Excerpt for
UNTIL I FOUND YOU by Wendy Lindstrom
Howling wind and a dark sky overhead warned Gray Sullivan to hurry back to his cabin before the incoming storm buried him in snow, but as he stepped from the cold shadows of the Maine forest, he stopped in stunned surprise.
At the edge of the stream, a woman stood hunched and shivering in the frigid wind.
Slowly, painfully it seemed, she sank to her knees, revealing her stocking-clad thigh through a long, jagged tear in her skirt. He watched her dip trembling hands in the creek, then bring her cupped palms to her mouth. Her whole body quaked and she emitted a small gasp as she swallowed, her hands immediately clutching her throat as if it hurt.
Instinctively, Gray surveyed the long expanse of rock-strewn creek bed above him, then checked downstream where the stream widened and gained momentum, but he saw no one. Methodically, he scanned the timberline and the high cliffs behind the woman, desperately hoping someone would appear and claim her, but the mountain remained eerily silent. She appeared to be alone, and in her exposed condition he knew she would be dead before nightfall.
Clenching his fists, he searched again. He did not want to get involved in whatever trouble had landed this woman on his path. After the horrific mess at Homestead, and the four months following that he’d worked and tried to forget about the violence and unnecessary deaths of good men, Gray desperately needed a few days’ respite.
But the harsh November wind battered the woman’s body as she huddled on the stream bank.
With a groan of defeat, he knew another life would be lost if he didn’t get involved.
There was a reason the woman was abandoned out here. His head said he didn’t want to know. His gut agreed she’d be trouble. But his conscience conceded he was her only hope. It seemed there would be no escape from the world no matter how he tried to avoid it.
“Hello, miss!” he called out, his voice sounding loud in the silent wintery air.
His voice brought her head up. When she spotted him, her eyes widened in fright.
Her expression was a mere reflection of what must be in his own eyes, he thought, viewing her bloodied, bruised, and painfully swollen face.
Her gaze flicked to his rifle, and she struggled to her feet, splinting her side and holding her throat as she hobbled toward the trees.
“Wait,” he yelled to her retreating back. “I’m a detective and I can help you.” As a highly trained agent, he knew he was capable of protecting her. He’d hoped his declaration would convince the woman to trust him, but she hurried on, hunched and stumbling from her effort while he hesitated on the opposite bank, trying to decide how to help her without increasing her fear.
In a matter of seconds, he realized there wasn’t a way, so he slung his rifle over his back and stepped into the water to cross the river. The icy jolt stopped him dead, but the shock brought clarity. The woman’s injuries were not self-inflicted or sustained by any animal he could imagine. A person, almost certainly a man, had done that to her, and the wretch might still be lurking out here on the mountain.
With his senses keen and alert to danger, Gray sloshed across a narrow, rock-strewn area of the river. Clenching his teeth, he prayed the river wouldn’t reach past his thighs because one slip could mean the difference between life or death—for both of them.
A hundred yards into the trees, he heard the woman panting. He found her lying partially concealed beneath a low-hanging pine bough, lying on her side and biting her fist, her nostrils flaring with each labored breath.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, trying to gentle his voice from the intimidating baritone he’d acquired during his years of providing armed security, strike-breaking violent labor disputes, and tracking down criminals.
The woman panted and shivered, but said nothing.
“I only want to help you,” he said, trying to quell the cold seeping into his bones. “I’ll take you to your home or somewhere safe and warm.” He lifted the rifle from his shoulder, intending to remove his jacket and offer it to her, but the terror in her eyes suddenly bordered on madness.
“I’m going to give you my jacket,” he said softly, trying to reason with her. “It will keep you warm.”
He placed the gun beside him, aiming the barrel away from them. He shrugged the jacket off his shoulders, but her gaze fastened on his gun. She tensed, glancing to either side of him as if searching for an escape route.
“It’s too cold,” he said, reading her pitiful thoughts of escape and trying to spare her the futile effort. In her advanced state of shock, he doubted she could even stand.
The pine-scented air sank icy teeth into his back as he knelt before her, offering the warmth of his jacket. She stiffened, came up on her elbow and edged away like a cornered animal.
He inched forward. “My name is Gray Sullivan. I’m a detective with the Pinkerton Agency, and you’ll be safe with me.”
Her chest heaved and her frantic wheezing mingled with the moaning wind that was slicing into them. He had to get her to the cabin before hypothermia claimed them both. Hoping to entice her with the warmth that lingered in his jacket, he leaned forward and draped it across her arm.
She gasped as if he’d struck her with a rock. Clutching her throat, she rolled to her knees and tried valiantly to gain her feet, but the effort proved too much. She shook so violently he could hear her teeth chatter. Then she fainted into the thick bed of dried pine needles.
Taking advantage of her inability to fight him, he plucked one of his mittens from his coat pocket and tugged it over her dirty stocking-clad foot. Somehow she’d lost one of her shoes. Then he wrapped her in the warm folds of his jacket. After pulling off his flannel shirt, he tied it around her legs, the only added protection he could give her until he got her back to the warmth of his cabin. Clad in his long underwear shirt and wet pants, Gray fought to keep his teeth from chattering as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, then eased his arms beneath her. She wasn’t heavy, but his bulky jacket, combined with his own violent shivering, made carrying her difficult.
As he made his way downriver, his feet and hands aching, he wondered what had befallen the beaten woman lying lifeless in his arms.
Copyright © Wendy Lindstrom
The Grayson Family #10
She's A Woman In Danger… Snowbound With A Stranger She Must Trust
When Sophia Flynn awakens in a mountain cabin badly wounded and without her memory, she suspects something terrible has happened. Her handsome rescuer calls her Willow, and claims he's a Pinkerton Agent who will protect her. Alone, injured, and totally at his mercy, she’s afraid to trust a stranger, but Gray Sullivan is her only hope of surviving, especially with a fierce snowstorm hammering the cabin and someone out there who might want her dead. Their forced intimacy ignites a spark that leaves her wanting more, but when the storm lets up, will Gray consider his duty over and return to his own life? Or is there something real happening between them that will make him stay and protect her?
Romance Historical [Oliver-Heber Books, On Sale: July 30, 2024, e-Book, ISBN: 9781648396632 / ]
I spent my early years in the country with my five brothers and two sisters, climbing apple trees and playing in the life-sized covered wagon my father built. I was a dreamer and a talker and made up enough stories to drive my siblings nuts. My mother finally gave me a diary and there began my life as a writer, although I didn't realize it until much later in life.
The publication of my first novel, SHADES OF HONOR-the leading book in a planned trilogy for St. Martin's Press-launched my career as a romance author. SHADES OF HONOR has won numerous awards, including the New Jersey Romance Writers "Best First Book" and the Romance Writers of America's prestigious Golden Heart Award. The sequel to SHADES OF HONOR titled THE LONGING has received a 4-1/2 star review and TOP PICK honor from Romantic Times magazine.
I'm past president of my local RWA chapter and a supporting member of several historical museums. I enjoy writing articles and speaking at schools, libraries, and local organizations about writing and self-empowerment for young adults and women.
I now weave my stories from my home nestled in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains in upstate New York. When not writing, my husband and I love to attend music events, sometimes performing in our own band, or sitting-in with musician friends.
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