat. Empty wooden rockers creaked in the blowing wind. The faint noise of dogs barking unchecked somewhere in the distance accentuated how different this country setting was from her life in Boston, where animal control would be called for such a racket.

       She shook out her loose hair. Water dripped down the collar of her coat, the sensation causing a chill despite the mild temperature. She must have shuddered because Don stepped closer, his protection as enveloping and unspoken as the warmth radiating off him.

       The wide, wooden front door swung open with a creak that gave her the same creepy feeling as if she were watching a horror movie and the unsuspecting hero and heroine were about to find themselves in peril. What utter nonsense! She gave herself a mental shake.

       A tall, lean man stood on the threshold. He wore a sorely outdated dark suit and a white dress shirt that needed some bleach. His gray eyes studied Caroline as if she were a piece of artwork and he sought the flaw.

       She smiled, though she felt more like squirming. “Hello. I’m Caroline Tully. You should be expecting me.”

       Solemnly, the man nodded and stepped back. “Come in. I’m Horace,” the man said in a nasal drawl. His gaze flicked to the sky. “Nasty weather we’re having. The weatherman says the rain will continue on ’til New Year’s.”

       Not sure what to do with that tidbit of information, Caroline stepped inside. Don kept his hand at her back, the pressure soothing.

       “I’ll tell Mr. Maddox you’ve arrived,” Horace said with a deferential nod before quietly disappearing down the hall.

       “Interesting place,” Don muttered.

       Caroline nodded in agreement. “Most of the furniture looks like it’s been here since the house was built.”

       Despite the graceful and refined lines of the Federal style furnishings, the pieces did little to impress or offer welcome. The rose-colored damask material covering the horseshoe-shaped seats on two fiddleback chairs had faded to a lackluster hue. Everything looked worn and threadbare, including a thick and tattered leather-bound Bible that sat on an oil varnished table. The gold lettering on the cover was nearly worn away.

       A hutch loaded with dusty books sat against the wall beside an arched doorway. She noticed there were no signs of Christmas here, either, regardless of the presence of a Bible.