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CHAPTER 1

His brother was a dead man. He was going to die a slow and painful death. And, for good measure, Ryan Keller would even throw in a nice long lecture on the merits of responsibility.

Ryan had asked his older brother to do him a small favor. Though, technically, it wasn't even a favor he was asking for. No, he was asking Jake to do his damn job! He should have known better. Jake had always been a loose cannon, never playing by the rules, and doing what he wanted when he wanted.

Must be nice, not having any real responsibilities or anyone to answer to. He had simply asked his brother to meet with a prospective client. When was the last time he'd asked him to do anything? Jake had dropped the ball, and now Ryan had to fix it — again.

The Keller brothers owned a private detective agency called Sleuths, and even though Jake was consistently absent, they were doing quite well. Ryan shook his head. If he hadn't been finishing up another case, he would have taken the meeting himself and been spared the drama, but he had been right in the thick of things when the woman called.

What was her first name? Ryan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Alexandra. That was it. Alexandra McKay had heard about their agency from a guest staying at her bed and breakfast. Usually he did a thorough background on new clients, but he'd been previously engaged and hadn't had the time; he was going into this with less information than normal.

What he did know was that Ms. McKay owned and operated a bed and breakfast in the small town of Blue Creek. She needed to find someone and had called their agency for assistance. Which was all well and good, but Ryan had made the mistake of asking Jake to go in his stead.

He didn't know why he had been surprised when he received a phone call from Ms. McKay — a displeased Ms. McKay. She had informed him Jake had not only missed the meeting but also hadn't called to let her know he wasn't coming. She'd reminded Ryan it was bad business practice not to meet with potential clients, not to mention rude.

Now here he was driving to the mountains of North Carolina to see Ms. McKay. She had been more than understanding about the situation with his brother, but she hadn't been as forthcoming with information pertinent to her own case. In fact, she'd been downright evasive, which was strange, but he wouldn't complain. He was thankful she was giving Sleuths another chance. In his line of work, reputation was key, and he had assured her he would be there and be prompt.

Ryan passed the Welcome to Blue Creek sign around noon. He had an hour and a half to spare before he was scheduled to meet Ms. McKay, so he decided to stop for a bite to eat. He drove around the town square, and two things caught his attention: two buildings, standing side by side, with the same name.

One read McKay's Hardware and the other, McKay's. The first building was obvious in its function, and the second appeared to be a diner. His stomach growled, and he pulled into an empty space right in front. The traditional vibe struck him when he first opened the door. The stainless-steel countertops looked like they'd recently been buffed, and the red vinyl-topped seats shone. The eating area was open and friendly with fresh flowers on every table. There was a jukebox in the corner, and a delicious aroma wafted through the air.

Behind the counter, a petite blonde woman took orders. Her T-shirt was blue with the name of the diner written across the back. Ryan would bet if you straightened out the riot of curls touching her shoulders, they would reach the middle of her back.

Someone smacked him upside the head. He spun around and peered down at the person responsible. The look on the young woman's face made Ryan want to confess to whatever she thought he'd done. She was short, but he was well over six feet, and she had the coldest blue-green eyes he'd ever had the misfortune of seeing. Her high cheekbones were flushed, and her bow-shaped lips were pursed. She would have been beautiful if she would stop poking him.

"If you don't quit ogling my sister" — she poked him again — "I'm gonna arrest your sorry ass!"

"Your sister?" Ryan sputtered. He was by no means a man who frightened easily, but this woman — he supposed she was a girl — made him rather uncomfortable. Thinking how his brother would laugh his ass off if he witnessed Ryan's reaction made him stand straighter.

"The blonde behind the counter is my sister," she said, pointing at the other woman. "Hey, Charlie, you don't like it when people ogle you, do you?"

The blonde gave him a once-over and grinned. "Honestly, little sister, who am I to complain if this handsome gentleman wants to ogle me? Welcome to McKay's. I'm Charlie." She came around the counter to shake his hand. She gestured toward her sister. "That's Fletcher. Don't mind her. She likes to intimidate men because she can. And you are? Other than handsome, I mean," Charlie said, winking as a blush swept up her cheeks.

He ignored the desire to straighten his tie. "Ryan Keller. Nice to meet you both. Ah, sorry about —"

"It's okay, really," Charlie said. "Are you here on business or pleasure, Mr. Keller?"

"Business. Actually, you might be a relative of the woman I'm meeting. Alexandra?"

"She's our sister. What kind of business?" Fletcher asked, crossing slender arms over her overalls and drawing Ryan's attention to a couple of nasty cuts marring her flesh. She caught him staring, pulled her sleeve down, narrowed her eyes, and repeated the question.

"That's between your sister and myself, but I'm a private investigator," Ryan said, then jumped back when the girl started shouting.

"That prissy bitch! She's gonna try and find Casey. I told her not to go sticking her pert nose where it wasn't wanted, but does she listen to me? No! Not Miss the-world-works-for-Alexandra-fucking-McKay. Pops and Ma know where Casey is, but she has —"

"That's three dollars, Fletcher!" Charlie hollered, holding up a blue mason jar labeled Pay for Profanity. "And one dollar for the 'ass' you used earlier. Don't think I'd let one slip."

"Ass is a slang term for gluteus maximus, which is part of the human anatomy, so it doesn't count!"

Charlie raised an eyebrow and extended the arm holding the jar.

Fletcher took a few deep breaths, put in four ones, and stomped out of the diner.

"Finish eating, folks, and be thankful she doesn't carry her sidearm when she's not on duty," Charlie said, making the patrons laugh.

"She ... uh ... carries a weapon?" Ryan asked, a bit unsettled.

"All deputies carry one," she said, making her way back around the counter. She motioned for him to take a seat on one of the stools. "Would you like something to eat? Today's lunch special is the roast beef sandwich."

Ryan sat, but his attention was drawn to the front window of the diner and the young woman getting into her truck. "She's a deputy? She's a child."

Charlie cleared her throat and pointed to the menu.

"Sorry. Yes, roast beef sounds fine, thank you."

"It'll be a minute on the sandwich. Yes, she's a deputy. She's twenty-three, but I'm twenty-four and run this place." She shrugged. "So what does that say about either of us?" Instead of waiting for a reply, she plunked a cup of coffee in front of him and walked off.

An older man came up behind him and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't let the age fool you, boy. A body learns real quick not to judge a McKay by her cover. And if you want to know who put a gun in Fletcher's hand and named her deputy, that would be me. Name's Jasper Hart, Sheriff Jasper Hart." The man stuck out his wrinkled hand. "I've been the law in these here parts for nearly thirty years."

The man's booming voice didn't fit his small frame. The sheriff wore a tan uniform with his badge shining on his chest. His hair was gray and cut military short. His face was friendly, but his eyes were hard and flashing with impatience. Realizing his rudeness, Ryan shook the sheriff's hand.

"Ryan Keller, private investigator."

The sheriff dropped his hand like he'd been stung. "A PI, huh? I don't know how I feel about PIs, truth be told."

"Now, Jasper, don't start," Charlie said as she laid a napkin and flatware in front of Ryan.

"It's fine," Ryan assured her. "I'm used to it." Not all law enforcement officials appreciated his profession.

"See there? He's used to it," the sheriff said, moving his plate and cup to take the empty seat next to Ryan.

"That's no excuse," she said, on her way to refill someone's drink.

"You been a private investigator long?"

Ryan fixed his coffee to his liking. "Yes, several years."

The sheriff eyed Ryan over his mug. "You like the work?"

"I do. I like to help people."

Charlie put a plate of something delicious in front of him. "Here you go!"

"This looks great. Thanks!" he said, and she winked at him. Ryan savored his first bite and paid close attention to the conversation between Hart and the woman.

"How long 'til your parents come home, Charlie?" the sheriff asked her.

"A few more days, at least. School doesn't start for Jebb until late August. I know they need a relaxing vacation, but then again, Jasper ... who doesn't."

"You might have something there, girl. I'll sure be glad when your dad gets back. I can't stand that fella he hired."

"Jasper Hart! How can you talk about Clay like that? He's your cousin."

"He was Laura's cousin, God rest her soul," Jasper whispered. "That's why I can talk about him like that. If your dad don't hurry back soon, he ain't gonna have a store left. Nobody wants to deal with Clay; he's a bitter old man. See now, look what you did, missy, ruined my lunch." The sheriff pushed his plate away, then turned to Ryan. "And you! You've gone and upset my deputy, boy. Do you know what she's like when she's mad? Let's just say no one in Blue Creek is gonna want to talk to you after this."

"I certainly had no intention —"

"Now I gotta go find my deputy and try to calm her down," the sheriff said, getting up and putting a few bills on the counter. "Something's always setting her off these days, and I'm having a hard time —"

"Jasper," Charlie whispered. Something passed between the two, and Ryan couldn't help thinking there was more going on.

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Hormones — female hormones are my worst enemy! See you tomorrow, Charlie." He walked out the door after saying good-bye to some of the other customers.

The sheriff's words had been loaded; Ryan wanted to ask Charlie about their true meaning. He also wanted to ask about Fletcher, but the look on Charlie's face had him saving his breath. She wouldn't be divulging any secrets. With a sigh, he contented himself with finishing his lunch.

"That hit the spot," Ryan said after he cleared his plate. "I haven't had a decent meal in quite a while."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Charlie said, taking his dish away. "What time are you supposed to meet Alexandra?"

He checked his watch. "I should probably go now."

"I wouldn't be late if I were you." She smiled.

"Alexandra abhors tardiness."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

The house was immense and secluded. There was a large back porch, part of which was closed in, and a garage across from the main house with stairs leading to what Ryan assumed was an apartment. He parked his vehicle in the parking area, gathered his briefcase, and walked to the front door. The place was called Granny Vaughn's, but Alexandra McKay ran it. Should he knock? Shrugging, he opened the door and entered; it was a bed and breakfast after all.

The front hall looked like it had been remodeled to accommodate the enormous front desk, which took up the majority of the room. The wood was solid oak, stained dark rather than light, and it gave the room an elegance which Ryan appreciated. He smiled when he rang the small brass bell.

"Right on time," a rich, feminine voice said from behind him. "Mr. Keller, I presume?"

Ryan turned and stared, he knew he did, but who in his right mind wouldn't? If you took her hair out of its tight bun, she would be the exact image of the mermaid who had graced the cover of his grandmother's favorite fairy tale. The deep blue of her eyes reminded him of the ocean, which only added to the mental image. He couldn't look away. She lifted a slim red brow.

Ryan blinked a couple times, then held out his hand. "Yes, Ryan Keller, and you would be Ms. McKay." She nodded and took his hand. Hers was cool and all business, like the suit she wore. She let go of his hand and led him to a large office. He waited for her to take her seat before he sat in one of the empty chairs in front of the Queen Anne desk.

"I heard you met my sisters. I hope Fletcher didn't give you too hard a time. She's off today, so I know she didn't attempt to incapacitate you," Alex said, her lips quirking.

"What they say about small towns is true then; everybody knows everyone's business." Ryan shook his head and took a moment to study the woman in front of him. She was young; it had taken him a minute to get past the air of sophistication to see the youth beneath.

"What is it? You're staring at me and not in a flattering way."

"How old are you?" he blurted.

She narrowed her eyes and sat back in her chair. "I'm twenty-four. And before you ask, no, Charlie and I are not twins." She leaned forward. "How old are you?"

"I didn't mean to offend you." She and her sister were the same age but not twins? Ryan stored the information to review at a later time.

"You didn't, Ryan. May I call you Ryan?"

He ignored the desire to tug at his tie. "Yes, of course."

"I didn't find your question offensive. I do take the implication that my age makes me inexperienced or inferior to my elders offensive. I will have you know I am well educated and more than capable of my chosen career. You're not dealing with a child, Mr. Keller, I assure you." Alexandra inclined her head. "Now, all things being equal, how old are you?"

"I'll apologize again, Ms. McKay. I'm thirty-two, and people make that same assumption about me." And it rankled.

"It is rather upsetting, is it not? How about we get down to business?"

Ryan opened his briefcase and pulled out a pen and pad, then straightened in his seat. "Yes, let's begin."

Casey McKay was not having a good day. In fact, she was having a shitty day. She'd gotten fired. Fired! She sighed ... again. She didn't work well with upper management types. She had never been good with authority; her parents could attest to that.

She missed her folks and her little brother Jebb, the Bullfrog. It had been four months since their last visit, and she could tell the separation was wearing on them. Of course, Jebb told her how their mother would cry after every trip, then Pops would go and build her something special to cheer her up.

Casey touched the tiny wrench earring in her left ear; she had received the earrings as a gift from her mother years ago. They were her favorite, and she never wore anything else.

The old question rose in her mind once again: what would have happened if Savannah Walker hadn't come to Blue Creek? Would she still be talking to her sisters? Who knew. Maybe some questions were better off unanswered.

Here she was, no job and no family. Yep, life sucked. She lifted her finger to the bartender to order another beer. He put the bottle down in front of her and winked. She rolled her eyes; men were pigs. Unfortunately, women didn't do it for her.

She hadn't been back to Blue Creek since uncovering a monumental secret two of her sisters had been keeping. Betrayal was ugly, no matter what form it took. Casey had left the only real home she had ever known and never looked back. Well, not really. Okay, sometimes. Shit! Casey took a swig of beer. She should at least be honest with herself. She did think about it ... a lot.

Six years ago, she had taken the money she'd been saving for a new truck and leased her first apartment. She had dropped out of college and begun taking classes at a trade school instead. With her skills and knowledge about all things automotive, getting her certificate had been child's play.

She had always loved working on anything with an engine. She had a natural talent, so finding work had been a piece of cake. Staying employed, however, proved more difficult.

Okay, maybe she had a teeny, tiny temper. Casey didn't take well to people telling her how to do her job when she usually did it better than said party. She worked with men mostly, the pigs, and they didn't know how to accept a woman in their penis-dominated domain. Well, too damn bad.

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Excerpted from "The Secrets That Shape Us"
by .
Copyright © 2018 B. L. Wolfe.
Excerpted by permission of The Wild Rose Press, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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