Sunshine Walkingstick Omnibus Read online

  Sunshine Walkingstick Omnibus One

  Books 1, 2, & 3

  Celia Roman

  Published by Bone Diggers Press, Clayton, GA.

  © 2019 C.D. Watson. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover © Autumn’s End Designs.

  ISBN 978-1-943465-46-0

  Description of Sunshine Walkingstick Omnibus One:

  Sunshine Walkingstick is half mountain, half Cherokee, and 100% monster hunter. Join her in these three adventures as she takes on monsters unknown and inhuman, and a few wearing familiar faces.

  Book 1, Greenwood Cove:

  Sunny is challenged by a childhood friend to discover the cause behind damage done to docks along Lake Burton's Greenwood Cove, and she's never one to resist a challenge when monsters are involved

  Book 2, The Deep Wood:

  Sunny’s search for a monster terrorizing the county leads her into a past she never knew, and a secret that changes everything.

  Book 3, Cemetery Hill:

  After her uncle is framed for murder, Sunny must figure out who, or what, really killed his ex-wife before someone else falls victim to a vicious monster.

  Meet Sunshine Walkingstick in these three action-packed Urban Fantasy adventures in the tradition of the Jane Yellowrock Series (Faith Hunter) and the Mercy Thompson Series (Patricia Briggs).

  The Sunshine Walkingstick Series

  Greenwood Cove

  The Deep Wood

  Cemetery Hill

  Witch Hollow

  Omnibuses

  Omnibus One (Books 1, 2, & 3)

  Also available in this series:

  Death Omen

  Dreaming of a Dark Christmas

  Sleeping Gods

  Get Death Omen for free.

  License Notes: This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is purely a coincidence. Actual localities and entities are mentioned solely for the purpose of adding realism to the story.

  Table of Contents

  Book 1: Greenwood Cove

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Book 2: The Deep Wood

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Book 3: Cemetery Hill

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  About the author

  Preview of Witch Hollow

  Greenwood Cove

  A Sunshine Walkingstick Novel

  Celia Roman

  Published by Bone Diggers Press, Clayton, GA.

  © 2017 C.D. Watson. All Rights Reserved.

  Cover © Domi Hlinkova, Inspired Cover Designs.

  ISBN 978-1-943465-21-7

  Description of Greenwood Cove:

  I had three loves in my life: my daddy, him what my mama killed in cold blood; my son Henry, God rest him; and tall as an oak Riley Treadwell.

  I lost all of 'em, one way or t'other, 'til Riley showed up on my stoop with a monster problem and tried to wiggle his way back into my life.

  Only, weren't no monster bothering him; was the one bothering his ex-girlfriend what'd stirred up a hornet's nest out on Lake Burton amongst the muckity mucks. Weren't no never mind to me, see? I was fine letting well enough alone, 'cept curiosity got the best of me, and Riley, well. He weren't above using that silver tongue of his to persuade me 'round to his way of doing things. If I'da listened to my gut, maybe I woulda avoided stepping knee deep into somebody else's trouble.

  Then again, I ain't never been one to heed a warning when monsters come a-calling.

  Chapter One

  Was a pooka what got me into this business. Not an adorable one like the books lined along my walls claimed they was, when they was a-willing. This’un took my son, a sweet angel of a boy what never did nobody no harm, took him and God above knowed what it did to my baby.

  We never found him, only the blood. Dear Lord, the blood.

  I swallowed the bile down, nearly choking on the acid grating along my throat.

  My sweet, sweet baby rested in Heaven now. I held on to that hope with ever thing in me. He weren’t baptized like the Good Book said he orta be, but God’s got a special place in his wide heart for young’uns. That’s what the preacher man said leastwise, and if you can’t believe a preacher man, who can you believe?

  That pooka? I sent it straight to Ol’ Scratch, quick as I could find it, with my heart all cold like the great sea of ice on top of the world. I followed it for three days, no food in my gut, nothing ‘cept a hunting knife and a bottle of water to get me through. My daddy taught me that before he run off with that vacuum cleaner salesman. Not much else, but by golly, he taught me how to track.

  My mama? She in prison now. Was her what taught me how to kill. She sure done a number on my daddy. I never could look on her straight like again, not after seeing what she done to him. That didn’t stop me none from doing the same to that pooka. You mess with my baby, you gonna pay.

  I tucked my fingers into the place between my breasts what hurt something fierce ever time Henry come to mind, God rest his soul.

  If the man sitting in front of me was thinking hard on how I killed a pooka with not much more’n my bare hands, assuming he knowed, it sure didn’t show. His hard hazel eyes followed my fingers from the scarred top of what passed for a desk to the place where Henry lived, and lingered for a good long while on my skeeter bite sized breasts.

  Weren’t no never mind to me
where his eyes rested, long as his hands didn’t follow.

  Lordy, them nimble hands. Long fingers, calloused palms. A tug of heat warmed me down low between my thighs. Mmm, what them hands could do to a woman. I heard the rumors. ‘Course I had. Small town gossip run thick through the Georgia pine, and this man in particular was a favorite topic of the local women folk, him being who he was. Rumor had it Riley Treadwell knowed exactly what to do with them hands, where to put ‘em, how to move ‘em, and a whole lot more besides.

  I shoved them thoughts away lickety split. Maybe if his long body was wrapped in something ‘sides a worn t-shirt and jeans cupping him in places a woman wanted to know best, them thoughts wouldn’ta been running around in my noggin.

  I rapped my knuckles hard on the wooden plank of my desk, grabbing his attention before he got any notions about my breasts. Or worse, before I got any notions about what was under them jeans of his.

  “What you want, Riley?” I asked. “I ain’t got all day.”

  Riley slid a finger along firm lips over the beginnings of a smile, probably from being caught ogling me like a teenager just figuring out where God intended his pecker to go. Them hazel eyes sparkled a little, but they raised up ‘til they met mine. “A friend of mine has a problem.”

  I let my eyes go hard as his, what good it’d do. Riley was about a foot taller’n me and wide as a full grown oak. On top of that, he was a lawman descended from a long line of lawmen. Me, I was half as big as a cricket and twice as skinny, and the only kin I had to the law was when my family stepped chin deep into the wrong side of it. I was David to Riley’s Goliath, only a lot less scary looking than the shepherd boy ever thought on being, even with my mama’s coon crazy eyes staring out at the world.

  “I don’t work with no intermediaries,” I said. “You tell your friend to get his lazy butt out here if he wants my help.”

  Riley’s rough bark of laughter shivered down my spine, halfway between honey and hell. “She couldn’t even get up your driveway. You ever think about grading it once in a while?”

  She, huh? A stone cold knot fixed itself in my gut. Weren’t jealousy, couldn’t be. Riley Treadwell and me didn’t even live on the same planet, far as man-woman relations went. I was beneath his notice, something I learnt the hard way back in high school, somewhat before I lost what sense God give me and let that fool Terry Whitehead plant Henry in my belly.

  “You ever think on minding your own beeswax?”

  “Jesus, Sunny. I’m trying to bring you a paying client.”

  “If she can’t get up the drive, she don’t need no help, do she?” I snapped. “And don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  His firm lips twisted into something akin to a smirk. “You’re telling me not to cuss? That’s rich, darlin’.”

  “I got right with Jesus.”

  And I had, sorta, right along the time I learnt about Henry. I done the whole bit of Sunday School and church meetings and all that before that pooka took him into the deep wood between here and Fame’s trailer. ‘Course after that, me and Jesus ain’t had two words to spit on each other. That weren’t none of Riley’s beeswax neither, though.

  “I know your mama learnt you better,” I said.

  He rolled them hazel eyes toward the ceiling of my trailer. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

  I was thinking not, right up ‘til my mind lit on the coffee tin serving as my bank. Well, crud. Helping Riley weren’t nothing I wanted no part of, but I liked to eat ever once in a while. The roll of green bills tucked away from the dribbles of honest work throwed my way was getting mighty thin. Weren’t a lick of other business in sight neither ‘cept some of Fame’s, and I done shed myself of that line of work.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked, and tried to ignore the triumph in that smooth grin of his.

  “There’s something out on Lake Burton,” he said, “tearing through dock pilings and doing a lot of damage.”

  I curled my upper lip into a sneer. “So the muckity mucks is losing some money on repair bills. What’s it to me?”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple, Sunny.” A furrow appeared in Riley’s brow and his eyes went all serious like, losing their brightness. “I dove down under Belinda’s dock—”

  The breath squeezed right outta my chest. “Belinda who?”

  He hesitated long enough to tumble my heart into a sick nosedive. “Belinda Arrowood.”

  “You mean Belinda Heaton, your ex-girlfriend, head cheerleader, and all around bitch.” I stood up, shoving my chair back against the wall as I did. You’re beneath his notice, sugar. I put up with that crap back in high school. Didn’t have to now. “Get out.”

  “Sunny, come on. That was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long as my memory.”

  I reached under my desk and pulled out the Ruger LCP .380 holstered there in case of emergencies sorta like the one I was in now. Didn’t point it at him. Weren’t no need to. Riley done his time, six years of hard labor under Uncle Sam’s thumb in Afghanistan, dodging bullets raining down all around him. He knowed one end of a gun from the other, and he sure as tootin’ knowed not to push Famous Carson’s niece.

  I jerked my chin at the door, case he weren’t catching my drift. “Get on out, now.”

  He stood slowly, unfolding his long length as he stared me down, or tried to. Took a lot more’n him to make me blink. “That thing legal?”

  I snorted. As if. “You ain’t no lawman in my home, Riley Treadwell, not unless you got a warrant.”

  “Christ, Sunny. I’m with the DNR. That’s hardly the kind of law you need to worry about unless you’re hunting out of season or digging up wildflowers.”

  Well, reckon he hadn’t found the Mary Jane my cousins planted in clusters ‘long and along. Never on my property, no way, no how, but pretty much ever where else within a coupla miles’ walk, including state parks and national forest. Riley finding that orta be fun to watch.

  He sighed, though he didn’t look a bit resigned. “Walk me out?”

  “If you was invited, I’d walk you out. Come to that, if you was welcome, I wouldn’t be handing you your hat.”

  “Ouch.”

  His mouth tilted into that smile again, the one he’d worn when I forced his eyes away from my teeniny breasts. Them eyes took on a glow, soft and hot and kinda delicious, truth be told. Riley’d been a handsome feller back in high school when his body was still kinda lean like and growing. Now, between his heavy muscles and flat abdomen and a crown of auburn hair nearly touching the sky, he’d filled out in a way what sent a sane woman’s good sense flying right outta the nearest window.

  Thankfully, I only had a passing acquaintance with sane.

  He shifted into a wide-legged stance and crossed his arms over that fine, fine chest, and my breath went kinda shallow in my lungs. Lordy, if that’s all it took to wet my whistle, I needed to get out more.

  “I’m grilling out tonight,” he said. “Thick steaks, baked sweet potatoes. Why don’t you come over and we’ll hammer out the line between guest and intruder?”

  I blinked, then bit my tongue against the curse what popped into my mouth. I hadn’t lost a staring contest with him since we was kids, dang his sorry hide. Now I was gonna have to put a quarter in the cussing jar, two if I counted using the word bitch to describe Riley’s ex-girlfriend, which I didn’t. Calling a spade a spade weren’t on no level with cursing.

  “I got plans,” I said. “Thanks anyhow.”

  “You’re a lot of things, Sunshine, but I never thought you were a liar.”

  He left without saying nothing else, didn’t need to. I could about hear what he was thinking. Riley Treadwell would be back, and when he come, I’d have a sight more to worry on than taking a job for that nasty piece of work calling herself Belinda Arrowood.

  When the door closed on Riley, I dug a quarter outta my pocket and dropped it into the gallon-sized mason jar on the kitchen counter through the hole slit in the lid. It was half ful
l already and I’d only been adding to it the last coupla months or so. Before that, I emptied the sucker into one of my daddy’s old t-shirts, cut in two and tied together to hold the lot, and then I snuck out to the church and set the makeshift sack in front of the door for the preacher man to find. I figured I was beyond redemption myself, but that money might keep him working another day, saving souls for the Lord and adding weight to Heaven’s tally.

  I filled a lot of them sacks in the past three years.

  Since my gun was already out, I broke it down for a good, thorough cleaning right there on my desk while my mind rolled over Belinda’s alleged problem.

  Lake Burton’s dam was finished back in 1919. Nearly soon as the thing went up, tall tales concerning the lake’s murky depths sprung up amongst the locals, about whole buildings left under the water and a thick mess of other hogwash. Not a blessed soul took them tales serious, not even the cussed tourists clogging our roads day in and day out.

  Wouldn’t hurt to take a gander at the problem nohow, real subtle like. I didn’t take the local paper, didn’t rightly enjoy seeing my own kin’s names in the police blotter week after week, but I knowed where I could get ahold of the past coupla issues.

  And there was always Injun Bob’s, if push come to shove and that worthless editor kept the good stuff out like she always done.

  I finished cleaning my pistol, inserted the magazine, and chambered a round. Jacked the magazine out, loaded another round, popped the magazine back in. Hey, ever single bullet counts when you got monsters breathing down your neck.

  I holstered the .380 under the desk and snickered as Riley’s question floated through my head. Like any member of Fame Carson’s family’d think about registering a firearm, let alone procuring one on Riley’s side of the law. We was criminals, not stupid. Well, most of us wasn’t stupid, not too much so, leastwise. I didn’t count Gentry amongst that number. Bless his heart, he was a sweet boy and might’ve amounted to something if his mama hadn’t done meth while she was carrying him. Fame kicked her out for it. Well, that and he caught her messing around on him with his no account brother. We ain’t heard from her since, thank the Lord, and good riddance.