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Chapter One

Asher Quinn just wanted the nightmares to stop.

Until he found redemption for the tragedies of his past, they would continue to haunt his sleep.

The sound of splintering wood, the creaking of timber, and a crash jerked him from the same dream that plagued him repeatedly for the past five years.

Sweat slicked his chest as he dragged a shaky hand over his weary face. He forced his ragged breathing to slow and stared into the darkness, trying to erase the images flickering through his head.

Impossible.

Nothing would remove the echoing screams or the sear of flames as he fought to escape his metal prison.

Thunder rumbled outside his bedroom window.

Lightning slashed, throwing brilliant light across the wooden floor.

The storm.

Triggers he didn’t expect to turn his gut to mush.

But he didn’t have time to wallow in the past. He needed to make sure Henrietta Hudson, his elderly neighbor recovering from hip replacement surgery, was safe.

He couldn’t have more deaths on his conscience.

Not your fault.

How many times had his counselor said that?

Lies.

Someday, he’d believe him.

Maybe.

Until then, knowing he couldn’t save them ate at his conscience.

He snatched an olive-colored T-shirt off the floor and jammed it over his head, his fingers scraping against the puckered skin along the left side of his neck.

Scars that served as a reminder.

He pulled on the tan cargo shorts he’d kicked off earlier, then shoved his feet in a pair of worn leather flip-flops.

Grabbing the flashlight kept by the door, he hurried down the stairs, through the house, and into the storm.

He raced to the stable to check on the few horses still on island. Scents of hay and warm animal flesh mingled with the steamy air fraught with storms that shook the island.

Jagged fingers of lightning sparked across the blackened sky, casting shadows over too many empty stalls.

Pegasus nickered.

He ran a hand over the Percheron’s muzzle. “Hey, Gus. It’s okay. The storm’ll be over shortly.”

Next to him, Ginger bumped his shoulder with her nose. “Hey, sweet girl. This isn’t your first storm. You’ll be okay.”

After giving each of them another pat, he plunged into the night air, dark as smoke, the light in his hand doing very little to shine a path through the storm. Rain pelted his skin as he sprinted across the yard. His feet slipped and he nearly face-planted in the soppy grass. He kicked off his flip-flops and raced barefoot to his older neighbor’s front porch.

A long limb had smashed through the side railing of the white storybook cottage. He’d need to come back first thing in the morning to clear it and make sure there was no other damage.