Unforgettable. Rhonda Nelson

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      “And John will be here Friday?”

      “Right, and he’s outfitted as well for his part.”

      Trudy chuckled. “I can’t wait to see that.”

      “Me either,” Faith replied with a reluctant smile. Her editor, John Wallace, would play the part of Nash. Faith’s lips quirked. He resembled her hunky Nash about as much as she resembled Zoe, so they were even on that score. Faith heaved a small sigh.

      Bears, bobcats and big scary teeth aside, she didn’t doubt for a moment that the whole experience would be exciting. Though she was anxious, she still looked forward to stepping into her alter ego’s shoes, at least for a little while. Of course, she would look forward to it more if she could shake this curious sense of foreboding. For reasons that escaped her, she felt…weird. Braced. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

      Which was ridiculous, when she had Type-A Trudy along. Faith cast her good friend and assistant a covert sidelong glance.

      Trudy—while she had to be one of the most melodramatic people Faith had ever known—was profoundly efficient. Trudy wouldn’t stand for any sort of chaos, any flaw, any wrinkle. She was a short, spunky dynamo in pumps, and could bark orders better than a drill sergeant when the need arose.

      She was worrying needlessly, Faith decided, forcing the tension from her limbs. Everything would be fine.

      “Well, I think that covers everything,” Trudy finally said, having deemed them suitably prepared. “This is going to be fantastic. You’ll be fantastic.” Her lips curled in a knowing little grin. “You’re more like Zoe than you think, you know.”

      Faith grunted, directed her gaze out the window. Not hardly, but she wasn’t going to waste her breath arguing the point.

      After what felt like several more miles up the winding mountain, past beautiful vistas and rocky meandering streams, Trudy pulled the SUV through a stacked-stone-and-cedar arch that bore the name Oak Crest Lodge. “Ah, we’re here,” she said needlessly.

      The large A-frame stacked-stone-and-cedar building blended in so seamlessly with the surroundings it gave the impression of sprouting from the ground, much as the trees did. Colorful leaves dotted the roof, lined the gutters and spilled over the long, weather-beaten front porch. Mossy patches and mushrooms grew along the foundation, crept up through the fissures in the broken rock.

      Potted ferns and mums in varying fall shades were planted in old washtubs, barrels and watering cans, and sat in no particular order on the porch. Grapevine wreaths graced the huge, rounded, rough-cut cedar doors.

      Faith undid her seat belt as the SUV rolled to a stop, and quietly considered the place. A funny feeling, not easily read, tingled in her chest, making her shift in her seat. Beside her, Trudy rambled excitedly.

      Though she’d never been here before in her life and this lodge didn’t remotely resemble her modern, two-story brick home back in trendy Brentwood, Faith had the strangest feeling of homecoming, for lack of a better description. That same feeling one got when seeing an old, treasured, but seldom-seen friend.

      Which was equally impossible and insane.

      Though she’d led a nomadic life during her childhood—her late parents had thought moving was a grand adventure and never stayed in one place long enough to put down roots—Faith knew they’d never traveled to this part of the state, much less stayed at this particular lodge. Honestly, Faith thought. What was wrong with her today?

      Feeling ridiculous and out of sorts, she shook the feeling off, got out of the car and stretched. Her muscles had bunched in the small of her back, and her legs felt like lead.

      “God, isn’t this the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?” Trudy enthused, her voice high-pitched with wonder. “The pictures simply didn’t do it justice.” She threw her head back and drew in a deep breath. “Oh, the air is so crisp and clean. This is simply fantastic.”

      Faith had to agree. It was spectacular. The overall mood of the place seemed cozy and warm. A little careworn here and there, needing a little TLC, Faith decided, eyeing the full gutters. Still, she was instantly enchanted. The place just inspired—

      A flash of something big and black caught her eye, making her pause, midstretch. That cloak of foreboding she hadn’t been able to shake tightened imperceptibly around her throat, and a skitter of alarm whispered over her nape, making her scalp prickle.

      Faith slowly turned and in the nanosecond it took for her brain to assimilate just exactly what she was looking at—what horrifying monstrosity was barreling toward her at breakneck, slobber-spewing speed—her muscles froze with terror, locking her in place. She could barely draw a breath, much less move.

      So she screamed.

      Then fainted.

      2

      LEX ELLENBURG’S HEAD jerked up as an earsplitting scream suddenly rent the air. Oh, hell. Not Pooh again, Lex thought as a ball of dread ricocheted around his abdomen. Not Pooh, dammit. He didn’t have time to deal with another lecture from the park rangers—he had too many other pressing problems to deal with.

      Like keeping his fledgling lodge afloat.

      He buried the ax into a log and raced to the front of the building. The young bear had been coming around a lot more lately and, while most of his guests were regulars and knew of Pooh’s penchant for wandering about the lodge grounds, there was always a newbie who would see him and squeal like a wounded hog.

      Then report him.

      While Lex believed Pooh too tame to be a real threat to anyone, he was still a wild animal and animals could always be unpredictable. Lex snorted. Like women.

      He rounded the corner and breathed a palpable sigh of relief. Not Pooh, thank God. Only Beano. Granted, the giant black lab had pinned a small woman to the ground, but she clearly wasn’t in any danger of being mauled to death. Lex’s lips twisted. The worst Beano could do was drown her in doggy drool. Still, his dog knocking guests to the ground couldn’t be good for business.

      “Beano!” Lex bellowed sharply. “Off!”

      “Off!” cried another woman, this one desperately trying to haul the giant dog off her friend. She might as well be trying to move a mountain with a spoon, for all the good it was doing. “Get off her, you great ox!” When she spied Lex, her face wilted with relief. “Thank God. Call him off. Get him off her!”

      Tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, Beano turned his soulful dark brown eyes toward Lex and seemed to say, “Look what I found. A new toy.”

      It was at that precise moment that Lex realized the woman on the ground seemed unnaturally still. She made no effort to shove the dog from her chest, and she wasn’t screaming. Not a good sign. He mentally swore and a whole new kind of tension tightened his spine.

      Pulse hammering in his ears, Lex rushed to her side, dropped to his knees, shoved the dog off her chest—“Off, dammit!”—and checked for any visible injuries. The worried friend crouched beside him, took the woman’s hand and gently shook it. “Faith? Faith? Oh, Faith!” she cried.

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