Welcome to Saturday Sample. We've learned that Rocky bought some property in West Virginia. Aimee agrees to come to West Virginia even though the witness protection people told her not to have contact with him for months. Aimee's car broke down, and to her surprise Cade McCoy comes down the road riding a big horse. He by chance moved into the same neighborhood as Rocky and agrees to take her to Rocky's house.
Last Week
They made their way across the yard, which was filled with ruts and briars, and climbed the rickety steps. Aimee blinked as Cade pounded on the front door. Did the door just sway or did she? She screamed when it fell backward into the house. The tremendous clatter made by the fall echoed through the empty rooms and brought Rocky and a woman running.
“Hon!” he exclaimed. He grabbed Aimee’s hand and jerked her toward him. She flew through the air as if she had sprouted a pair of wings.
“Hon!” he exclaimed. He grabbed Aimee’s hand and jerked her toward him. She flew through the air as if she had sprouted a pair of wings.
The woman behind him squeaked—that was the only word for it—and distracted Rocky. Aimee slammed into him, and the two of them crashed to the floor.
This Week
The fall didn’t hurt her much. After all, she’d landed on
Rocky, whose breath left him in a little ‘whoof’ when his back hit
the floor. It was the sound of Cade’s laughter in the background
that brought a scowl to her face. “Shut up, Cade! We could’ve been
hurt.”
“Well, you aren’t, are you?” He chuckled. “I haven’t had so much fun in ages.”
He stepped over the weathered door and nodded at the strange woman. “Hi, June. This is Aimee.”
Aimee tried not to stare at June. The woman was about her height—five-four— but there the resemblance ended. While she was willowy and blonde, June looked like a little round ball topped by fuzzy, pale brown hair. The color of her hair was unique. Had she dyed it that peculiar shade of brown? It was a pretty color, but . . . but . . . odd. Yes, very odd. Everything about her looked soft, including her dress, which probably came straight out of the 1950s. The bodice was made like a shirt with a collar and buttons and was fitted at the waist. It had a belt and a pleated skirt. Oh, what did you call that style? Shirtwaist. Maybe that was it.
“Well, you aren’t, are you?” He chuckled. “I haven’t had so much fun in ages.”
He stepped over the weathered door and nodded at the strange woman. “Hi, June. This is Aimee.”
Aimee tried not to stare at June. The woman was about her height—five-four— but there the resemblance ended. While she was willowy and blonde, June looked like a little round ball topped by fuzzy, pale brown hair. The color of her hair was unique. Had she dyed it that peculiar shade of brown? It was a pretty color, but . . . but . . . odd. Yes, very odd. Everything about her looked soft, including her dress, which probably came straight out of the 1950s. The bodice was made like a shirt with a collar and buttons and was fitted at the waist. It had a belt and a pleated skirt. Oh, what did you call that style? Shirtwaist. Maybe that was it.
Aimee Sherwood never dreamed that following her fiancé into the witness protection pro-gram would land her in a haunted house in a town that’s downright creepy. She’d have laughed if she had been told the guy who lives down the road might be her soul mate, not the man whose ring she’s wearing. Life in West Virginia is nothing like life in Los Angeles, but between bean ball battles with Marilyn Monroe, remodeling a crumbling farmhouse, and starting a new online business, life in the country is anything but boring.
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