When I wrote about Cassie and Barrington in His Perfect Wife, I knew that I wanted to give her a second shot at love. Here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter of Autumn Storms–Cassie and Sebastian’s romance.
Cassandra Pageant’s eyes flew open at the soft sound. Someone was in her house.
Barrington.
Her mind screamed the name, even as a tiny, rational voice whispered, He’s in prison. But her heart pounded a staccato rhythm against her ribs, drowning out the whisper.
Fumbling in the dark, she reached beneath her pillow for the cold metal of the flashlight and the butcher’s knife.
He was here. She was sure of it.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she tiptoed across the cold tiles.
Could he be hiding in the bedroom? Or outside the door? Her bungalow wasn’t large, but a determined man, especially one like Barrington, could always find darkness to blend into, a corner to wait. Even now, she wrestled with many questions.
How had he gotten into Peyton’s house that night? Had he orchestrated those chilling “break-ins,” then used them to coerce her to move in with him?
She crept to the window, flipped the heavy curtains aside, and peered out. The coarse fabric scraped her arm.
The shadow of the abandoned house next door loomed against the night sky. What if he was in there? She should never have rented this place. Now her ex was hiding out nearby, and she’d never escape him.
Her breath squeezed out in a whimper. Breathe, Cass.
There were other houses on the street. She angled her head toward the one across from hers.
Her neighbor’s lights were on. A steady beam from the porch cut through the predawn dark, illuminating the road. The yellow glow slowed her racing heart, if only a little.
She padded to the bed and grabbed her phone from the nightstand, fingers clamping tight around the plastic. Should she call the police or check it out herself?
When she’d first returned to Cinnamon Hill, she had called the police several times.
Each time, she’d been certain someone was in her house. Each time, they’d found nothing.
The officers’ initial stern professionalism dissolved into something Cassandra dreaded more than their suspicion—a quiet, knowing pity.
Their questions became perfunctory, almost condescending, their movements slower. Every sympathetic glance dealt another blow, its weight suffocating her.
So she stopped calling, hoping to save what little remained of her reputation.
But it was too late. Her neighbors whispered.
A knot formed in her chest at the reminder, and another creak.
Is this a panic attack?
Lord, please.
God hasn’t given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.
Knife raised, she inched into the tiny living room, her breath shallow as she swept the beam of the flashlight across every surface. Nothing.
So what was that noise? The roof? She flicked the light toward the ceiling.
No, that’s dumb. It’s concrete. It doesn’t make sounds. Did it?
Still, she held her breath and stared upward, waiting. Listening.
Nothing.
“Why are you in the dark, Sandra?” She whirled at the mocking cadence of Barrington’s voice, so loud she was certain he stood behind her.
But he was right. Her legs shook as she stumbled to the panel and flicked the switch.
Darkness fled as light spilled into the room, but the fear remained. She’d heard something, right?
On silent feet, she made her way through the house, checking locks and windows. Two windows in the bedroom. Two in the living room. One in the kitchen. One in the bathroom.
All secure.
Everything was locked down. No intruders in sight.
She pressed trembling hands to her stomach. You imagined it. There’s nothing out there or inside.
Barrington’s in prison. He can’t reach you.
That should have been her first thought. But after three years of panic attacks, logic never got a seat at the table anymore.
Her imagination could conjure the most vivid and ridiculous scenarios.
Alright. She crawled into bed and pulled the thin sheet up to her chest.
She had work in the morning and needed sleep.
But the fear lingered.
Like it had earlier, when she’d stepped off the bus, sure someone was watching.
Red numbers blinked at her from the nightstand: 2:38 a.m.
“Is someone out there this time?” Her voice brought no comfort.
No, it’s your imagination.
Her constricted chest made it hard to breathe. To concentrate. To think.
Should she call Sebastian? He’d told her to if she was ever afraid.
Her fingers clenched the phone until she feared it might crack.
No.
She inhaled, taking slow breaths as she counted backward from ten, loosening her grip with each number.
I won’t call Sebastian.
He’d tease her.
But discomfort pricked. He had never made her feel silly. Just hours ago, he’d walked through her entire house, searching for her imaginary intruder.
She glanced at the clock. 3:10 a.m.
Okay, Cass. You’re not falling back to sleep.
She reached for her Bible and flipped to Psalm 56.
“Whenever I’m afraid, I will trust in You.”
The words got stuck in her throat.
“God, I’m trying. But… I don’t believe You’re trustworthy.”
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she whispered the words, and the Bible grew heavy in her hands. Where had He been when Jason got sick and died?
The memory of her brother’s frail hand in hers, fading to cold, ripped at the seams of her doubt.
Where was God when Barrington shattered her life? When she needed Him most? Each question was a stab to her heart, reopening wounds that should have scarred over.
He was busy looking after everyone but her. She’d been an ardent believer, attending church every week, singing hymns until her voice was raw, certain of God’s presence. Now, her questions were met with deafening silence.
Where was the God who’d spoken with Job during his testing? The God who’d met Saul on the road?
She could use a face-to-face encounter, some writing on the wall… anything.
But it was hard to shake a lifetime of faith. Hard to let go of His promises—no matter how much she wanted to.
She didn’t know when sleep came. When the alarm finally went off, she stopped it with a groan.
She never got enough sleep.
Eyes bleary, she groaned and dragged herself out of bed.
If only she could call in sick today.
But working for Mom and Dad meant a full-on inquisition if she dared skip, no chance for rest. They’d show up, hovering like buzzards, their questions laced with a particular blend of parental concern and unspoken judgment that always made her want to rebel.
‘Are you okay? Do you need a break? Would you like to move back home?’
Her answer to all three was a firm no.
She moved on autopilot, feet dragging against the cold tile, praying for the fog to lift.
After scarfing down a slice of toast and scrambled eggs, she showered and dressed. Life as a receptionist at her parents’ clinic meant no fuss over clothes: dark slacks and whatever colorful scrub top was clean.
Should she find another job?
The thought worsened her headache.
Later.
Keys jingled as she unbolted the three locks and opened the front door, almost tripping over a mound of fur on the porch.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She glared down.
Who would toss trash on her porch?
A soft mewl rose from the tiny ball of matted orange fur. A kitten cracked open one bleary eye and stared up at her.
Great. Somebody’s stowaway pet.
Compassion prickled anyway. The tiny thing stretched and twined around her feet.
“Don’t do that.” She scowled at the animal.
But something in its wide eyes pulled at her. Maybe because they reflected her loneliness.
“I don’t like cats.”
The creature ignored her.
“Of course you’re orange,” she muttered. “You look like trouble.”
The kitten either didn’t understand or didn’t care. It let out another pitiful cry.
“If you’re searching for a new home, this is the wrong place, Buster.”
Another pitiful mewl.
Cassie sighed, long and low, the kind that came from too many sleepless nights.
The kitten pawed at her shoelace, batting it like a toy.
“I’m going to be late.”
She stomped into the house, returning with a ratty bathroom towel, and knelt beside the kitten.
“If you scratch me,” she wagged a warning finger, “that’s it. We’re done.”
She scooped it up, careful not to let it touch her shirt, and muttered, “If you’ve got fleas, you and I will have problems.”
She had to pass Sebastian’s clinic before reaching her parents’. She’d drop the kitten off there—problem solved.
“You hear that, cat? I’m giving you to someone who knows what they’re doing. I’m not your new owner.”
While she waited outside Sebastian’s clinic, she dialed her mother and explained the delay.
The clinic door opened as she ended the call. She thrust the towel-wrapped kitten toward Sebastian’s lab tech.
“I found this on my veranda this morning. Can you help it?”
She couldn’t take care of anything else. Not now. But her fingers clenched around the towel.
Did you enjoy the first chapter of Autumn Storm? Check out the full details below.
Autumn Storms (A Heart for Every Season Book 3)
Table of Contents
She lost everything. Trust. Faith. Her way. The last person she expects to find it all with… is him.
After a devastating tragedy shattered her world, Cassandra Pageant vowed never to trust again. Not people, not God, and certainly not love. Once a joyful kindergarten teacher, she’s now hidden behind a front desk at a small-town clinic in Cinnamon Hill, guarding her heart behind routine, sarcasm, and distance. She doesn’t do pets. She doesn’t do touch. And she definitely doesn’t do second chances.
But when a scrappy, injured kitten shows up on her porch—and the only vet in town is Sebastian Hart, her late brother’s best friend and the boy who once held her heart—Cassie is forced to face more than matted fur and wary eyes.
Sebastian never stopped loving Cassie—not even after the tragedy that changed everything. He’s kept his distance, carrying guilt and prayers that never seem to get answered. But now that she’s back, wounded but within reach, he’s determined to show her that not all love leaves scars… and some wounds only faith can heal.
As storms gather outside and within, the walls around Cassie’s heart begin to crack. But when danger comes too close and the past refuses to stay buried, she’ll have to choose: will she cling to the safety of control, or risk everything on the God she’s tried to forget… and the man who never gave up on her?
In a town that remembers everything, can two hearts marked by loss find the courage to love again—and trust the One who makes all things new?
