Chapters (42)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Epilogue
- A Note or Two from the Author
- Discussion Questions
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Praise for Carrie Stuart Parks
- Also by Carrie Stuart Parks
“My grandmother used to say . . . Never mind what she said. I’ve carried her enmity for far too long.” He crossed to the door, opened it, and threw the stone away as hard as he could.
I slowly joined him, pulling a lump of ore from my pocket—the one I’d found in the mine. I didn’t know why I’d kept this one all this time. You know why. I swallowed hard. It’s time.
I dropped the rock, crushed it into the ground with my prosthetic foot, then looked up at him. “What are those plans you have?”
“I think you know. Plans for a hope and a future.”
The End
A Note or Two from the Author
Whoa, you made it through another story. This time I wanted to try a bit of an Agatha Christy angle with elements of my usual forensic art and, of course, dogs! I hope and pray you enjoyed this book!
I also wanted to continue the story of members of Clan Firinn that started in Relative Silence. I invented Clan Firinn as a retreat and rehabilitation place for first responders based on my close friendships with so many in law enforcement. As a forensic artist, I experienced some of the truly awful things that happen in this fallen world. My heart goes out to those who are in the field.
Targhee (pronounced Tar-gee) is a real place—not the town but the location in Idaho. For this story I wanted to bring my experience growing up here on our ranch in Northern Idaho. My dad was a champion bareback bronc rider in college and grew up on a cattle ranch near American Falls, Idaho. Mom also grew up riding horses and my folks met in college at a mounted patrol club. When we moved to The Ranch (that’s all we ever called it) we had horses, cattle, and, of course, dogs. Dad taught me how to train horses and I spent my every waking moment on horseback or showing my dogs. I speak from experience when I describe getting thrown, bucked off, or falling off a horse. Also bitten, kicked, and stepped on. Growing up around horses is both wonderful and at times painful!
I’m always delighted to hear from my readers, and I answer your emails: [email protected].