Trouble in Paradise - Hatcher, Robin Lee
Trouble in Paradise
Robin Lee Hatcher
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Robin Lee Hatcher
It is pleasant to see dreams come true, but fools will not turn from evil to attain them.
—Proverbs 13:19
Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you your heart’s desires.
—Psalms 37:4
To the CdA gals—great friends, great writers, great prayer warriors—who know plenty about trouble on this earth but who look forward, like me, to eternity in Paradise.
Chapter 1
1999
Nat O'Connell knew almost everyone in Rainbow Valley, having lived there all his life, but he hadn’t yet been introduced to his new neighbor. And as he watched the petite young woman pacing back and forth across the dilapidated deck of the old Erickson cabin, muttering to herself and stabbing the air with a huge butcher knife, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know her.
Was she rehearsing a murder? That’s what it looked like to him.
Common sense demanded that he turn Blue around and ride back to the ranch house. Curiosity made him stay. Besides, how dangerous could she be? She might be as mad as a March hare, but she couldn’t outrun his horse.
She paused, shouted some words he couldn’t quite make out, then switched the knife to her left hand and thrust it through the air again.
Nat had known some screwball people in his life, but this gal beat anything he ever laid eyes on.
Suddenly she turned the blade’s point toward herself, holding the hilt with both hands. Then she yanked it into her chest. With a painful cry, she fell backward onto the porch where she lay perfectly still.
Shocked into action, Nat dug his heels into the gelding’s sides and rode forward at a gallop. He vaulted to the ground even as Blue slid to a halt in front of the cabin.
The woman sat straight up before Nat’s boots hit the first step. Her eyes widened as she squealed in alarm, “Who are you?” As she jumped to her feet, the butcher knife clattered to the deck. “What do you want?” Her gaze darted to the knife, then back to him.
Her fearful questions brought Nat to an abrupt halt. He could tell she was weighing the risk of grabbing for the dropped weapon. There was no doubt in his mind that, frightened or not, she would use it if she had to.
“It’s okay.” He raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “I thought you were hurt. I just wanted to help.”
She didn’t look quite as crazy now as she had a few moments before. Odd, maybe, in her oversized, bright purple-and-yellow tie-dyed T-shirt, her cutoff jeans with the frayed hems and her curly brown hair pulled into a bushy ponytail. Odd, but not crazy.
“Are you Miss Vincent? Shayla Vincent?”
Wariness remained in her dark blue eyes as she replied, “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I saw your notice over at the Rainbow Laundromat. For secretarial or housekeeping work? That’s why I came to see you.”
“You’re looking for an experienced secretary?” She seemed to relax a little.
“No, a housekeeper.” Cautiously he stepped onto the deck and offered his hand. “I’m Nat O’Connell. I own Paradise Ranch.”
She shook his proffered hand. Her grip was firm for such a tiny gal.
“I guess that makes us neighbors,” she said.
He nodded. “That it does.”
She observed him in silence a moment longer, then released his hand. “I must be honest with you, Mr. O’Connell. The only reason I’m looking for work is so I can afford to make repairs to my cabin. Once they’re done, I’ll give my notice. I came from Portland to write a novel, not to clean other people’s houses.”
“You’re a writer?”
She nodded, then smiled wryly. “Well, I hope to be. I’ve just started my first book. It’s a murder mystery.”
Understanding dawned, and Nat chuckled.
“It isn’t that preposterous, Mr. O’Connell.” Her smile turned to a scowl. “I can write, I assure you.”
“I’m sorry.” He tried to look serious. “I wasn’t laughing because I thought you couldn’t be a writer. It was … well … when I saw you stab yourself, I thought you might be…” He tried to think of a polite word for insane—loco, crazy, nuts. Nothing came to him that seemed any better, so he let it drop. “Anyway, now I understand what you were doing with that knife.”
She smiled again, presumably seeing the humor in the scene he described. “It must have looked kind of weird at that. I was trying to figure