Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized
reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any
form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden,
without the written permission of the author, Grace Greene.

This is a work of fiction. Characters,
settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear
no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings and/or
occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

A STRANGER IN
WYNNEDOWER

Love and suspense with a dash of Southern Gothic....

Rachel Sevier, a
thirty-two year old inventory specialist, travels to Wynnedower Mansion in
Virginia to find her brother who has stopped returning her calls. Instead, she
finds Jack Wynne, the mansion’s bad-tempered owner. He isn’t happy to meet her.
When her brother took off without notice, he left Jack in a lurch.

Jack has his own plans.
He’s tired of being responsible for everyone and everything. He wants to shake
those obligations, including the old mansion. The last thing he needs is
another complication, but he allows Rachel to stay while she waits for her
brother to return.

At Wynnedower, Rachel
becomes curious about the house and its owner. If rumors are true, the means to
save Wynnedower Mansion from demolition are hidden within its walls, but the
other inhabitants of Wynnedower have agendas, too. Not only may Wynnedower’s
treasure be stolen, but also the life of its arrogant master.

In letting go of what
she has struggled to control and hold onto, will Rachel gain more than she
could have dreamed? Or will she lose everything and everyone she cares about?

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated
to families—first born, middle child, baby of the family, parents and those who
perform the role of parenting, grandparents, extended family, ancestors and
generations yet to come. Through a miracle of ‘heart chemistry,’ our loved ones
and memories make the places and structures in which we live, our HOME.

HOME. It isn’t
necessarily under one roof, but rather a place represented by the capacity of
our hearts, a place that isn’t truly home without the people who matter to us.
HOME is the place for which you’ll risk everything to keep it and the loved
ones who fill it, safe and sound, and they’ll do the same for you.

It takes some of us a
little longer than others to find our HOME, but when you do, you know it. And
that’s my wish for my readers ~ may you find your true HOME and be blessed by
the treasure within.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

My love and sincere
appreciation to my husband and family for their support—you are my HOME.

Other books by Grace Greene

BEACH RENTAL

KINCAID’S HOPE

Chapter One

Rachel Sevier stared at
the monstrous stone house, and its rows of blank, dirty windows stared back.

She’d driven from
Baltimore to Virginia, to this area called Goochland. After leaving the
interstate, there’d been a pocket of shiny new construction—a small shopping
center and houses—but that snippet of civilization was quickly gone and then she
was deep in the woods.

Jeremy had given her
directions: drive until the trees crowd in close and the road looks like it’s
about to end, then keep driving. She had.

Wynnedower Mansion,
built of gray stone and mellow wood, looked out of place, as if a giant hand
had plucked it from the gently rolling hills of England, dropped it into this
clearing, and left it to rot amid honeysuckle vines and Virginia creeper.

Not quite what she’d
expected. To her, the word ‘mansion’ meant something a little more upscale.

Gnats swarmed in the
humidity. Rachel shooed them away. Hers was the only car here, and there was no
one else, including Jeremy, anywhere in sight.

Several weeks ago, with
graduation barely behind him, he’d told her he was taking a job at Wynnedower
as a caretaker. He already had a real job in Richmond and was supposed to be
preparing for graduate studies, but he wanted to be independent.
It’s a
great deal, Rachel,
he’d said
.
No rent in exchange for part-time
caretaking.

Caretaking? Really? She
adored her baby brother, six-foot-two, golden-haired and smart—so different
from her own appearance that no one believed they were related until they saw
their eyes. There was no mistaking their unusual eye color. But handsome or
not, he wasn’t trained in security and had no handyman skills. The worst of it
was he’d stopped returning her calls two weeks ago, right after he told her
he’d met a girl. He’d said it in that special way in which
girl
didn’t
just mean girl—it meant everything bright and shiny and worth living for.

It was a big sister’s
job to inject reality and practicality and she’d done her duty. He hadn’t
appreciated it, and it wasn’t the first time they’d disagreed, but he’d never
stopped talking to her before.

Finally, she gave in to
worry and moved up her visit. Luckily, the change in timing worked for her
current job and for the new job she hoped to get, but she needed to find her
brother before she could get on with her plans.

She tucked her cell
phone and keys into the pockets of her suit jacket and locked her purse in the
car.

Scraggly bushes
obscured the ground level of the house. A wide stairway bypassed that level and
led to the main floor. Rachel paused at the entrance. A broken doorbell dangled
by a wire. She settled for knocking.

There was no shade on
the porch. She tapped her shoe, tugged at the neck of her blouse and fanned the
front of her jacket. She should’ve waited until after she’d arrived before
getting into this suit.

The suit was out of
place here. Dressy and expensive, it was not in the budget, but it made a bold
statement and was perfect for the event she planned to attend in Richmond that
evening. She straightened her skirt, brushed off a speck of lint, and knocked
again.

No answer. She tested
the knob, barely touching it, yet the door swung slowly inward on silent
hinges.

The foyer was the size
of her apartment living room, but without a stick of furniture or decoration. Ahead,
a wide opening led to a larger room.

She leaned inside and
called out, “Jeremy?”

Her voice traveled
through unseen rooms and echoed back emptiness.

Rachel stepped inside
and eased the front door closed. As she crossed the bare wood of the foyer her
heels clattered. No one had responded to her call; she was surely alone here.
Even so, she removed her shoes and tucked them under her arm.

This room was vast and
high-ceilinged. The walls were a mess of half-stripped wallpaper and dingy
paint, and none of the work looked recent, but the air was surprisingly,
deliciously cool. She paused to soak it in. To her right, a wide staircase
climbed halfway to the second floor, did a U-turn and continued upward.

Did she dare?

She’d risk anything for
Jeremy.

Dark wood balusters led
the way. Upstairs, doors and shadowy alcoves ringed a spacious landing. A
hallway continued onward, but she didn’t follow it because the only light
filtered up by way of the stairs. The doors on the landing each presented the
same paneled surface with faceted glass door knobs set into cast iron plates.

She turned the knob of
the nearest door. Locked. The door directly across was locked, too. She stooped
to peer through the keyhole.

A gruff shout jolted
her. “What are you doing?”

He was a tall man,
broad and unshaven, with long, unruly black hair. His jeans were rumpled and
worn, and marred by paint smears. He wore an unbuttoned, wrinkled cotton shirt
over a white t-shirt.

Rachel stumbled back a
few steps, then steadied herself. She pointed her spiked heels at him. “Who are
you?”

The dark hall deepened
the shadows beneath his brows, making his face impossible to read. She felt his
eyes take in her shoes, her suit, then drop down to her nearly bare feet. She
felt even shorter than she was.

“You’re trespassing.
Get out,” he said, his voice rough and uncompromising.

“Is Jeremy Sevier
here?”

“If you’re a jilted
girlfriend, that’s not my problem. If you’re hunting antiques, you’re a
looter.”

“Looter?” Outrage
pushed her fear aside. “I’m his sister. Where’s Jeremy?”

“Sister? He didn’t
leave a note. Get out.” He turned and walked toward the alcove.

“Wait, tell me what you
mean. He left? Why?”

He looked back and
glared. “Ask him when you find him.”

“You said he didn’t
leave a note. What did you mean?”

“What I said. He didn’t
notify the property management company he was leaving, so unless he sends a
postcard from wherever, I don’t expect to hear from him.”

Fear curled up hard and
cold in her belly. “How can you be sure he simply left?”

“What?”

“That something didn’t
happen to him?”

BOOK: A Stranger in Wynnedower

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