Page 2 of Haystacks and Hoaxes

She didn’t need to look like a future vice president, only like someone who knew her way around a sketchpad with a pen.

Even though she’d attached a handful of sample sketches to her Lonestar application, she grabbed her newest sketchpad on her way out the door. It contained her latest drawings in the event Rock Hefner asked to see more of her work. It was equally possible she might find something she wanted to sketch before returning to herhome sweet home.

She was squeezed into a minuscule, one-bedroom apartment that was under four hundred square feet, including the closets. However, she’d managed to rent a spot on the second floor with a lake view that so many of the locals coveted.

Myself included.

Her stepbrother would probably be less than thrilled when he found out she could see his posh, Mediterranean style mansion from the tiny balcony off her living room — but only if she squinted hard enough at the distant foothills where it was tucked, and only during the winter time when the trees became bare like they were now.

As she stepped into the living room, she gave his ostentatious home a mocking, two-fingered salute.Prepare to be boarded, captain.Though she’d yet to receive an invitation to his mountain fortress, she was about to storm into his life through the back door of Lonestar Security.

It was cold enough to make her shiver when she headed outside. Since she’d splurged on an apartment with a lake view, she’d chosen not to splurge on covered parking. Instead, she’d parked her stripped-down SUV out in the elements. Once upon a time, it had been an Escalade, but it was missing most of the stuff that made it an Escalade, including its sound system and back seats. It was a set of wheels, though, and it ran well. For that, she was grateful. Her stepbrother had lent it to her after her car had been totaled. Well, technically, it was after her second car had been totaled, but who was counting? Besides him, of course. And her mother, who never stopped bemoaning what she referred to as her daughter’s seat-of-the-pants approach to life.

Joke’s on both of you!Mila couldn’t wait to prove just how wrong they were about her. So far, she hadn’t toldeither of them about the scholarship she’d secured to return to college or the new certification she’d earned with it.

But you’re about to find out.

She had to yank harder than usual on the door handle of the Escalade. It made a crackling sound as it opened, since it had been frozen shut. According to Decker, the enormous, cave-like vehicle was armored and therefore indestructible (extra emphasis on theeven-you-can’t-destroy-itpart). He hadn’t been kidding. During the past two weeks alone, it had been rained on, hailed on, and sleeted on; and not so much as a single pockmark mottled its sleek black paint.

Unless he insisted, she might never give it back to him. She felt too safe while driving it — so much safer than she had in her last tiny coupe that had gotten t-boned at a stoplight.

Not my fault.Even though Decker had acted like it was. He’d become downright snobby after leaving the rodeo circuit — starting a security business with a friend, getting elected to the town council, and snagging a filthy rich Remington for a bride.

For every reason she could think of, it was probably best not to show up too early for her interview and risk a run-in with him.

It left her with an hour to burn, so she drove in the opposite direction of Lonestar Security, working her way counterclockwise around the lake. Beyond the lake were a few subdivisions. She cruised past them and struck out into cattle country.

Fenced-in pastures lined the road on both sides. Her heart twisted with melancholy as she approached theghostly remains of Monty Chester’s farm. She slowed her speed to look her fill of the tall, weathered log entrance.

In the past, the iron gate had been propped open, a silent invitation to passers-by to enter and stay a spell. Not today. The gate was shut and secured by a chain and padlock. It looked as uninviting as someone standing there, screaming for her to keep out.

She greatly missed sweet ol’ Mr. Monty Chester in his cheery Santa suits and other costumes. In disturbing contrast, whoever had inherited or purchased his place was about as friendly as a rattlesnake.

In a burst of defiance, she pulled in front of the locked gate and parked there. She had so many wonderful memories of the farm — visiting it, meeting its delightful owner, and eventually becoming one of his most faithful volunteers. It felt wrong to now be locked out, looking over the fence from the other side. She wanted back in. Oh, how she wanted back into the one place in this miserable, backwoods town where she’d actually been happy!

Peering through the windshield, she could see no sign of life beyond the gate. No hired hands to waylay with questions. Not so much as a stray cat slinking around.Guess this is as far as I can go.As long as she stayed in the vehicle, no one could accuse her of trespassing.

I hope.

Since she didn’t have unlimited time to spare, she kept her motor idling as she pulled out her sketchpad and propped it against her steering wheel. Grabbing a pencil from the console, she nibbled on the end of it for a few seconds.

Trying not to think about how vacant the farmhouse looked, she reimagined what the place had been like while Monty Chester was still alive. Maybe it was her way ofcoping with the grief of knowing that she’d never step through another one of his corn mazes. Or maybe it was because she’d picked her last pumpkin from his massive, two-acre patch, ridden on his last hayride, and served her last mug of hot apple cider at his snack shack. Sighing, she lowered the tip of her pencil to the blank page. The skeletal remains of what had once been the happiest patch of land in Heart Lake began to take shape.

She drew a backdrop of winter sky touching down to the field in front of where she was parked. A few flicks of her pencil tip added the wind gusting crisply off the mountains. She added tall, dry grasses leaning sideways in the wind, extra tall haystacks, and the not-so-square walls of the old farmhouse rising in the middle of it all. Though the haystacks were turning grayish brown, they hadn’t yet rotted enough to reveal the cages Monty Chester’s staff had constructed beneath them. They weren’t really haystacks. Only the outsides of them were covered with hay. Inside were cozy little havens from the wind, complete with picnic tables where families had been welcome to sit while they sipped on hot chocolate, coffee, and apple cider.

A puff of smoke caught her eye, drawing her attention back to the farmhouse. Though the smoke hadn’t been present when she’d first driven up, it was there now — puffing sideways to the left of the chimney, probably since that was the direction the wind was blowing. The little white puffs reminded her of the smoke rings blown by the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. Someone was clearly inside the farmhouse.

Guess the place isn’t vacant after all.

It might as well have been, though. The curtains in the front windows were pulled closed. One end of the porch swing had come loose and was danglingagainst the floor. An old urn was lying on its side, anchored in the dirt that had once held a cheerful collection of daisies.

Time flew by like it always did while she was sketching. A hasty glance at the clock on the dashboard told her she’d finally killed enough of it.

Gotta get to my interview.

Excitement coursed through her as she reached for her cell phone. She typed an excuse to her mother to explain her forthcoming failure to show up at the airport.

Got a last-minute job interview. I’ll pay you back for the cruise. Bon voyage!

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