The electricity had gone out again, a frequent occurrence on these sparsely populated barrier islands of North Carolina. Without the reassuring lights of the development a quarter mile to the south, Taylor had no problem staying awake at her post. Darkness was for bats. Taylor preferred light. The only reason she had fled the comforting light of the campfire was Leon Gulley’s ghost stories.
She hated them.
She hated them even more now that Troy was dead. Taylor tucked in her chin and fought to keep it from quivering. Troy. Had it been only a year since she had collapsed to the floor of her office, a crushing pain in her chest, knowing the worst even before she received official word two days later? Only a year of days since her last stinging words to him came back to slash her heart? Go ahead, big man. Go on and get yourself killed. Have a great time!
The messenger? He was early. And if he didn't turn aside very soon, he would run his horse right into the giant oak ribs of a shipwreck beached on the shore.
But a force pushed at the door to her soul.
The horse caught her scent. It reared and spun, and in the rising moonlight, Taylor finally caught a clear glimpse of the rider.
Stupid! Stupid! I should have fired... Troy would have at least fired...