The Many Lives Of Hadley Monroe

By Bec McMaster

A deal with Death has never been so sweet...

 

When the clock stops ticking, and the storm rolls in, Hadley Monroe knows exactly what's going on. Forty years ago her grandfather made a pact with Death, and now Death has come calling again.

 

Forced to make her own deal with the reaper, Hadley has only three weeks to answer his question, or he'll take her grandmother too. The problem is, there's no way to answer it, and three weeks is not long enough with the reaper who's beginning to steal her heart...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bec McMaster
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925491005

Book preview

Chapter 1

The storm came in low and boiling; purple-black thunderclouds that cast an eerie light across the cane fields. The kind of storm that had sprung up when her granddaddy got taken, rest his soul. Hadley grabbed the bag of groceries off the passenger seat of the Chevy, and kicked the door shut behind her, as she ran toward the porch of her grandmother's house. Fat raindrops spattered down, a blast of wind sending the cane rippling in the paddocks on either side of the house, like waves on the ocean.

Or what she imagined the ocean to look like.

Though she'd spent the first few years of her life out West, and shifted from town to town with her mama, she'd rarely been further than a day from Copeland, GA, since she arrived at the age of six. All she had were faint memories of her mama taking her on up to Nashville as a little girl to see Garth Brooks. Sitting in the front of her mother's old powder blue Cadillac, with her heels on the dashboard as a popsicle melted down her arm, faster than her attempts to eat it. Hot sun. Songs on the radio. And her mama, long dark hair tumbling over her shoulders, as she grinned down at Hadley, and clapped a hand against her thigh, as though she were playing the tambourine. Faded memories, now, like looking at old photos that had been left too long in the sun.

That was before her mama up, and left her here in Copeland with Gramma Monroe. The last she'd seen of Lily June Monroe, Hadley had been standing on this porch, with her tiny hand wrapped in her Gramma's, watching the dust trail of that old caddy dissipate over the lane.

Three steps from the porch the downpour hit. God damn– Hadley bit her tongue instinctively. Gramma Monroe didn't approve of that kind of language from young ladies.

The run left her breathless and perspiring, her ribs squeezing tight in her chest. She'd been working too hard lately to keep her fitness up, and it showed. Too many long hours working double shifts at the library in town, and then the diner.

A black streak shot out of nowhere, sending her heart tripping along 'til she realised it was grams' cat, Jethro. Hadley nearly tripped on him, as he tore through the door the second it was open an inch. The screen door banged shut behind her, rain thundering on the tin roof as she made it to safety.

No sign of the darned cat.

Hadley? Is that you? Gramma called, from her sitting room.

Of course it was. Nobody else ever visited them anymore. Hadley scraped her wet hair out of her face, as her grandmother shuffled into the old worn-torn kitchen, leaning heavily on the timber dresser where the Strasbourg silver service was kept. A faded nightgown hung around her gramma's narrow shoulders, and Hadley's heart fell a little. As a young girl, she'd never seen her grandmother not get dressed. Each morning became a ritual of sweet-scented powders, heated rollers, matching dress and shoes, and the ever-present pink lipstick. Gramma didn't go anywhere without putting her face on.

Or hadn't.

Did you lie in? Hadley asked, pressing a kiss against her grandmother's parchment cheek. That squeeze in her chest grew, and she turned away, rubbing at it, hating the thought of her grandmother's decline.

No. No, of course not.

But Hadley knew she lied.

It's just a matter of time for her, the doctor had said, in that gentle voice she hated so much. The shock of Mr. Monroe' death... Sometimes it takes older people that way. They just stop... livin'.

Looks like the angels are weepin', Hadley May, Gramma said.