The Hurt Handler

By Linda Palmer

Shiloh Nilsen lives at one end of the street. Nathan Conti lives at the other. In all her eighteen years, they’ve never met in the middle. Why? Because he attends a special school for psychics in Wyoming while she goes to their neighborhood public school, Dillon High, right there in Montana.

Nothing changes until Shiloh loses a treasured family heirloom--a ring that dates back centuries. Desperate to find it before her mom figures out it’s missing, Shiloh crashes a birthday party just to meet Nate. If the local newspaper is right, he has psychic gifts. She hopes one of them will help her out of a mess she can only blame on herself.

Nate reluctantly agrees to accompany her to a local ghost town, the last place she wore the ring. With the weather getting worse by the minute, they search everywhere she hiked until the skies open up and they’re forced to take shelter in the ruins. Huddled there, they talk about his psychic abilities, a conversation that opens Shiloh’s mind to what’s really out there.

Unfortunately, Nate’s conclusion about the ring’s location isn’t at all what Shiloh was expecting. Instead of getting closure, she’s faced with a new dilemma. She can either confess everything to her mom, who will be crushed, or she can confront the person who has the ring, a guy who, according to Nate, gives off some very bad vibes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uncial Press
• Release date: May 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781601742384

Linda Palmer

Linda Palmer admits it all started when she fell in love with Roy Rogers in the fifties. The family TV was boxy; the picture was black and white. That didn't matter. Roy's cowboy courage won the day and inspired her to  create elaborate scenarios when playing with her sisters and friends outside. Indoors, she read romances in every genre from Sci Fi to Gothic. Linda began writing for pleasure in the third grade, mostly poetry, and has letters from her grade school teachers predicting she'd be an author. Her poems eventually became short stories; her short stories became books. And even though a writing career was never actually a dream, it was something she pursued with intent after winning some writing contests and joining local and national writers' groups. Silhouette Books published Linda's first romance novel in l989 and the next twenty over a ten-year period (writing as Linda Varner, her maiden name). In 1999 she took a ten-year break to take care of her family, but learned that she couldn't not write. She began again in  2009, changing her genre to young adult/new adult paranormal romance. She has now written over a hundred novels and novellas ranging from traditional romance to erotica. Linda was a Romance Writers of America Rita finalist twice and won the 2011 and 2012 EPIC eBook awards in the Young Adult category. She was also a finalist in that category in 2013 and in 2014. Linda has been married to her junior high school sweetheart over fifty years and lives in Arkansas, USA with her family. Ever a hopeless romantic, she still falls for unattainable Hollywood heroes that inspire her to write romances about alpha males and the women who stand up to them. Linda hints that her current crush's name starts with Tom and ends with Hardy. Her website is www.lindavpalmer.com. You can also find her on Facebook: Linda Varner Palmer.

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter One

Although I hadn't been invited to Nicole Conti's sixteenth birthday party, I went anyway. She was serving my parents' gourmet cupcakes, after all, plus we lived on the same street, which made us neighbors. Never mind that my house was on the middle-class end and hers stood in all its glory at the other. And never mind that we'd barely ever talked. If she even noticed me tonight, I'd tell her I was just making sure the cupcake display was okay. I hoped she wouldn't kick me out.

Since I was headed to the Conti mansion on foot, I smelled food when I was still a block away. A cookout? The late May weather was uncharacteristically perfect for one. Belatedly I noticed a van with the logo of Dillon, Montana's best barbecue joint. So they were catering everything but dessert. Mmm. My tummy rumbled, reminding me I'd skipped lunch.

Shiloh Nilsen, get a grip! I spoke aloud, but under my breath and with minimal lip movement in case someone was watching me. You're not crashing this party for the freaking' spread!

That's all I needed. Nicole spotting me and assuming I'd come for the free food. It was bad enough that I'd had my mouth full of cake when she came into the bakery last week to place the party order. I'd seen the way her gaze automatically swept me from head to toe, taking note of each and every body flaw. Perfectly petite her had judged imperfectly petite me, and I knew too well what she saw: a five-foot-two girl with boobs and a butt as curvy as the cupcake I was taste testing for my parents.

I was helpful that way.

Was I jumping to conclusions? Maybe. I was definitely self- conscious, but only because I had fifteen pounds on her. That would've made me the DUFF if we two had ever hung out, as in the Designated Ugly Fat Friend.

My mother hated that acronym. You're not ugly, Shiloh. As for being fat, someday you'll be glad of your shape.

Still waiting, Mom.

When I got to the Conti house, I went right up the front steps and got to the door before I remembered I didn't want to make an entrance. While I detoured to the privacy fence, I glanced down at my clothes. Official Cherry on Top tee? Check. Nicest jeggings? Check. Knee boots? Check. As for my highlighted hair, it hung loose down my back tonight. I'd almost put it in a ponytail, but had gone with a more mature look to give me courage.

And why did I need courage?

Because I was acting totally out of character by sneaking my way into this private get-together.

When I got to the wooden gate, I slipped into the backyard and stood in the evening shadows to scope out the scene. The number of guests didn't surprise me. I'd just walked past a whole lot of parked cars to get there. Neither did the age range—babies to old folks. I guessed a lot of them were kin. It was actually a member of the clan I wanted to meet tonight, specifically Nathan, Nicole's older brother.

Both attended private high schools different from each other's and mine. Nicole, the prestigious, overpriced Betty Babcock Academy for Young Women. Nathan, the Rutledge Institute, near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I'd read about Rutledge, a school run by the World Security League just for psychics. To go there, Nathan had to have gifts. And though I didn't know how many or which kind, I was hoping one of them could get me out of the mess I was in.

But first I had to find him and without knowing exactly what he looked like. Since Nicole and Nathan were siblings, they surely had similar facial features and coloring. All I had to do was scan the partygoers until I spotted a redhead with brown eyes. Once I found him, I'd introduce myself and beg for a one-time favor.

Very slowly and with my best smile pasted on my face, I began infiltrating the group. I checked out every teen guy I passed, looking for one that matched Nicole. What I saw were guys and girls I'd seen at the bakery where I often worked. Some spoke; most did not. I didn't see Nicole, though I believed she was around. Finally I spotted a likely Nathan. Red hair? Yes. Brown eyes? Yes.

It had to be him.

Squaring my shoulders, I closed the distance between us until I blocked his way. His eyebrows shot up.

Nathan? Hi. I'm Shiloh Nilsen, your neighbor. It's so good to finally meet you. I offered him my hand.

He took and shook it, apparently reflexively, since the next words out of his mouth were, Wrong guy, baby. I'm Tye.

Oops.

"I'm Nate."

My gaze pounced on a young man standing just within earshot. Brown hair, green eyes, and height. Nicole's exact opposite. That figured. I felt my face flame. My cotton mouth made it hard to speak. Don't move, okay?

Pivoting, I took two steps to the drinks table set up just a few feet away. I snatched up a cup of ice and a liter bottle of Coke that my shaky hands promptly splashed everywhere.

Whoa! Let me help you with that. Nate had followed me.

Fingers as warm as his voice was deep covered mine to steady them. Soda poured into the cup, fizzing until it almost ran over. I quickly sipped the refreshing surge of bubbles. Thanks. Oh God, my voice was shaking, too.

He studied my face. We're really neighbors?

Uh-huh. I softly burped behind my hand.

I thought I knew everyone in Dillon. Where've you been hiding?

At the ghetto end of the street.

He grinned. So you don't attend Babcock with Nicole?

I choked back a rude laugh. As if. No. I'm a senior at Dillon High, or will be in September. I quickly checked him out. Prep casual pretty much described his look. Dark blue jeans strategically frayed. Plaid shirt unbuttoned to reveal the well-worn Chainsmokers tee he wore underneath it. His Air Jordans, both untied, had cost him a fortune, but that was none of my business.

Shiloh, right? Nicole, who'd just joined us.

Preoccupied by her model-thin appearance, I just nodded. Gorgeous, as usual. Skin tight designer jeans, cold-shoulder top, heels too high for a teenager.

Her parents catered the cupcakes. She said that to Nate before she turned back to me. They're a hit.

Great. Deep breath. What's your fave?

Nate didn't hesitate. White chocolate wasabi.

Nicole grimaced at his pick. Anything gluten free.

Good choices. My voice sounded almost normal now. I'm all about the German chocolate, myself. I smiled and did the guest thing. Happy birthday, by the way.

Thanks.

An awkward silence followed that. I had to break it. I just dropped by to make sure the display hasn't toppled.

Nicole looked at her brother. Show her where the cupcakes are, would you, bro? She patted his arm and turned away, but then glanced over her shoulder at me. Thanks for checking back.

All part of the service.

With a bland smile, she