Have you ever avoided something only to discover that facing it head-on was the only way to walk through it? I know I have. This is when I’m reminded that I need to trust in God.
When I start writing a new series, like Quail Hollow, I have an idea where I’m going, but sometimes the creative process of writing leads me off in another direction. Deputy Becky Spoth walked onto the page in Plain Jeopardy to help keep Grace safe, and suddenly I knew she needed a story of her own. Please keep an eye out for Becky’s story next from me with Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense.
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Live, love, laugh,
Alison Stone
Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.
—John 14:27
To my eldest daughter, Kelsey, as you get ready for your next adventure. I’m very proud of you. May all your dreams come true. Love and kisses.
To Scott and the rest of the gang, love you guys, always and forever.
Contents
The traction-control light lit up on the dashboard, and Grace Miller clutched the steering wheel tighter. The tires quickly gained purchase on the snowy country road. Phew. Not as icy as she’d feared. All she needed to do was leave a little extra distance between her car and the car in front of hers, which wasn’t too hard to do on the deserted streets of Quail Hollow, New York. Not a lot of cars—or wagons—out after dark. Most people were hunkered down at home doing sane things like watching TV or reading a book, not chasing leads on a story on a snowy night in the Amish community.
Grace reached across and touched the crumpled handwritten note she had tossed onto the passenger seat.
I have info about drinking party. Meet at gas station. Main and Lapp. 8 p.m. Get gas while your there.
She could forgive the writer’s misuse of the word your if it meant she had a new lead on a story that had, so far, produced nothing more than what had already been published in regional papers or played on the local TV stations out of Buffalo.
Grace had been surprised to find the handwritten note taped to the front door of her sister’s bed & breakfast. She wondered why they hadn’t knocked. She had been home alone most of the day, except for the window of time when Eli Stoltz, her sister’s Amish neighbor, stopped by to care for the horses.
That would have been too easy. Instead, the author of the note had insisted on a clandestine meeting at a random location on a freezing night. Making her get out in the cold and pump gas, no less.
Already
