Harvest Moon

By Janet Eaves

Winifred Butler believes she is finally free of her sadistic husband’s horror. But he continues to torment her from the grave as his secrets and lies, treason and terror, bring Agent Tom Green to her Legend, Tennessee doorstep.

She is as determined to keep her past a secret as Tom is committed to bringing her secrets to light. Only one of them can win. So both must fight the attraction to the other, knowing they have everything to lose...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janet Eaves
• Release date: Nov 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781944454814

Janet Eaves

Multi-published author of Legend Series books set in Legend, Tennessee, as well as other sweet to sexy romances, Janet Eaves strives to write stories that awaken the senses. She hopes you smell, feel, hear, taste, as well as see the scenes playing out her character's lives and struggles as they fall in love.Janet shares the Legend, Tennessee, series with her three SisterWriters, though each author (Janet Eaves, Maddie James, Jan Scarbrough, and Magdalena Scott) write and publish their own books within the Legend series. Check them out! You'll find sometimes, our characters visit each other in this wonderful small town!

Book preview

Harvest Moon

(Legend After Dark)

Janet Eaves

A Legend Series Novella

Harvest Moon

Copyright © 2015, Janet Eaves

Digital ISBN: 978-1-944454-81-4

Cover Art Design by KJ Jacobs

Digital Release: November 2015

Previous Release: July 2012

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

This edition is published by Mystic Waters Books, Tennessee, USA.

HARVEST MOON

Winifred Butler believes she is finally free of her sadistic husband’s horror. But he continues to torment her from the grave as his secrets and lies, treason and terror, bring Agent Tom Green to her Legend, Tennessee doorstep.

She is as determined to keep her past a secret as Tom is committed to bringing her secrets to light. Only one of them can win. So both must fight the attraction to the other, knowing they have everything to lose...

The autumnal equinox nears

Foliage sheds its leaves

Ghost long buried appears

Sinister on the breeze

Moon rises full and bright

Seems near and oh so vast

Blazing orange then snowy white

Exposing a shame-filled past

Chapter One

Winifred Butler sat ramrod straight in the velvet-draped folding chair as Father Murphy conducted the graveside service. She went through the motions of prayer mechanically–the sign of the cross as false a ritual to her as the sentiment she was expected to express.

Nearly everyone in the tiny town of Legend, Tennessee, was accounted for, as was the custom when a resident passed, but she knew this time it was purely from obligation. No one had liked her husband. His loud, obnoxious behavior had offended most people and had embarrassed her to the extent that she’d spent the past year avoiding her neighbors, hoping they would forget what a terrible mistake she’d made. A mistake born of innocence.

Well, she wasn’t innocent anymore.

The hundred and fifty acre farm Jack took her to following their whirlwind courtship and marriage had accommodated her need to hide the shame in which she’d consistently lived. Unfortunately, it had also given Jack ample opportunity to enforce what he’d deemed his husbandly rights. The only escape she’d found was to attend Mass as often as he’d allowed, since he’d stopped going himself years before.

Though she wasn’t Catholic, she’d found attending his previous wife’s church an acceptable way to escape him. It was literally the only time he’d allowed her out of his sight, outside of the electronically fenced-in perimeters of the farm. He’d complained about those brief periods of freedom constantly, but hadn’t stopped her, though it had quickly become difficult to show her face there. She’d only kept going out of desperation for those blessed moments of sanctuary.

Shame heated her cheeks beneath the netting of her widow’s hat; a hat she’d worn to cover her face in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with anyone attending the funeral. She didn’t want to be rude, but there was nothing she had to say about the man she was burying, and there was nothing she wanted to hear about him, either. She lifted a gloved hand and covered her mouth and nose with the soft scents of her fabric-softener-freshened handkerchief. The motion soothed her. She’d learned to lose herself in the scent, to pretend the April freshness removed her from the degradation of being horribly used by a man who smelled of his pigs.

Following the horror of their wedding night, she’d worked hard to disassociate herself mentally from the physical reality she was forced to endure. It took months, but she’d finally found a way, by fantasizing he was anyone else, and breathing through her mouth rather than her nose. The males of her fantasies were born from the hundreds of romance novels she’d read while taking care of her father all those years, though she’d had to fight hard to shut out the sight of Jack’s flabby folds being held out of the way so his thick, short penis might reach her. Breathing through her mouth had been equally necessary, to minimize inhaling the nauseating odors that permeated his skin.

After months of failed attempts to either arouse her or satisfy himself, he done the unthinkable, something she’d never confessed to anyone, nor would she. He’d turned her over and rammed her from behind. The pain had taken her breath away. Once she’d been able, she’d screamed, but he hadn’t cared, having declared that was exactly what she deserved for making him feel inadequate.

She’d learned two very important lessons that night. No matter the consequences, she had to escape him, even if it meant she was guilty of committing a mortal sin. And, as her face was pushed hard into her bedding while he’d repeatedly penetrated her anally, that romance novels were all a lie.

Men were pigs, their dicks weapons to inflict pain.

And, if she ever escaped him, she’d never allow either to get near her again.

She’d barely been able to walk to the bathroom that night to clean herself up. Had sobbed through the process of scrubbing herself all over until her skin burned raw, then returned to cry out her sorrow and pain into the April fresh smell of her tear-splattered, freshly laundered sheets. And even though he’d left her alone to do whatever it was that he went out to do each evening, she’d still felt smothered by his horrible pigpen odor.

After that night she’d plotted and she’d planned, all the while forced to endure the various positions he demanded, and the variety of sex toys he’d purchased with deprivation and pain infliction as his primary goals. He’d even branded her with a hot metal ring on her inner thigh, awaking her from an exhausted sleep, returning her to the nightmare of reality.

She’d hated him. Everything about him.

Though she’d been careful not to let her feelings show, Jack must have sensed something. Somehow he’d known that she was looking for a way out, because he did the one thing he thought would trap her forever.

The pictures were disgusting, and if publicized would humiliate her. Ruin her. He’d taken them after chaining her to their bed post, setting a timer, and joining her there where he’d positioned and repositioned her repeatedly as snapshot after snapshot went off. He’d developed them immediately out in the barn, and had taken delight in showing her his work before releasing her from her chains.

That she’d found the guts to snatch them from him and tear them up hadn’t mattered. He’d laughed at her and she’d known then that he had more, and that she was powerless unless she was willing to commit the unthinkable. The pictures were the last straw. Or so she’d thought.

Mrs. Butler?

Winifred blinked, startled to realize the service was over and everyone was waiting for her to rise, place the rose in her hand on his casket, and head back to the limo that would drop her back at the church. She stood and stared at the extra-large pine box that would be lowered into the ground as soon as all those present departed, then glanced at the priest, who knew more than any other how terribly unhappy she’d been—though even he never knew the full extent of her shame. With one nod to Father Murphy, she relaxed her fingers and allowed the rose to fall to the ground as she turned to make her way to the awaiting car.

That pig of a man wouldn’t get anything from her anymore. Not a flower. Not a widow’s respect. In fact, she hoped he rotted in eternal Hell.

Chapter Two

Tom Green watched Winifred Butler walk away, a little surprised that she showed no distress at the passing of her husband, nor any interest in speaking with the friends and neighbors who had come to pay their respects. He’d been afraid his presence at the service would be questioned since he was obviously an outsider, but no one seemed the least bit interested in him, nor, more strangely, in the man about to be lowered into the ground. Discretely, he glanced through the large crowd, trying to find anyone upset by the farmer’s demise, but there wasn’t a tear or sniffle to be found.

Perplexed, he eavesdropped on the multitude of conversations around him as he made his way back to his sleek little car. Then one in particular caught his attention.

"She has to be relieved he’s gone."

"I know. It’s a shame she didn’t get out more all those years she was taking care of her dad, or she would have heard the rumors about Jack’s… you know. I seriously doubt she would have married