The Dark Rider

By Lisa Freed

Hannah Crane needs a handyman and fast!
Her mother's old home requires major repairs before Hannah can sell it. Summer break isn't nearly long enough and YouTube DIY videos only help so much.
When gorgeous Alexander Wells shows up the same day she places her ad he seems perfect! Even better he wants room and board in lieu of pay.

But strange things are happening in the sleepy little town.
The monument to the town's mystery Rider is desecrated and the body stolen. A series of petty crimes pop up as well, making Hannah even more grateful to have Alexander around.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lisa Freed
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223276791

Lisa Freed

Lisa Freed loves nothing more than some sunshine and a good book. When not writing you can find her somewhere with her nose buried in a book or out walking the beaches in search of new ideas and sea glass. 

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The lone granite memorial caught Hannah’s eye countless times traveling the backroads of Pennsylvania to the small town of West Bentwood. Something compelled her to stop on this trip. It stood slightly back from the crossroads where three separate roads overlapped. On the edge of the trees, their shadows falling darkly over it, the gravestone only a gray wink the first time she drove by. The next time, a solid structure, but not enough to make her stop. She couldn’t even say what caused her to pull her car to the side of the empty road this time.

The grass neatly and recently mowed, its sweet tangy scent still powerful in the air when she walked on the moist, cut blades, a few flicking up to stick wetly to her bare legs and exposed toes. The gravestone, up close that was indeed what it was, simply said The Unknown Rider and 1852. So long ago, yet this stone stood the test of time and she wasn’t the only one to have paused and reflected. At the rough base were the dried, curled remains of a handful of flowers.

Despite the somber nature, the simple gesture tugged the corners of her mouth up in a small smile. She could recall placing similar bunches on graves when her mother took her to the cemetery to visit the family plot out in the hills of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Hannah bit her lip, looking away from the marker. She would make the pilgrimage alone this year, her mother having died three months ago. Perhaps Great-Uncle Henry’s remains would be able to join the rest of the family’s by then. That would have given her mother such peace, knowing her beloved uncle was finally home, to be buried on American soil.

With a will of their own, her teary brown eyes sought out this unknown man’s solitary grave. Did his family ever learn of his fate? She rubbed at the uneven inscription that time hadn’t erased, though the elements tried. A few of her tears plinked down to land on the stone’s base, near the dead flowers. Sadly, his family probably spent countless hours and tears worrying over him, same as her family did over Great-Uncle Henry and all the other families of servicemen and women that never made it home.

Dashing at the warm tears now freely pouring out of her eyes, Hannah bent her head, her loose brown locks shielding her face while she said a small prayer for this man and his long-gone family. With a final glace at the stone, she returned to her car and the errands in town that needed to be done.

Four hours later, home, and out in the yard working on a stubborn tree root, Hannah scowled up at the dark clouds that rolled in to cover the sun’s last bit of daylight. The unrelenting heat of the past week pretty much ensured almost daily thunderstorms. Those weren’t helping her tight schedule. There was so much to do. When she first considered doing the house repairs herself, Hannah foolishly thought seven weeks would be plenty of time. Oh, to go back in time and smack some sense into her silly self. No matter, today she did the first sensible thing since arriving at her late mother’s house three weeks ago. She placed an ad for a handyman to help her with the mountain of tasks yet to be done.

Fortified with that sense of accomplishment and determined to get this last root out and pick up the scattered remnants before the rain started, she gripped it tighter in her gloved hands. Feet planted in the mulch, Hannah tugged, her muscles burning, eyes squinted. She felt the slight give of the root releasing its iron grip on the soil. Her moment of triumph was short-lived when the sky opened. Fat, icy-cold rain pelting her.

Giving up on the remaining root, Hannah gathered the shovel and, reaching for her unused kneeboard, saw it picked up by another hand a mere moment before her fingers could close on its spongy pink side.

Stumbling back a few steps, Hannah clutched the shovel’s worn wooden handle close to her chest, prepared to defend herself. The rain spiked down harder, her cotton t-shirt greedily sucking it up to press coolly against her skin. Through the rain, she could make out a dark figure of a man dressed in a long gray cape. No, it must be a rain poncho despite the hood pooled at his neck, leaving his face exposed to the driving rain, same as hers. With one outstretched hand, he offered her kneeboard, the other was fisted at his side, a roll of soggy yellow paper clutched in it.

Her eyes traveled slowly from the paper to the man’s face, meeting pale, blue eyes that stared unblinkingly into hers. Are you here about the ad? Hannah asked, almost cringing at the hopeful, desperate note