Whispers of You, page 1
WHISPERS OF YOU
CATHERINE COWLES
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Holt
2. Wren
3. Holt
4. Wren
5. Holt
6. Wren
7. Holt
8. Wren
9. Holt
10. Wren
11. Holt
12. Wren
13. Holt
14. Wren
15. Holt
16. Wren
17. Holt
18. Wren
19. Holt
20. Wren
21. Holt
22. Wren
23. Holt
24. Wren
25. Holt
26. Wren
27. Holt
28. Wren
29. Holt
30. Wren
31. Holt
32. Wren
33. Holt
34. Wren
35. Holt
36. Wren
37. Holt
38. Wren
39. Holt
40. Wren
41. Holt
42. Wren
43. Holt
44. Wren
45. Holt
46. Wren
47. Holt
48. Wren
Epilogue
Enjoy this Extended Preview of Echoes of You
Prologue
1. Maddie
Acknowledgments
Also Available From Catherine Cowles
About Catherine Cowles
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Margo Lipschultz
Copy Editor: Chelle Olson
Proofreading: Julie Deaton and Jaime Ryter
Paperback Formatting: Stacey Blake, Champagne Book Designs
Cover Design: Hang Le
Cover Photography: Braadyn Penrod
For Megan.
Thank you for believing in me and my stories from day one. For reading each and always encouraging and supporting. I love you to the moon and back, dearest cuz, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.
PROLOGUE
WREN
PAST
My eyes narrowed as I took in my nemesis. My head lowered as if I were dipping my hat in one of those old Westerns. I swore the beast was mocking me. “Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t burn.”
The chicken and vegetables in the roasting pan didn’t respond. They never did. They made their displeasure known by blackening to a crisp, no matter what I tried.
I’d been practicing for weeks. Every time I showed up at the meat market again, Sal would give me a sympathetic smile and move to the back to get me another chicken. He’d tried time and time again to give me tips. He’d even printed out recipes and removed the giblets for me.
I was getting better. But the results, while edible, still didn’t taste all that good. Whispering a barely audible prayer, I opened the oven and slid the roasting pan inside. I closed the door and pressed my hand to it as I shut my eyes. “Please, please, please.”
Roasted chicken and mashed potatoes were Holt’s favorite meal. When I’d asked his mom for the recipe, she’d given me a soft smile, her eyes glowing. “It’s a family recipe. Passed down from my great-grandmother. But I know it’ll be in good hands with you.”
I worried the side of my lip as I stared at the oven. The familiar squeeze around my lungs took root. I wanted so badly to get it right. Perfect.
If Holt were here right now, he’d probably press his lips to the top of my head and tell me to breathe. That the intention behind the action was what mattered, not the outcome. Then he’d eat the worst blackened bird if it meant a smile stretching across my face.
As if I’d conjured him with my thoughts alone, my phone rang on the counter—a tone that was only his. It wasn’t as if I needed a special one for Holt. I could count on one hand the number of people who called me on a regular basis.
Holt. His sister, Grae. Two other friends from school. My grandma.
Certainly not my parents, who took off every chance they got, traveling to so many places I couldn’t keep track. As I reached for my phone, I tried to remember if it was a conference in Cincinnati or Chicago they’d gone off to this weekend.
My mouth curved as I lifted my phone. The photo that flashed on the screen was my favorite—Holt’s arms wrapped around me, his lips pressed to my temple, and his deep blue eyes shining. The cheesy grin on my face said it all: My happiest place was always in his arms.
I slid my thumb across the screen. “I hope you’re not calling because you had to rescue a kitten in a tree, and now you’re going to be late.”
Holt’s chuckle skated across the line. It was deeper than it had been when we’d gotten together two years ago. A sound that sent a pleasant shiver skating across my skin.
That was the gift of knowing someone all your life. You got to see every incarnation of them. I had a lifetime of chuckles to play over and over—from little boy to teenager to man. I got to hear the way age sank into that sound and made it husky.
“Not gonna be late, Cricket. I’m just calling to see if you needed me to pick up anything at the store on my way over.”
I scanned the kitchen. It was a wreck, but I had time to set it back to rights. “I think I’m good. Just need you.”
“That’s the way it’ll always be.”
There was a warmth in his voice that soothed so many of my rough edges. The ones caused by missing-in-action parents and living all but alone in an empty house. The ones of never feeling good enough, no matter how high my grades were or how many extracurriculars I participated in. With Holt, I could simply be.
“I like the sound of that,” I said softly.
Voices sounded in the background. “That’s Nash. I told him I’d help him with his bike.”
The voices grew. It was the typical cacophony of the Hartley household. With four brothers and one sister, their house was always barely contained chaos. I loved it. It was so different from the sterile silence of mine.
“Tell him hey.”
“Little Williams, release my brother’s balls for ten minutes, would you?” Nash called.
There was a scuffle and a grunt.
“Shit, Holt. That hurt.”
Holt let out a low growl. “That’s what happens when you’re an ass.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips.
“Heard that, Wren,” Nash shot back. “And I won’t forget that you laughed at my pain.”
“Sorry, Nash Bash,” I said, loudly enough for him to hear across the line.
“Don’t apologize to that moron,” Holt said.
“Loveable moron,” Nash yelled, his voice moving away from the phone.
Another laugh bubbled out of me.
Holt sighed. “Sorry about that.”
“He’s harmless.” The truth was, I loved feeling like I was a part of the Hartley clan. Nash’s teasing. Grae’s steadfast friendship. Lawson’s protective big-brother act. Even Roan’s scowls in my direction. I loved that they treated me as one of theirs.
“As harmless as a two-by-four to the head,” Holt grumbled. “I’d better go help him, or I’ll never get to my girl.”
That warmth was back. Spreading. Sinking deep into the places that were only his. I pitched my voice low. “Holt?”
“Hmm?” His footsteps told me he was already moving toward the massive garage on the Hartleys’ property.
“This is one night you don’t want to be late.” My voice held a husky promise.
Holt’s steps halted. “Cricket…”
A flutter took root in my belly. “Just don’t be late.”
The list of things that typically kept Holt from running on time was endless. A mama duck was trying to cross the street, and he had to stop traffic so she and her babies could get there safely. He couldn’t find his keys. He’d searched high and low until he found them in the door to his truck. But the most common was that he’d gone out with his dad on a search and rescue call. He’d forget to text, and Grae would inevitably have to let me know where he’d gone.
I couldn’t begrudge him any of it because his reasons were always so good. He was so good. That was Holt. Easily distracted but with the best heart. And I’d love that heart until the day I died.
“I won’t be late.” Holt’s voice was low and full of promise.
That heat inside me sparked and twisted. “See you soon.”
“Soon, Cricket.”
The line went silent, but I kept the phone pressed to my ear as if I could still hear the strains of the voice I knew better than my own curling around me. There was little I loved more than my nickname slipping from his lips.
My mouth curved at the memories of him picking it up. We’d been playing Ghost in the Graveyard, and I’d been scared out of my mind when it was my turn to hide, my heart hammering so hard against my ribs that I’d trembled.
When Holt had snuck up on me,
He’d come to mean safety to me long before we ever became a couple. Looked out for me since before I could walk. But it was more than that. There was no place I felt more at peace than with Holt by my side.
I gripped the phone tighter, holding it to my chest as a million memories ran through my mind. I was ready. I didn’t want the cliché of losing my virginity to Holt in a hotel room after his senior prom next month. I didn’t want our first time to be in his dorm room when he left Cedar Ridge for the University of Washington next fall, worried his roommate might come home at any moment. I wanted special. Him and me.
Pushing off the counter, I started for the stairs and took them two at a time. As I rounded the corner and moved into my room, I studied the space with new eyes, assessing if it was too juvenile.
I’d never felt the two-year gap between Holt and me more than now that he was headed to school. He would only be a few hours away, but it felt like he’d be on another planet. I let out a shaky breath.
The distance didn’t matter. What Holt and I had? It was made to last. We’d been through too much together—the highs and the lows, the everyday and the extraordinary. Birthdays and holidays. Issues with parents and almost losing Grae. Campouts and Hartley family dinners. Our whole lives were forever entwined.
I had all the incarnations of his chuckle, and I wasn’t letting go.
With that thought, I moved to the shower. I didn’t put on music like I usually did. I let the memories of Holt cascade over me as I washed my hair and then dried it. As I painstakingly put on makeup that accentuated my hazel eyes, making them seem greener. As I slipped into my favorite sundress—the one I knew Holt loved.
I grabbed my phone and checked the time. A soft laugh bubbled out of me. Fifteen minutes late. But I knew Holt—sometimes better than I knew myself. So, I’d accounted for that. The chicken still had thirty minutes left to cook.
A car door slammed, and a flurry of sensations skittered through my chest. I hurried to my window, looking down through the gauzy curtains. But it wasn’t Holt’s silver truck in the driveway. Instead, I saw a familiar SUV—a newish one that already had a slew of dents.
My gut tightened as Randy Sullivan and Paul Matthews climbed out. What were they doing here? I quickly glanced around the street, mentally assessing if they’d somehow ended up at the wrong house. If it were after dark, I’d guess they were here to toilet paper my house—because tripping me in the halls and mocking me in class apparently weren’t enough.
Their laughter had me returning my focus to them. Paul lifted his hand, thumb and forefinger making the shape of a gun as he pointed it at my window. A chill skated down my spine.
Randy laughed and jogged up the steps, ringing the bell.
The sound echoed through my quiet house. But I didn’t move.
The bell rang again.
“Wren,” Randy singsonged. “Come on down.”
Something about his voice had always grated against my skin and set my nerves on edge. My grandma always said we had intuition for a reason, and we were fools if we didn’t listen to it. So, I stayed exactly where I was.
As they continued pressing the bell, I could just make out the two boys. A grade ahead of me, they looked just like the rest of the kids in our high school: T-shirts and jeans, hair a little bit askew. But there was cruelty in them. There always had been.
I wasn’t the only person they picked on, but it was always those physically weaker than they were. Maybe because they’d been given such a hard time in middle school. Maybe that meanness was just in them. Whatever the reason, I gave them a wide berth whenever I could.
“Maybe she isn’t home,” Paul said, looking through the side window.
Randy shook his head. “Car’s here.”
“So she’s out with Holt.”
Randy pointed at the lights illuminating the dining room and kitchen. “She’s home. Bet lover boy will be here any minute.”
An ugly smile twisted Paul’s lips. “What’s wrong, Wren?” he called. “Don’t want to see us?”
“Oh, she’ll see us,” Randy shot back. His hand slipped under his T-shirt, fingers closing around something I couldn’t quite make out as he pulled it from his waistband.
My mind put together the individual pieces before the whole picture. Black handle gripped tightly in Randy’s fingers, silver barrel glinting in the low light. A gun.
A buzzing started in my ears. It wasn’t that I’d never seen a gun before. Our town was far off the beaten path in Eastern Washington, nestled between mountains that meant reaching Cedar Ridge by car in winter was sometimes impossible. We had bears, cougars, and coyotes. Shotguns and rifles were typical, especially for folks farther out.
But I didn’t think I’d ever seen a handgun before, and certainly not in the grasp of a classmate on my doorstep.
Paul laughed and pulled a gun from his waistband, as well. “Did you try the door? It’s probably unlocked.”
It was true that most residents around town didn’t concern themselves with that sort of thing. But I could always hear Holt’s voice in my head. “Want to hear that lock click.”
He hated that my parents left me alone so much. Had drilled it into my head time and again to check all the doors and windows before going to bed. Over time, it had become a habit. A compulsion. I locked every door after I entered. Drove Grae crazy that she couldn’t waltz right in—until I’d eventually given her a key.
My heart hammered against my ribs as my fingers skittered across my phone’s screen. It took four tries to hit those three little numbers. Nine. One. One.
“Cedar Ridge police, fire, and medical. What’s your emergency?”
“T-there are two guys trying to get into my house. They have guns,” I whispered.
“Damn. It’s locked.” I heard Randy mutter.
Paul sighed and bent over, searching the stoop. “There has to be a key hidden somewhere.”
“Who am I speaking to, and where are you located?”
“Wren Williams.” I rattled off my address.
“Wren, it’s Abel. I’m gonna get you some help. You just stick with me. Are you somewhere safe?”
I gripped the curtains as I watched Paul and Randy making their way around the house. Each step brought them closer to that damn ceramic frog my mom kept on the back deck, the one with the key underneath just for emergencies.
“They’re looking for the key.” My voice trembled as they disappeared from sight. Maybe I should make a run for it. But my closest neighbor was half a mile away. It would only take one lucky shot to make me regret taking that chance.
“Is there one outside?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“I want you to hide, Wren. The place they’d be least likely to look.”
My mind spun. How many times had Grae and I played hide-and-seek in this house as kids? Too many to count. I knew every nook and cranny. Yet I couldn’t get my brain to cooperate.
“Wren?” Abel pressed.
“I-I don’t know where to go.”
“How about an attic or crawl space? A closet? Or under a bed?”
A series of images flashed through my mind. Options. Not the attic. The door was too obvious. The entrance to the crawl space was downstairs. I couldn’t risk it. The thought of shoving myself under a bed had my chest constricting.
