In Search of Solace - MariaLisa deMora

Prologue

Myrtle

Stepping out of the stranger’s car, Myrt Sallabrook stared around the empty parking lot and campground. The sighing of the waves sounded through the scraggly trees, and the desire to see their incessant lapping against the shore ran wild in her veins. She waved goodbye to the elderly man, who drove off still shaking his head. As she’d shut the door, he’d claimed once again it didn’t sit right with him, leaving such a young girl here alone.

If he’d only known how her life had been for so long, he’d understand being alone wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to a body.

Hitching her unwieldy bag higher on her shoulder, she strode to the welcoming sunshine, ready to experience something new. Later, she’d find somewhere to lay her head, somewhere underneath the trees. Once set up like she imagined, the shelter would be hidden, and it would take someone looking intently to spot her.

Exactly what she wanted.

Chapter One

Vanna

“Honey, I’m home.”

Truck’s greeting never failed to bring a smile to Vanna’s face, and tonight was no different. He’d been away for a few days, visiting mutual friends in Texas. While they’d spoken on the phone frequently, hearing him through the crackling ether was no replacement for having his rich tone and reverberating sense of love wrap itself around her skin.

“In the kitchen,” she called back, raising her voice. She reached across the table to place her hand over the trembling one of the girl who sat opposite her. Speaking softly, she told the girl, “That’s my Truck, my husband, and exactly like I promised you, you’re safe with us, honey.” Lifting her voice again, Vanna gave him a couple seconds’ warning. “We’ve a visitor.”

He rounded the corner and came through the archway leading to the kitchen, glanced at the girl, then arrowed straight towards where Vanna sat. A moment later, she was off the chair and in his arms, his mouth on hers in a slow exploration that had her breaths coming choppy and quick, fingers tingling as she ran her hands through his hair and cupped the back of his neck, holding him to her.

“My God, woman. I missed you.” The soft scratch of his beard across her cheek was familiar, as was the strength in the arms that held her close. He brushed a kiss along her jaw, the tender gesture followed by a gentle nip at her earlobe. “Glad to be home.” Truck settled her in alongside him, one arm curved around her back as they turned to face the table where the girl sat. “Hey,” he said gruffly, and Vanna felt his tension zing through her, transferring as if by magic from where his hand gripped her hip. “The fuck?” The breathed expletive told her he’d taken in the girl, every bruised inch of her.

Earlier this morning, Vanna had been headed towards a loop trail she enjoyed hiking, singing along to the oldies on the radio as she drove. Pulling into the trailhead parking lot, she’d noted a crude shelter built just beyond the edge of the surrounding woods. More a tarp than a tent, it was secured in an amateurish fashion, with what looked like strips of cloth tying it to low-hanging tree limbs. It would do nothing to block wind or rain; a stiff breeze would likely loft it and tear the tarp loose from its moorings.

On the bare ground underneath had been a figure, and with the lack of a cook or fire ring nearby, Vanna wondered if it was a city homeless person, thinking to escape the rat race for a time. The only problem with that idea was homeless were typically dependent on the kindness of others for assistance, needing folks around to survive. Out here, they were alone. With Vanna’s the only car in the lot, she’d known from experience—barring a surprise visit from an out-of-towner—it would stay that way.

So she’d approached carefully, because she was a woman alone, but with kindness in her tone, hoping to keep from frightening whoever was bundled up in the pile of fabric visible under the tarp.

“Hello? Hey, there. I’m only here to hike, but I thought I’d check on you and make sure you’re doing okay. You got everything you need?” Vanna stopped about ten yards from the makeshift tent. Her car was unlocked only a few strides behind her. Between that proximity, the fact the figure was on the ground, and the small cannister of mace on the keyring still in her hand, she thought

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