You Are Mine

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You Are Mine

Single mother, Molly Jackson, wants to run the family freight business in the North West Territories and take care of her family without receiving any more creepy letters from a stalker.

When Gramps ask him to stop the stalker, RCMP officer Brock Kingston comes home, excited to prove his love to Molly, but is surprised by her coolness.

Will their rekindled love survive when a secret from the past is revealed?

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Copyright

Copyright © 2015, Karen Dryden

Published by Karen Dryden Publishing

All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission in writing from the author.

Cover Photo by Kirill Linnik via Dreamstime.com

Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Woven Red Author Services, www.wovenred.ca

You Are Mine/Karen Blake Hall—1st edition

ISBN: 978-0-9919465-3-2

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Dedication

My love always to my husband Alan

and our children; David, Jen, Amy and Mike,

for always backing my dream and giving me time to create.

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Acknowledgment

I’d like to thank my critique partners,

Linda and Kollene.

Without your encouragement, there would be no story.

Thanks to Joan Leacott for the Cover Art.

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Prologue

He ducked into the recessed doorway of the jewelry shop, cupped his hand to his face as if blocking out the sun so he could focus on the beautiful rings. Molly Jackson walked passed, her floral scent washed over him. He breathed the intoxicating fragrance deeply into his lungs, letting her scent fill his body. Turning slightly, he watched the patterned skirt gently caressing her hips and fluttering against her long, shapely legs.

She stopped at the corner waiting for the light to change, glancing behind her, a tiny frown marred the perfection of her face as a light breeze teased her honey-colored hair.

For a split second, it seemed as if she sensed his presence. He held his breath as his pulse raced. Then she turned away and stepped off the sidewalk.

Good, she hadn’t noticed him. It wasn’t time. Reaching into his pocket, he stroked the small velvet box that held their future.

Soon.

Very soon, he would capture her heart the way she had captured his. He would seal their commitment by giving her the diamond ring. She would kiss him and tell him how much she loved him. She would be his.

His alone. Forever.

Molly wouldn’t be like the others.

She wanted him. He knew it deep in his heart.

And now it was almost time. His whole body quivered with anticipation. He’d carefully chosen the place to show her the ring and tell her of her future. When she reached the long walk down to old town he’d catch up with her and surprise her.

He watched as she crossed the street. Perspiration trickled down his forehead as his gaze settled on her hips swaying suggestively as she walked away from him. The cool lake breeze caused her patterned skirt to flutter up exposing more of her shapely legs and he felt the need building deep inside. He couldn’t wait much longer.

Stepping out from the shadows of the storefront, he followed her. Once or twice she glanced back, but she pretended not to see him. Leading him on; playing the game.

His smiled. He liked playing games. The others hadn’t like his games.

He sped up, walking faster, sliding between two parked cars as he followed her. Closer and closer he came, the gap between them growing shorter. The jagged rocks that separated the new part of town from the old were in sight. Only a few more seconds—

The squeal of tires met his ears a split second before mind-numbing pain racked his body and he felt himself being catapulted into the air. He heard a loud crack as he crumpled on the road moments later. Molly, he croaked, Molly.

People crowded around him, staring, pointing. Strangers—all of them. People who didn’t care about him. Not like Molly. Molly cared. He knew that.

Why wasn’t she here, beside him?

Then his angel appeared like a miracle. The noise around him ceased. Her emerald eyes filled with concern as she knelt down beside him. Smiling at him she picked up his hand. Her silken skin sent shivers down his spine.

The ambulance is coming. You’ll be fine. Her soft voice caressed his ears and soothed his pain-filled body, as the men examined him for broken bones.

He tried to speak, to tell them to leave him alone. To tell her that he knew how she felt about him. He tried to tell her it was all right, that he forgave her for the game. Like the others she was sorry; and like them she would make it up to him.

***

One

Anxiety weaved through Molly Jackson, over her stomach and around every nerve in her body forming a taut rope of fear.

The usually enjoyable daily ritual of walking up the tree-lined laneway to the mailbox by the side of the road became an exercise of sheer determination. The crisp, clean fall air usually invigorated her, but today it amplified the need to wrap her sweater closer around her body, not so much as for warmth as for protection.

The cool north breeze coming off Great Slave Lake played through her hair and caressed her face. Growing up in the Northwest Territories, Molly had learned to enjoy the cold, but cherish the warmth of the late summer sun. She tugged the sweater tighter, feeling chilled despite the glowing rays.

It wasn’t the short autumn and the coming of the long icy winter that preyed on her soul. It was those damn letters.

Stopping in front of the mailbox that she had painstakingly painted the company logo on, she let out a slow breath and carefully opened the tiny mailbox door. Snatching the envelopes, she slammed the door closed as if keeping demons at bay. Swiftly turning she retraced her steps toward the old white clapboard building that housed the offices of Jack-King Air, the airfreight business her grandfather and his partner had started after World War II. She shook her head at how a few twisted letters had affected her and vowed they weren’t going to rule her life.

She quickly stepped up onto the wraparound porch, shuffled through the mail and felt her tense muscles relax. All these letters had local postmarks. The creepy ones were posted in Edmonton. Molly hadn’t received a letter for a few weeks. Maybe they had stopped and her life could go back to normal. Normal was good. That’s what she wanted more than anything. An uneventful life without those weird letters.

Gentle waves rolled across Great Slave Lake rhythmically touching the shore. The breeze rustled through the pines and life should be good, but Molly still couldn’t shake that uneasy feeling.

Footsteps behind her startled her and squeezed the air out of her lungs.

Nigel, the company mechanic, slowly walked up the worn porch steps. Mighty fine day. Too fine a day for that glum look on your face.

Molly smiled at the older mechanic trying to reassure herself as much as him that nothing was wrong. The thought of all the paperwork I have to do today instead of enjoying the day is the reason for my glum face, she lied.

Nigel seemed to look right through her and the vulnerability that had pooled in her stomach earlier hardened. If you need me, I’ll be out by the planes. I’m only a holler away.

Thanks. Opening the door, she paused and looked around the grounds one more time, as if making sure no danger lingered.

Her grandfather had started the town of Jack’s Inlet and it had been their home for three generations. It was safe, it was boring, it was normal. She would do anything to preserve it.

A chill ran down her spine. She walked into the warm office in what had once been the living room of the Kingston homestead. Gramps had set the fire before he left with the planeload of supplies for the diamond mines northwest of town, but the warmth of the office didn’t stop her from shivering.

Throwing the mail into a pile on her desk, Molly reassured herself that with the local postmarks she was safe. After all, the population of Jackson’s Inlet was sixteen thousand. She’d gone to school, church or played hockey with everyone in town. The people she didn’t know personally knew of her as a member of the founding family.

Molly sat down at her desk, the same one her Grandmother had used, and grabbed the letter opener. Taking a deep breath, she told herself even if she got another letter, it was harmless; just words on paper, nothing more.

The family business had always relied on the unpredictable winter tourist trade. People always wanted to see the Aurora Borealis, the northern lights, up close, and Mother Nature always accommodated the tourist trade by putting on a spectacular show. Now with the lucrative diamond mine contract, life was good.

A movement by the shed caught her eye. She glanced at the clock on the wall beside the fireplace. No one should be there.

A rush of blood pounded through her temples as she stood. Walking over to the side of the window, careful not to cast a shadow against the pane, she lifted the heavy brocade curtain, making sure she didn’t touch the lacy sheer, not wanting her movements to be revealed to whoever was out there.

The figure of a man leaned against the shed, watching the house. Tightness cinched in her chest, as she held her breath. Why didn’t he come into the office? Could he be the one sending her the letters?

Her legs froze. Molly focused on the stranger. He was dressed like a local, with a red and black checked, flannel shirt peeking out from under a down-filled vest. His worn jeans and scuffed boots resembling every other male living in town, but unlike them he looked lethal.

His face was shadowed beneath a baseball cap, his eyes shielded by dark sunglasses so that she couldn’t make out any of his features.

Maybe he was deciding whether or not he had the nerve to fly in a four-seat plane. Maybe he wasn’t the one sending her the letters at all.

She let the heavy curtain fall back into place and walked over to the fireplace, reached for the rifle over the mantle, checked for shells then crossed the room to the door.

Opening the front door, she kept a firm grip on the rifle at her side as she yelled, What are you doing here?

The man shrugged. He took a step toward her. Her pulse quickened.

He walked out of the shadows into the bright sunlight, carrying a navy duffel bag. Something in the way he moved seemed familiar, but with the baseball cap pulled down and those damn reflective sunglasses wrapped around his eyes, she couldn’t make out his face.

Hey, Molly.

A gush of blood pulsated through her temples and her heart palpitated.

He stopped walking and smiled at her. That smile had haunted her thoughts and invaded her dreams for the last six years.

He removed the glasses drawing her into two cool blue pools. Long time no see.

Not nearly long enough. She knew she should be relieved that he wasn’t the stalker, but in some ways he was more dangerous.

He looked exactly the same as he had when he left six years ago. The same mischievous twinkle illuminated his deep blue eyes. One unruly strand of his shaggy raven hair still fell into his right eye giving him a roguish look. Under his opened vest Molly caught a glimpse of a plaid shirt stretched across his well-built chest. Like always, the top two buttons were undone exposing a hint of black hair. His jeans hugged his muscular thighs. Still dark, dangerous and delectable.

Her worst nightmare had become a reality. Brock Kingston had come home.

Molly forced calmness in her voice. What are you doing sneaking around like that? You could have gotten yourself shot.

Good. Not a tremor in her voice. She must act calm and collected. More than anyone else in the world, Brock sensed her fear.

His lips broadened into that familiar smile. I decided to take a few weeks off and come home.

He didn’t have the right to come back and invade on her life.

Molly kept her eyes focused on his corded neck, avoiding eye contact as she stepped out onto the porch. Why now?

The smile froze on his face as if a January gale had permanently frosted it there. His eyes hardened into icy blue stones, hot anger radiating from them. "Thought I’d