Grand Central Publishing
Featuring: Logan Thibault; Elizabeth Green
400 pages ISBN: 0446618322 EAN: 9780446618328 Mass Market Paperback Add to Wish List
Finding a photo of a young woman in the dirt in Iraq, U.S.
Marine Logan Thibault begins his trek on foot from Colorado
to North Carolina with his faithful German shepherd, Zeus,
by his side after his discharge from the Marines. Escaping
death during three tours in Iraq, he is labeled the "lucky
one" because of the picture he carries. The last words from
his friend were to find the lady in the photo to "balance
it."
Logan's search finally ends in Hampton, North Carolina,
where he discovers Elizabeth Green, his vision in the lucky
photo. Divorced, Beth has a young son, Ben, with her ex-
husband, Deputy Keith Clayton. Pillars of the small town,
the Clayton family controls Hampton County. Accepting a job
at the kennel owned and operated by Beth and her
grandmother, Nana, part of Logan's secret is revealed to
Beth. Falling in love with each other creates a violent
reaction from Keith as he endeavors to sabotage all of
Beth's romantic relationships. Withholding a part of the
secret from Beth gives Keith the ammunition to convince her
that Logan is a dangerous stalker. Violent floods and the
endangerment of Ben forces Beth to see reality.
Again, Nicholas Sparks has created another heart
wrenching but beautiful love story that touches the soul
and is riddled with suspense. Logan's persona is well-
portrayed as a strong young man having been through hell
and back trying to make sense of his life. I absolutely
loved his honest and true character and his will to fight
for those he loves. This is a story that kept my heart
bleeding for the young man and his destiny.
After U.S. Marine Logan Thibault finds a photograph of a
smiling young woman buried in the dirt during his tour of
duty in Iraq, he experiences a sudden streak of luck --
winning poker games and even surviving deadly combat. Only
his best friend, Victor, seems to have an explanation for
his good fortune: the photograph -- his lucky charm.
Back home in Colorado, Thibault can't seem to get the woman
in the photograph out of his mind and he sets out on a
journey across the country to find her. But Thibault is
caught off guard by the strong attraction he feels for the
woman he encounters in North Carolina - Elizabeth, a
divorced mother -- and he keeps the story of the photo, and
his luck, a secret. As he and Elizabeth embark upon a
passionate love affair, his secret soon threatens to tear
them apart -- destroying not only their love, but also their
lives.
Filled with tender romance and terrific suspense, THE LUCKY
ONE is an unforgettable story about the surprising paths our
lives often take and the power of fate to guide us to true
and everlasting love.
Excerpt
....Chapter One....
Clayton and Thibault
He hadn’t liked the fact that he’d been caught, nor was he
pleased with his insipid opening line. Usually he was
smoother
than that. A lot smoother. Thankfully, the girl was too
embarrassed
to notice much of anything, and she almost tripped while
trying to back up. She stammered something like an answer
as she
tried to cover herself with her hands. It was like watching
someone
play a game of Twister by herself.
He made no effort to avert his gaze. Instead he smiled,
pretending
not to notice her body, as if he bumped into naked women in
the woods all the time. He could already tell she knew
nothing
about the camera.
“Now calm down. What’s going on?” he asked.
He knew full well what was going on. It happened a few times
every summer, but especially in August: Coeds from Chapel
Hill
or NC State, heading to the beach for a long, last-chance
weekend
at Emerald Isle before the fall term began, often made a
detour
onto an old logging road that twisted and bumped for a mile
or so into the national forest before reaching the point
where
Swan Creek made a sharp turn toward the South River. There
was a rock-pebble beach there that had come to be known for
nude sunbathing—how that happened, he had no idea—and
Clayton often made it a point to swing by on the off chance
he
might get lucky. Two weeks ago, he’d seen six lovelies;
today,
however, there were three, and the two who’d been lying on
their
towels were already reaching for their shirts. Though one of
them
was a bit heavy, the other two—including the brunette
standing
in front of him—had the kind of fi gures that made frat
boys go
crazy. Deputies, too.
“We didn’t know anyone was out here! We thought it would
be okay!”
Her face held just enough innocence to make him think,
Wouldn’t Daddy be proud if he knew what his little girl was
up to? It
amused him to imagine what she might say to that, but since
he
was in uniform, he knew he had to say something offi cial.
Besides,
he knew he was pressing his luck; if word got out that the
sheriff’s
offi ce was actually patrolling the area, there’d be no more
coeds in the future, and that was something he didn’t want
to
contemplate.
“Let’s go talk to your friends.”
He followed her back toward the beach, watching as she tried
unsuccessfully to cover her backside, enjoying the little
show. By
the time they stepped from the trees into the clearing by
the river,
her friends had pulled on their shirts. The brunette jogged
and
jiggled toward the others and quickly reached for a towel,
knocking
over a couple of cans of beer in the process. Clayton
motioned
to a nearby tree.
“Didn’t y’all see the sign?”
On cue, their eyes swung that way. People were sheep,
waiting
for the next order, he thought. The sign, small and
partially hidden
by the low-slung branches of an ancient live oak, had been
posted by order of Judge Kendrick Clayton, who also happened
to be his uncle. The idea for the signs had been Keith’s; he
knew
that the public prohibition would only enhance the
attraction of
the place.
“We didn’t see it!” the brunette cried, swiveling back to
him.
“We didn’t know! We just heard about this place a couple of
days
ago!” She continued to protest while struggling with the
towel;
the others were too terrifi ed to do much of anything except
try to
wiggle back into their bikini bottoms. “It’s the fi rst time
we’ve
ever been here!”
It came out like a whine, making her sound like a spoiled
sorority
sister. Which all of them probably were. They had that look.
“Did you know that public nudity is a misdemeanor in this
county?”
He saw their young faces grow even more pale, knowing they
were imagining this little transgression on their record.
Fun to
watch, but he reminded himself not to let it go too far.
“What’s your name?”
“Amy.” The brunette swallowed. “Amy White.”
“Where are you from?”
“Chapel Hill. But I’m from Charlotte originally.”
“I see some alcohol there. Are y’all twenty-one?”
For the fi rst time, the others answered as well. “Yes,
sir.”
“Okay, Amy. I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to
take you at your word that you didn’t see the sign and that
you’re
of legal age to drink, so I’m not going to make a big deal
out of
this. I’ll pretend I wasn’t even here. As long as you
promise not
to tell my boss that I let you three off the hook.”
They weren’t sure whether to believe him.
“Really?”
“Really,” he said. “I was in college once, too.” He hadn’t
been,
but he knew it sounded good. “And you might want to put your
clothes on. You never know—there might be people lurking
around.” He fl ashed a smile. “Make sure you clean up all
the cans,
okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I appreciate it.” He turned to leave.
“That’s it?”
Turning around, he fl ashed his smile again. “That’s it.
Y’all take
care now.”
Clayton pushed through the underbrush, ducking beneath the
occasional branch on the way back to his cruiser, thinking
he’d
handled that well. Very well indeed. Amy had actually smiled
at him, and as he’d turned away, he’d toyed with the idea of
doubling back and asking her for her phone number. No, he
decided, it was probably better to simply leave good enough
alone. More than likely they’d go back and tell their
friends that
even though they’d been caught by the sheriff, nothing had
happened
to them. Word would get around that the deputies around
here were cool. Still, as he wove through the woods, he
hoped
the pictures came out. They would make a nice addition to
his
little collection.
All in all, it had been an excellent day. He was about to go
back for the camera when he heard whistling. He followed the
sound toward the logging road and saw the stranger with a
dog,
walking slowly up the road, looking like some kind of hippie
from
the sixties.
The stranger wasn’t with the girls. Clayton was sure of it.
The
guy was too old to be a college student, for one thing; he
had
to be late twenties, at least. His long hair reminded
Clayton of
a rat’s nest, and on the stranger’s back, Clayton could see
the
outlines of a sleeping bag poking out from beneath a
backpack.
This was no day-tripper on the way to the beach; this guy
had
the appearance of someone who’d been hiking, maybe even
camping out. No telling how long he’d been here or what he’d
seen.
Like Clayton taking pictures?
No way. It wasn’t possible. He’d been hidden from the main
road, the underbrush was thick, and he would have heard
someone
tramping through the woods. Right? Still, it was an odd
place
to be hiking. They were in the middle of nowhere out here,
and
the last thing he wanted was a bunch of hippie losers
ruining this
spot for the coeds.
By then, the stranger had passed him. He was nearly to the
cruiser and heading toward the Jeep that the girls had
driven.
Clayton stepped onto the road and cleared his throat. The
stranger
and the dog turned at the sound.
From a distance, Clayton continued to evaluate them. The
stranger seemed unfazed by Clayton’s sudden appearance, as
did
the dog, and there was something in the stranger’s gaze that
unsettled
him. Like he’d almost expected Clayton to show up. Same
thing with the German shepherd. The dog’s expression was
aloof
and wary at the same time—intelligent, almost—which was the
same way Panther often appeared before Moore set him loose.
His
stomach did a quick fl ip-fl op. He had to force himself not
to cover
his privates.
For a long minute, they continued to stare at each other.
Clayton
had learned a long time ago that his uniform intimidated
most people. Everyone, even innocent people, got nervous
around
the law, and he fi gured this guy was no exception. It was
one of
the reasons he loved being a deputy.
“You got a leash for your dog?” he said, making it sound
more
like a command than a question.
“In my backpack.”
Clayton could hear no accent at all. “Johnny Carson
English,”
as his mother used to describe it. “Put it on.”
“Don’t worry. He won’t move unless I tell him to.”
“Put it on anyway.”
The stranger lowered his backpack and fi shed around;
Clayton
craned his neck, hoping for a glimpse of anything that
could be
construed as drugs or weapons. A moment later, the leash was
attached to the dog’s collar and the stranger faced him
with an
expression that seemed to say, Now what?
“What are you doing out here?” Clayton asked.
“Hiking.”
“That’s quite a pack you’ve got for a hike.”
The stranger said nothing.
“Or maybe you were sneaking around, trying to see the
sights?”
“Is that what people do when they’re here?”
Clayton didn’t like his tone, or the implication. “I’d like
to see
some identifi cation.”
The stranger bent over his backpack again and fi shed out
his
passport. He held an open palm to the dog, making the dog
stay,
then took a step toward Clayton and handed it over.
“No driver’s license?”
“I don’t have one.”
Clayton studied the name, his lips moving slightly. “Logan
Thibault?”
The stranger nodded.
“Where you from?”
“Colorado.”
“Long trip.”
The stranger said nothing.
“You going anywhere in particular?”
“I’m on my way to Arden.”
“What’s in Arden?”
“I couldn’t say. I haven’t been there yet.”
Clayton frowned at the answer. Too slick. Too . . .
challenging?
Too something. Whatever. All at once, he knew he didn’t like
this guy. “Wait here,” he said. “You don’t mind if I check
this out,
do you?”
“Help yourself.”
As Clayton headed back to the car, he glanced over his
shoulder
and saw Thibault reach into his backpack and pull out a
small
bowl before proceeding to empty a bottle of water into it.
Like he
didn’t have a care in the world.
We’ll fi nd out, won’t we? In the cruiser, Clayton radioed
in the
name and spelling before being interrupted by the
dispatcher.
“It’s Thibault, like T-bow, not Thigh-bolt. It’s French.”
“Why should I care how it’s pronounced?”
“I was just saying—”
“Whatever, Marge. Just check it out, will you?”
“Does he look French?”
“How the hell would I know what a Frenchman looks like?”
“I’m just curious. Don’t get so huffy about it. I’m a little
busy
here.”
Yeah, real busy, Clayton thought. Eating doughnuts, most
likely. Marge scarfed down at least a dozen Krispy Kremes a
day.
She must have weighed at least three hundred pounds.
Through the window, he could see the stranger squatting
beside
the dog and whispering to it as it lapped up the water. He
shook his head. Talking to animals. Freak. Like the dog
could
understand anything other than the most basic of commands.
His ex-wife used to do that, too. That woman treated dogs
like
people, which should have warned him to stay away from her
in the fi rst place.
“I can’t fi nd anything,” he heard Marge say. She sounded
like
she was chewing something. “No outstanding warrants that I
can
see.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I do know how to do my job.”
As though he’d been listening in on the conversation, the
stranger retrieved the bowl and slipped it back into his
backpack,
then slung his backpack over his shoulder.
“Have there been any other unusual calls? People loitering
around, things like that?”
“No. It’s been quiet this morning. And where are you, by the
way? Your dad’s been trying to fi nd you.”
Clayton’s dad was the county sheriff.
“Tell him I’ll be back in a little while.”
“He seems mad.”
“Just tell him I’ve been on patrol, okay?”
So he’ll know I’ve been working, he didn’t bother to add.
“Will do.”
That’s better.
“I gotta go.”
He put the radio handset back in place and sat without
moving,
feeling the slightest trace of disappointment. It would have
been fun to see how the guy handled lockup, what with that
girly
hair and all. The Landry brothers would have had a fi eld
day with
him. They were regulars in lockup on Saturday nights: drunk
and
disorderly, disturbing the peace, fi ghting, almost always
with each
other. Except when they were in lockup. Then they’d pick on
someone else.
He fi ddled with the handle of his car door. And what was
his
dad mad about this time? Dude got on his nerves. Do this. Do
that. You serve those papers yet? Why are you late? Where’ve
you been? Half the time he wanted to tell the old guy to
mind
his own damn business. Old guy still thought he ran things
around here.
No matter. He supposed he’d fi nd out sooner or later. Now
it
was time to get the hippie loser out of here, before the
girls came
out. Place was supposed to be private, right? Hippie freaks
could
ruin the place.
Clayton got out of the car, closing the door behind him. The
dog cocked its head to the side as Clayton approached. He
handed
the passport back. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr.
Thibault.”
This time, he mangled the pronunciation on purpose. “Just
doing
my job. Unless, of course, you’ve got some drugs or guns in
your
pack.”
“I don’t.”
“You care to let me see for myself?”
“Not really. Fourth Amendment and all.”
“I see your sleeping bag there. You been camping?”
“I was in Burke County last night.”
Clayton studied the guy, thinking about the answer.
“There aren’t any campgrounds around here.”
The guy said nothing.
It was Clayton who looked away. “You might want to keep that
dog on the leash.”
“I didn’t think there was a leash law in this county.”
“There isn’t. It’s for your dog’s safety. Lot of cars out
by the
main road.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Okay, then.” Clayton turned away before pausing once more.
“If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been out
here?”
“I just walked up. Why?”
Something in the way he answered made Clayton wonder, and
he hesitated before reminding himself again that there was
no
way the guy could know what he’d been up to. “No reason.”
“Can I go?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Clayton watched the stranger and his dog start up the
logging
road before veering onto a small trail that led into the
woods.
Once he vanished, Clayton went back to his original vantage
point to search for the camera. He poked his arm into the
bushes,
kicked at the pine straw, and retraced his steps a couple of
times
to make sure he was in the right place. Eventually, he
dropped to
his knees, panic beginning to settle in. The camera
belonged to
the sheriff’s department. He’d only borrowed it for these
special
outings, and there’d be a lot of questions from his dad if
it turned
out to be lost. Worse, discovered with a card full of nudie
pictures.
His dad was a stickler for protocol and responsibility.
By then, a few minutes had passed. In the distance, he heard
the throaty roar of an engine fi re up. He assumed the coeds
were
leaving; only briefl y did he consider what they might be
thinking
when they noticed his cruiser was still there. He had other
issues
on his mind.
The camera was gone.
Not lost. Gone. And the damn thing sure as hell didn’t walk
off on its own. No way the girls had found it, either. Which
meant
Thigh-bolt had been playing him all along. Thigh-bolt.
Playing.
Him. Unbelievable. He knew the guy had been acting too
slick,
too I Know What You Did Last Summer.
No way was he getting away with that. No grimy, hippie,
dogtalking
freak was ever going to show up Keith Clayton. Not in
this life, anyway.
He pushed through branches heading back to the road, fi
guring
he’d catch up to Logan Thigh-bolt and have a little
look-see. And
that was just for starters. More than that would follow;
that much
was certain. Guy plays him? That just wasn’t done. Not in
this
town, anyway. He didn’t give a damn about the dog, either.
Dog
gets upset? Bye, bye, doggie. Simple as that. German
shepherds
were weapons—there wasn’t a court in the land where that
wouldn’t
stand up.
First things fi rst, though. Find Thibault. Get the camera.
Then
fi gure out the next step.
It was only then, while approaching his cruiser, that he
realized
both his rear tires were fl at.
“What did you say your name was?”
Thibault leaned across the front seat of the Jeep a few
minutes
later, talking over the roar of the wind. “Logan Thibault.”
He
thumbed over his shoulder. “And this is Zeus.”
Zeus was in the back of the Jeep, tongue out, nose lifted
to the
wind as the Jeep sped toward the highway.
“Beautiful dog. I’m Amy. And this is Jennifer and Lori.”
Thibault glanced over his shoulder. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
They seemed distracted. Not surprising, Thibault thought,
considering what they’d been through. “I appreciate the
ride.”
“No big deal. And you said you’re going to Hampton?”
“If it’s not too far.”
“It’s right on the way.”
After leaving the logging road and taking care of a couple
of
things, Thibault had edged back to the road just as the
girls were
pulling out. He’d held out his thumb, thankful that Zeus was
with
him, and they’d pulled over almost immediately.
Sometimes things work out just like they’re supposed to.
Though he pretended otherwise, he’d actually seen the three
of them earlier that morning as they’d come in—he’d camped
just
over the ridge from the beach—but had given them the privacy
they deserved as soon as they’d started to disrobe. To his
mind,
what they were doing fell into the “no harm, no foul”
category;
aside from him, they were completely alone out here, and he
had
no intention of hanging around to stare. Who cared if they
took
their clothes off or, for that matter, dressed up in chicken
costumes?
It wasn’t any of his business, and he’d intended to keep it
that way—until he saw the deputy driving up the road in a
Hampton County Sheriff’s Department car.
He got a good look at the deputy through the windshield, and
there was something wrong about the guy’s expression. Hard
to say
what it was, exactly, and he didn’t pause to analyze it. He
turned
around, cutting through the forest, and arrived in time to
see the
deputy checking the disk in his camera before quietly
shutting the
door of his cruiser. He watched him slink off toward the
ridge.
Thibault knew full well that the deputy could have been
working
offi cially, but he looked the way Zeus did when he was
waiting for
a piece of beef jerky. A little too excited about the whole
thing.
Thibault had Zeus stay where he was, kept enough distance so
the deputy wouldn’t hear him, and the rest of the plan had
come
together spontaneously after that. He knew that direct
confrontation
was out—the deputy would have claimed he was collecting
evidence, and the strength of his word against a stranger’s
would
have been unassailable. Anything physical was out of the
question,
mostly because it would have caused more problems than it
was worth, though he would have loved to go toe-to-toe with
the
guy. Luckily—or unluckily, he supposed, depending on the
perspective—
the girl had appeared, the deputy had panicked, and Thibault
had seen where the camera had landed. Once the deputy and
the girl headed back toward her friends, Thibault retrieved
the camera. He could have simply left at that point, but
the guy
needed to be taught a lesson. Not a big lesson, just a
lesson that
would keep the girls’ honor intact, allow Thibault to be on
his
way, and ruin the deputy’s day. Which was why he’d doubled
back
to fl atten the deputy’s tires.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Thibault volunteered. “I found your
camera in the woods.”
“It’s not mine. Lori or Jen—did either of you lose a
camera?”
Both of them shook their heads.
“Keep it anyway,” Thibault said, putting it on the
seat, “and
thanks for the ride. I’ve already got one.”
“You sure? It’s probably expensive.”
“Positive.”
“Thanks.”
Thibault noted the shadows playing on her features, thinking
she was attractive in a big-city kind of way, with sharp
features,
olive skin, and brown eyes fl ecked with hazel. He could
imagine
staring at her for hours.
“Hey . . . you doing anything this weekend?” Amy asked.
“We’re all going out to the beach.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t.”
“I’ll bet you’re going to see your girlfriend, aren’t you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You have that way about you.”
He forced himself to turn away. “Something like that.”
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