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  Devil’s Spring

  Bittersweet Hollow, book 3

  Aaron Paul Lazar

  Copyright

  Devil’s Spring by Aaron Paul Lazar

  This is a work of fiction. All concepts, characters and events portrayed in this book are fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Aaron Paul Lazar.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  First Edition, December 2016

  Cover art by Kellie Dennis, of Book Covers By Design

  Published in the United States of America.

  Free Book

  Devil’s Lake

  Bittersweet Hollow, book 1

  Two years ago, Portia Lamont disappeared from a small town in Vermont, devastating her parents and sister, who spent every waking hour searching for her. When she suddenly shows up on their horse farm in a stolen truck with a little mutt on her lap, they want to know what happened. Was she taken? Or did she run away?

  2015 Finalist Readers’ Favorites Awards

  2015 Semi-finalist in Kindle Book Review Awards

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  Reviews

  You’re about to dive into Devil’s Spring, book 3 in the Bittersweet Hollow series. If you enjoy it, I hope you’ll consider leaving a review on Amazon. It doesn’t have to be long or fancy—just a few lines about what you liked best or how the book made you feel is perfectly fine.

  Authors really do read the reviews and love to hear what their readers think and feel about the characters, the story, or the writing. It’s validating, especially if you enjoy what we work so hard to produce!

  Thanks in advance for taking a few minutes to write a review ;o)

  - Aaron Paul Lazar

  Dedication

  To moms and dads everywhere. God bless you all.

  Prologue

  Anderson Rockwell woke with a start.

  Something’s wrong.

  He reached for Grace, but found only her cooling pillow.

  Bolting out of bed, he called to her. “Grace?”

  No answer.

  Maybe she’s in the bathroom and can’t hear me.

  He shouted louder this time. “Grace? Where are you?”

  Silence met him from behind the bathroom door. He pushed it open to find it empty. The only movement was the flutter of lacey curtains in the cottage window.

  He hurried back to the bedroom and flipped on the light, noting Grace’s hospital bag was still sitting—waiting—by the closet door. It was May 10th, and the baby was already a week overdue. She had been suffering from elevated blood pressure and back pain, and they’d made a trip to the local hospital almost every night when various symptoms erupted. Last night it had been the Braxton Hicks contractions again. They’d felt like the real thing. They’d made her double over in pain. But the doctors had sent her home again, saying it wasn’t time.

  Anderson raced down the hallway and down the stairs. “Grace? You down here?” He checked the living room, dining room, laundry room, and finally ended up in the kitchen. “Honey?”

  Nothing.

  A fresh breeze blew in from the screen door, bringing the scent of honeysuckle in its wake. They’d locked the door last night, he was certain. Had she left something in the car and run out to get it?

  His brain taunted him. Really? At five o’clock in the morning?

  “Grace?”

  He pushed out into the pink-tinged dawn and the moisture of heavy dew instantly coated his skin.

  She lay on the porch glider, slumped sideways with her head on a pillow she’d brought out from the couch.

  His heart galloped beneath his ribs. “Thank God.” He approached her quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she’d finally found a place comfortable enough to sleep. It was then he noticed the puddle of liquid on the floor beneath her.

  “Honey?” He gently shook her shoulder. “Grace? Are you okay?”

  She didn’t rouse.

  He tried harder. She moaned, but didn’t open her eyes. Is she just in a deep sleep?

  He swept her hair back from her forehead and leaned close to her ear. “Grace?”

  She didn’t answer, but rolled off the glider into a lump at his feet.

  ∞∞∞

  The race to the hospital took seventeen minutes. He followed the ambulance after hearing words like toxemia and emergency C-section while they bundled her onto the gurney and skidded out the driveway.

  Grace wanted a natural childbirth, but it looked like she wouldn’t get her wish this morning unless something changed fast.

  He’d called her family on the way to the hospital. Portia, Grace’s older sister and birthing partner, was on her way.

  Anderson found a parking spot on the first floor of the hospital after dropping Grace with the ER staff—an unusual situation that he chalked up to the early Sunday morning time slot. When he got back to the ER waiting room, all was quiet with barely a soul waiting for news. He arrived at the front desk breathless. The young woman behind the desk smiled at him.

  “You Mr. Rockwell?” she asked, giving him a perky smile.

  “Yes. My wife, Grace—”

  “She’s in room eight. They’re taking good care of her, sir.” She grinned. “Now, take a deep breath, and go through those doors.” She pointed to the double doors to the right side of her station.

  Anderson flashed her a weary smile and reached over the counter to grip her hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She pressed a switch and they whisked open. “Good luck, Daddy.”

  He nodded and rushed through, thanking her over his shoulder again.

  Daddy.

  The thought hit him hard, making him lose focus for a moment.

  Daddy.

  I’m going to be a father.

  He hurried around a corner, looking for room number eight.

  He’d waited his whole adult life for this moment. From the days when he’d met Caroline, his first love, when he’d envisioned filling a house with their children. Then there were the long, lonely years when he’d mourned her death. Alone and deeply grieving for so many years, he’d finally found out what had happened to Caroline when her murderer came after Grace.

  Chandler had tried his best to destroy Anderson and everyone he loved with deluded thoughts of grandeur and revenge. The misguided lunatic had hated him since the day he and Caroline met. He’d wanted her. The crazy bastard had taken her. And he’d killed her.

  But his hatred of Anderson hadn’t abated all those years, and he’d stewed in revenge, plotting the final showdown. When Anderson had married and actually become happy living with Grace, Chandler couldn’t take it. But thankfully, Chandler had been cornered and shot himself.

  The psycho was gone. Dead. A threat no more.

  And he thanked God every day that his darling Grace—who delivered him from his years of loneliness and despair—had been spared.

  They’d tried to conceive a child almost since the wedding night. They both wanted children, and he hadn’t wanted to wait. Finally, last year, after the showdown with Chandler at Caroline’s gravesite, Grace had told him she was pregnant.

  He shook the thoughts out of his head, and heard the word again in his brain…Daddy.

  He found room eight and opened the curtain to find three people working on his wife.

  Her eyes were open, and she smiled at him. “Hey, baby.”

  “Grace.” He stood awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the staff who wer
e checking IVs, adjusting a strap around her belly, and peering beneath the blanket between her legs.

  “Are you okay, honey?” He drew in a shaky sigh of relief, hoping that maybe they wouldn’t need to do a C-section after all.

  She nodded. “My pressure went up a little high, and they said I was dehydrated.” She pointed to the bags hanging on the IV stand. “But they’re giving me lots of fluids and I feel better already.”

  The woman who’d been checking Grace popped her head up. “You’re six centimeters, Mrs. Rockwell. You’re having a baby today.”

  Anderson recognized the woman as Dr. Rosenthal, Grace’s obstetrician. “Hi, Doc. Can’t believe you’re on duty this early on a Sunday.”

  She ran a hand across her spiky white hair. “I just delivered twins for one of my other patients. So, I’m all warmed up.” She smiled and stepped back, speaking to the nurse beside her. “Bring her up to the maternity ward. This baby’s coming.”

  Grace’s face twisted and she moaned. “Oh my God. I’m having another one.”

  Dr. Rosenthal nodded. “Good, they’re coming regularly now. Let’s get her up there.” She backed out of the room and gave a little wave. “See you soon.”

  “Good?” Grace screamed. “This hurts!” She leaned forward and grasped her belly. “Anderson, make it stop!”

  He glanced helplessly at the nurse, who smiled and shrugged. “Nothing you can do, sweetie. Just move back so we can get her up to the third floor. We’ll probably give her an epidural when it gets really bad.”

  Grace’s face reddened. “When it gets really bad? Are you kidding me?”

  The move to the maternity ward proceeded swiftly.

  He followed them to the elevator, where they whisked Grace’s gurney efficiently to the third floor and into a pleasant room with pale green walls and soft lighting. He noticed he’d been dragging the suitcase behind him the whole way, and with a rush, he realized he had a job to do. He flipped it open and took out the photo Grace had chosen to be her focal point. Carefully, he set the picture on the shelf opposite her bed. It was a picture of her mother, Daisy, sitting in a bed of wildflowers as a young woman.

  Daisy wanted to be with Grace when she gave birth, but her New York City doctor, a specialist in cancer research, had advised against it. She was in remission, but still frail. And the meds she was on lowered her ability to fight off viruses and bacteria. The photo was the closest thing Grace would have to her mother.

  “I want my mother, Anderson.” She started to cry.

  “I know.” He moved to her side and took her hand. “But your sister’s on her way up, honey. And we’ll keep your mom informed the whole way.”

  “I want to hear her voice. Call her, please?”

  Anderson glanced at his watch. Ten past six. Daisy would be up, because her husband, Dirk, always rose at five to tend to their horses and start his long day of barn work and tending the fields. “Okay, hang on.” He dialed Daisy’s cell.

  She answered instantly. “Anderson? Is my baby okay?”

  “She is, Daisy. She wants to talk to you.”

  He pressed the phone into his wife’s hands and took a step back.

  Part I

  The Abduction

  Chapter 1

  One year later

  Grace fluttered her fingers over her shoulder, pushing open the cottage screen door. “Bye sweeties. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  “What time is your appointment?” Anderson asked, cradling baby Caroline on his lap. She sucked eagerly at the bottle of milk he’d just prepared, her earnest blue eyes fixed on his.

  “She’s taking me early, at three-thirty, so we can have extra time. I really need her help this week.” Grace glanced at her husband apologetically. “I’m sorry, honey. But it’s better to be in her office than you-know-where.”

  Anderson nodded. “Of course. Take as long as you like. We’ll be fine.” He didn’t want to think about the you-know-where. Grace had fought a horrible addiction since she became pregnant one year and nine months ago. She hadn’t given into it since before her pregnancy, and he hoped she had the strength to continue forever.

  “Put her down for her nap at four. Don’t forget, she has a whole jar of sweet potatoes in the fridge. If she won’t eat those, make her some scrambled eggs.”

  “I’ve got it,” Anderson gave her a patient smile. “You just go.”

  With a broad grin and a flounce of her lime green skirt, his wife disappeared.

  “It’s just you and me, Caroline.” He snuggled the baby into the crook of his arm, taking deep pleasure in the knowledge that this tiny little girl was his. She depended on him. She needed him. And someday in the not-too-distant near future, she’d call him Daddy.

  Caroline sucked the bottle dry. Anderson sat her up and began to burp her on his lap, then shifted her to his shoulder and tried a little harder. A satisfying belch emerged, and he felt ridiculously proud.

  He thought about the expense of Grace’s therapy appointment today. It would probably end up costing about two hundred and forty dollars for the double session.

  How will we cover the bill?

  Their insurance covered only two sessions per month, and Grace had needed to see the private psychiatrist twice weekly to keep herself in check and to “work on herself.” Their credit cards were bursting, they were behind on some payments already, and even though he made a decent salary at the university, it wasn’t enough. Of course, the new roof, septic system, and furnace they’d had to replace this year hadn’t helped.

  I need a second job. Maybe I can take on some night classes.

  He’d protected Grace from the truth for long enough. It was time to get their heads together and figure something out. If he didn’t do it soon, in a year they’d lose their house.

  ∞∞∞

  Caroline slept quietly in her crib. Anderson had fed her at five o’clock, read to her for a while, and then had rocked her to sleep. He loved this simple ritual and he’d hate to give it up if he had to get another job.

  Matter of fact, he’d hardly ever see his family again if he did that. But what choice did he have?

  He checked the clock. Six-thirty. Grace should have been back an hour ago, even if she stopped at the store to do some grocery shopping or pick up prescriptions. He tried her cell; she didn’t answer.

  He didn’t want to overreact, but this was always how it started in the past. He’d call. And call. And call. And she’d turn off her phone until her addiction was sated.

  He paced back and forth on the porch, peering down the narrow dirt track they called a driveway. That was another thing he needed to fix. He should have someone bring in truckloads of gravel, because last winter they kept getting stuck in the mud. He’d really love to pave it, but that was out of the question, at least this year.

  Five long minutes ticked by, with no sign of his wife’s powder blue Mustang turning into the lane.

  His mind went wild.

  He pictured her in a bar, picking up a handsome stranger. She hadn’t cared in the past about their character or background. All she needed was big, masculine, and handsome. Well, not even all those things.

  She needed new.

  It still clawed at his heart that he hadn’t been enough for her. He’d never been enough. In spite of his attentive skills in the bedroom, and his ability to make her cry out in delight, she’d had this need for someone…not him. She craved it. Fought it for weeks or months until the need grew too big. Then it would consume her, and she’d disappear for two or three days.

  He still felt like a failure for letting her “get away” with such behavior in years past, but the thought of losing her had crippled him. He loved her so deeply that the fear of that loss made him crazy. Many years ago, he’d survived his first love’s disappearance, but just barely. He didn’t think he could handle it a second time around with Grace.

  So, he’d helped her. He’d read up on sex addiction. He’d discussed the best treatment with his own doctor
s, and he’d helped her find newer and better doctors over the past year. Finally, they’d landed a therapist who had reportedly treated the highest paid execs and financiers in the region. She ran a private practice, and charged exorbitant prices. But she had seemed to have an effect on Grace, so far, so the money was well spent.

  He walked inside to check the baby monitor. Baby Caroline’s breathing came through the speaker, soft and regular.

  Back on the porch, he paced some more, wanted to call Grace’s phone again, but he held back. He didn’t want to drive her crazy with his own lack of confidence in her ability to beat this thing.

  Finally, ten minutes later, the Mustang rolled up the driveway.

  Grace waltzed up to the steps and kissed him full on the lips. “Sorry, sweetums. I got held up at the store. They had this knife demonstration going on. They were so sharp! And really a good value.” She pointed to the car. “Can you get my packages out, please?”

  Anderson froze. “Grace? Did you buy the knives?”

  “Sure I did.” She tossed him a carefree smile. “They were only three hundred and fifty. Valued at twice as much.”

  He watched her take the steps two at a time up the porch. “How’s our girl?”

  With a deep breath, he controlled his irritation. “Asleep.”

  “Did you eat?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And I tried to call you, honey.”

  “Sorry. I need to charge my phone.” She took the device out of her purse and plugged it in next to the toaster. “There we go.”

  He stood in the doorway, not moving. “Grace?”

  She flipped him a glance over her shoulder, rummaging in the fridge. “Yes, baby?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Chapter 2

  Portia stood at the sink, washing dishes from the hearty lunch she and her mother, Daisy, had just made for their husbands.

  Boone spent mornings helping at his family’s dairy farm, and worked afternoons on her parents’ place, Bittersweet Hollow Morgan Horse Farm, where they lived upstairs in her childhood bedroom. The farm lay in the hollow nestled beneath Vermont’s Green Mountains, stretching for emerald acres from the road to the woods at the base of the mountains.