His Past Came Calling: Walnut Grove, #2

By Cindy Baker

Escape to California's beautiful Santa Ynez Valley and follow the heartwarming love story between Livi, widowed with a young daughter, and Matt, the handsome vet, who befriended her, then set out to win her broken heart.

This is the second book in the Walnut Grove Series. The first book,'We Can Laugh Together Too'quickly earned the following impressive review:

"A great book that's as good as or even better than any Mills and Boon book out there." These are my wife's words and not my own. She's a big fan of Mills and Boon books and for her to say must prove that there's a great quality of writing and story line in this book. In fact she loved it so much she can't wait to finish off the trilogy. I guess I won't be seeing my Kindle Fire again for another couple of days, thanks Cindy.
5-Stars By Barryjmcdonald "baz"

After meeting and falling in love with locum veterinarian, Dr. Matt Allen, recently widowed Livi Leonard thought the seemingly insurmountable trials and tribulations that had been dogging her life for the past year were, at last, over.

But this proves not to be the case. Livi's fifteen year old daughter, Chrissy, vanishes without trace while riding her newly acquired horse in the foothills of the San Rafael Mountains, bordering the farm where they live, and the investigating detectives seem to view Matt as their prime suspect.

Far from ceasing, Livi's problems seem to be escalating. Surely the man she adores and she believes adores her could not turn out to be so calculating and deceiving.

This is the second book in the Walnut Grove Romance Series. You can read each novella as a stand-alone, or read them  in order to really immerse yourself in the continually unwinding love story.

Click the Buy Button now.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cindy Baker Books
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386588368

Cindy Baker

Cindy Baker has been an inveterate writer for more than thirty years. She caught the bug from her mother who used to write children's stories. After college she moved on to writing for hire and proofreading and editing for fellow writers. She has written romance novels of her own since 2012.   She was born, grew up and educated in the UK and has lived in the US - first in California, more recently in Texas, for a number of years. Her love of Dalmatian dogs, calico cats and thoroughbred horses shines through in most of her books. Visit her website to sign up for occasional newsletters with information on upcoming books, ARCS information, giveaways and lots more.

Book preview

His Past Came Calling

Book Two in the Walnut Grove Series

Cindy Baker

Please visit my website at CindyBakerBooks.com for more information about this book, as well as others, past, present and upcoming. You will also be able to drop me an email or sign up to be notified when new books get published.

See also the other books in this series:

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

© Copyright 2015 by Cindy Baker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

ISBN: 9781520254715

Editor: Anne Pottinger

Table of Contents

His Past Came Calling

A Few Weeks Earlier . . .

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Attribution:

Author’s Note:

A Few Weeks Earlier . . .

Low foothills ringed the valley, rolling away into a distant haze of much higher mountain peaks. A few limpid sunlit clouds wandered across a clear blue sky. Horses, basking in the golden rays, cropped lush, green grass intermixed with white clover and occasional tidbit bites of chicory and fennel.

The woman intently watching the scene below her was seated on a flat-topped granite boulder, partially obscured by a scattering of lemonade-berry shrubs. She held a pair of small, yet strong binoculars clamped to her eyes, focused on a group of three people standing in the open doorway of a smart horse barn: a woman and two men, in apparent  conversation, while two dogs — Dalmatians — sniffed out and pursued interesting scents  close by.

The onlooker knew the identity of each of the three; one of the men in particular. She studied the woman in the group with special care. The binoculars were powerful enough to easily pick out her honey-blonde hair and general features and she muttered in contempt as she watched her address the two dogs, a cosseting expression on her face. Inane fool, obviously talking to them as if they were intelligent people instead of what they were: mindless mutts. She watched the dogs' fawning responses, cavorting closer to her, tails wagging, tongues lolling. She hated dogs.

The observer dragged her attention away from the horse barn and followed the driveway around a left-hand bend to the farmhouse, set behind a lawn dotted with citrus, eucalyptus, and yoshina cherry trees. Two vehicles were parked to the side of the house, a silver SUV and a much smaller, copper red sports car. She knew they belonged to the woman and one of the men at the barn.

Also on the lawn, to the left of the front door was a pretty water feature: a round pond surrounded by a low stone wall, with a central fountain. Two girls aged in their mid-teens were seated together on the wall. One blonde and long-limbed; the woman's daughter. The other shorter with jet-black hair: probably Hispanic. A friend most likely.

The observer shifted her posture cautiously and stood up to stretch her aching limbs. She had been entrenched there, watching the farm since early morning. Once the man she knew well had left; driving the silver SUV down the drive, onto Ballard Canyon Road and then west to the 101. She had hastened to retrieve her own vehicle, accelerated down an access trail and joined the road just in time to glimpse her quarry in the far distance. She had broken the speed limit to close the gap between them, and then followed just close enough to keep him in view.

He had left the interstate after five miles and headed into another, much larger horse farm. She drove past the entrance and watched him park outside a barn where he was greeted by another man who led the way inside.

He had re-appeared a couple of times to fetch equipment from the SUV, and his visit lasted more than an hour. When he emerged for the final time, packed his equipment away, then climbed into the vehicle to leave, she quickly started her own engine and continued up the road until she was out of sight.

She followed him on his return journey, but this time was able to stay further back, after all, she knew exactly where he was going.

She took the turning off of Ballard Canyon Road, back up the trail, then on foot to her familiar rock where she arrived in time to watch him park alongside the sports car and disappear into the house.

Some time had passed before anyone had appeared again. The observer had taken the opportunity to return to her own vehicle to collect a fresh bottle of water and a packet of sandwiches from a cooler.

With a clear, unobstructed view over the farm, she didn't need to constantly use the binoculars. They were, however, especially useful when she was inclined to watch any of her quarries closely; a task that afforded her a perverse satisfaction. If only any of them knew she had the ability to scrutinize them almost as if she were standing face to face with them.

The sun passed overhead and it was late afternoon. Time to go. Her flight left LAX shortly before eight thirty, but first, she had to drive down the 101 to the 405, notorious for mile upon mile of jammed traffic and return her rental car.

She took one final, lingering look. The two girls continued to sit on the wall of the pond, chatting and dipping their hands in the water. The group at the barn had broken up — one man heading on down the driveway towards a second house situated next to the farm's back entrance. The observer had identified him correctly, he was the foreman.

The man she had followed off the property earlier headed back towards the main house, accompanied by the blonde woman and both ridiculous spotted dogs. What in hell's name was he thinking of getting himself entangled in this implausible set-up? The blonde had evidently managed to somehow entrap him.

Clearly, he needed rescuing and she was just the person to do it. It was time to leave now, but in three weeks she would be back again.

Chapter One

The bright yellow school bus rounded a curve in the road and the driver, sighting a cluster of emergency vehicles blocking the lane ahead, stamped on the brake, and rapidly reduced his speed to a crawl.

Seems like a bad accident ahead, said Katia who had the advantage of a window seat. A car's overturned and gone straight through the fence. Looks nasty.

Mmm . . . ?

Chrissy, seated beside her and engrossed in a homework reading project, dragged her attention away from her book and directed her gaze towards the throng: fire engines, sheriffs’ cars, paramedics and an ambulance. And, through a section of shattered wooden fencing, a silver SUV resting on its roof and surrounded by emergency personnel.

The book slid from her hands as she gripped her friend's arm. That’s' a Ford Edge, isn't it? Is it Matt's SUV?

What . . . ? Katia focused her attention on the stricken vehicle. I can't tell, the front's smashed where it hit the fence and I can't see the back number plate either. Oh no, but it certainly looks the same as Matt's.

Chrissy rose in her seat as high as her seatbelt would allow. No, no, it can't be Matt. Please, it can't be. Anguish filled her voice.

As she spoke, the bus, directed by a deputy sheriff, switched to the opposite lane and began to accelerate around the accident scene. She reached into her backpack for her cell phone. I need to call Mom.

No. Katia cautioned, catching her hand. Don't panic your Mom. It’s probably a false alarm. Try Matt's phone first. Her friend glanced at her apprehensively, nodded, and pressed a quick-dial number.

It's gone straight to voicemail.

"Even so, don't phone your Mom. Wait until we get home and tell her face to face what we've seen. It's not something she needs to hear over the phone, especially since we're only guessing it might be Matt."

Distracted, Chrissy glanced around before focusing on her friend's face. At length, she assimilated her words and returned her phone to her backpack. Yes, you're right. But what if it really is Matt? It's still less than a year since Dad was killed, Mom can't lose Matt as well.

Will, Chrissy’s father, had been killed almost a year earlier. The accident occurred late at night as Will and his foreman, Jose returned after picking up their champion mare from the track. They were bringing her back to embark upon a brand new career as a broodmare. But none of them had made it home to Walnut Grove. The driver of a big-rig traveling in the opposite direction on the interstate had fallen asleep at the wheel, causing his vehicle to veer through the central dividing fence and hit Will’s pickup truck and horse trailer head on. There had been no survivors.

Ever practical, Katia squeezed her hand. All we've seen is an accident. It most likely isn't Matt and even if it is, he's probably fine. Remember that pileup on the 101 a couple of months ago? Everyone climbed out with just a broken arm and a few scratches between them.

But before that, Dad and Jose were killed when their truck was hit. Anguish filled Chrissy's voice. Oh, please, please, don't let it be Matt.

Fifteen minutes later the bus dropped them at the entrance gate to Walnut Grove. The two girls hastened together up the quarter mile drive, flanked on either side by white post and rail fencing, rounded the house, and dashed through a side door into an empty kitchen.

Mom, where are you? Chrissy dumped her backpack on the table and continued through to the hall to shout up the stairs. She’s got to be around somewhere, the door wasn’t locked.

The dogs aren’t here either, Katia pointed out. Maybe she’s taken them for a walk.

Both girls retraced their steps back to the front of the house, which, being built on a natural incline, commanded a panoramic view over the entire expanse of Walnut Grove. Horse barns and pens to the left, all surrounded by pastures, and set in the beautiful Santa Ynez Valley, between the Santa Ynez Mountains to the south and San Rafael Mountains to the north.

There she is.