The Echo on the Water (Sacred Trinity #2) Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Dark, Suspense Tags Authors: J.A. Huss Series: Sacred Trinity Series by J.A. Huss
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“Fuck off.” But when I turn away, I’m smiling. Because Rosie Harlow is a dramatic girl if ever there was one and my little plan to court her using costumes and personal ads is absolutely brilliant.

There ain’t another man alive who can compete with me now.

Igo inside my cottage, close the door, and rest my back against it so I can sigh. Then I fan myself with my hand. A stupid habit that I wish I hadn’t picked up, but up until Amon, it’s never been a literal gesture.

But boy, does that man ever make me hot.

Courtin’. In costumes! And he put an ad in my little paper—desperately seeking me. Everyone in Disciple is gonna see it this weekend. People in Bishop too. Though most of them don’t know Amon, so it’s not as big a deal.

The really fun part about all this—aside from the costumes, of course, and the inevitable removing of said costumes, of course, of course—is that I get to write him back in the Busybody.

I push off the door, walk over to the chaise, and start unhooking my corset, trying to think about how I would like to handle that. In the olden days, I guess they would’ve posted a letter and put in an ad. But that’s no fun for the paper. Readers want a correspondence. They want to watch the relationship develop. They want a wedding announcement, they want a baby announcement, they want updates. Like the kind some people send at Christmas time to relatives who live far away. I’ve never sent one of those, but I get one in the mail every year because Clover’s family always sends them out. Even back when they still lived in Disciple and everybody knew their business, they sent out one of those updates.

And people would roll their eyes like the Bradleys thought their family life was so damn fascinating it needed to be spelled out in detail at the end of every year.

But the fact is, the Bradleys are fascinating. Back then, they were the richest people in town and they owned that big old mansion. Well, they still do own it, but it’s been undergoin’ renovations for years now and the Bradleys moved away from Disciple right after Clover left for college.

She was the popular girl in school and she had horses. And all those woods to ride in. Everyone wanted to be Clover’s best friend because they wanted an invite to go horseback riding in the woods. Lowyn was Clover’s best friend. She got all the horse perks.

But anyway, the point is, her family was interesting so people didn’t mind reading that newsletter every year. I still look forward to it.

I take off both of my skirts so I’m just left wearing my drawers and camisole as I think about how I might plot out my literary romance with Amon Parrish, which will run side by side with the literal one, because a girl only gets the full-on swoony courtship treatment once in her life and⁠—

My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden flash of memory.

I pause in the middle of the room, squinting my eyes, trying to bring that memory into focus. The park. The forest. The waterfall. And that tree stump.

It’s not true. This isn’t the first time I’ve been properly courted. The first time was⁠—

I gasp right out loud, then turn, my eyes searching for the letters, even though I know they’re not here. I gave two of them to Amon so he could have them forensically tested and the third is still at my house.

I sit down on the chaise, suddenly light-headed.

The maze turned out to be a picture of a cross.

A cross.

How the hell did I not immediately make this connection? I mean, it was his last name! It’s what I named my son! And not only that, he was my first love and the only other time in my life that I was given the full-on swoony courtship treatment.

Erol.

He’s… back?

I stand up, whirl around, wishing for those letters so I can look at them. Why did I give them to Amon? Why?

Then I realize that I haven’t checked the mailbox here at the cottage. I rush outside, not even caring that I’m only wearing eighteenth-century undergarments, and practically skid to a stop at the mailbox. I close my eyes, take a breath, and then open it.

There is one letter.

I take it out and stare at the front of the envelope. My name is handwritten in a well-practiced all-caps style above my little Goosebeak Alley address.

I look around, realize the backyard ladies—and a few tourists—are all staring at me, then wave and smile and run back inside.

My body is all hot and my face all flushed, so I sit down on the chaise to give myself a moment. Because I am jumping to some pretty big conclusions here. I mean, more than likely it’s a stalker. Erol’s been gone for twelve years now. Why on earth would he suddenly come back? And if he was intent on coming back, why all these stupid worksheet letters written in code?

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