When Linden Birchfield arrives in the Snowbird Cherokee community to organize the 180th commemoration of the Trail of Tears, she runs head on—literally—into arrogant former army sniper Walker Crowe. A descendant of the Cherokee who evaded deportation by hiding in the rugged Snowbird Mountains, Walker believes no good can result from stirring up the animosity with the white Appalachian residents whose ancestors looted the tribal lands so long ago. Though at odds over the commemoration, Linden and Walker must unite against an unseen threat to derail the festival. Together they face an enemy whose implacable hatred can be traced to the events of the Trail, a dark chapter in America’s westward expansion. When called to resurrect his sniper abilities, Walker must thwart the enemy who threatens the modern-day inhabitants of tiny Cartridge Cove—and targets the woman who has captured his heart. 180 years may not be long enough to heal the wounds of the past… Lisa Carter is the author of Carolina Reckoning, Beneath a Navajo Moon, Under a Turquoise Sky, and Aloha Rose. She and her husband have two daughters and make their home in Raleigh, North Carolina. A member of ACFW, RWA, and Sisters in Crime, when she isn t writing, Lisa enjoys traveling, quilting, and researching her next romantic adventure. Visit her online at LisaCarterAuthor.com. Beyond the Cherokee Trail By Lisa Carter Abingdon Press Copyright © 2015 Lisa Carter All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4267-9546-6 CHAPTER 1 April 2018 Glass crunched underneath her feet. Linden froze, catching sight of the jagged glass shards protruding from the French doors. "Quincy?" Her voice echoed across the deserted parking lot of the Trail of Trails Interpretative Center. She swallowed, glancing over her shoulder at the trees shrouded in darkness. An owl hooted. She shivered. Maybe she'd come back tomorrow. In daylight. Raised in the flatlands, she wasn't used to how night in the looming mountains engulfed the valleys in one fell swoop. Rhododendrons rustled behind her. She tensed, but someone within the darkened interior moaned. "Quince?" she whispered. Stepping around the broken glass, she crossed into the Center and fumbled for the light switch. Something drifted in the air past her nose. She swatted it away. The overhead light flickered to life. She gasped at the chicken feathers plastered against the smashed display cases, as if tarred and feathered. And then she spotted the words spray-painted on the far wall. The dribbling red lines gave the message the appearance of oozing blood. Don't Come Back Prairie N — — Her breath hitched at the racial slur. Something bumped behind her. She wheeled as a bloody hand appeared, rising, grasping the top of the case. Linden screamed. Quincy, his glasses askew on his face, hoisted himself upright. "Linden?" Blinking, his eyes dilated in the artificial light. He wobbled. "What happened?" She rushed forward, grabbing his arm. "Who did this?" He shook his head and would have fallen except for her support. "They jumped me." Touching a patch of blood at the back of his head, he winced. "Never saw their faces. But they were skinheads." Linden's eyes widened. "In Cartridge Cove?" His eyes darted, accessing the damage, and flitted to the encroaching darkness. "Said they'd be back if we didn't stop this nonsense." "Nonsense?" He nodded. "Bringing the divided tribes together for the commemoration." She frowned. "The Oklahoma band? The ones they called the prairie ..." Her lips tightened. She wouldn't use that word. "We need to get out of here, Linden. It's not safe." She draped his arm across her shoulder. "My car's outside." She lugged him toward the shattered door. "Then we'll call the police." Linden felt the weight of eyes boring into her from the edge of the forest. A frisson of fear prickled against her skin. Her heart pounded. She dragged Quincy through the twilight around the corner of the building. She pointed to the hood of her car. "They left something." She stared at the paper trapped against the windshield. "It wasn't there when I parked a few minutes ago." "That means they're still here." He shuddered. "Watching." Linden reached for the message. He hunched his shoulders. "What does it say?" "It says, 'Shut down the festival or next time you'll burn.'" She frowned. "What does that mean?" "Welcome to Cartridge Cove, North Carolina." Quincy cleared his throat. "Sure you don't want to go home to Raleigh?" She crumpled the note in her hand. "Their kind drove out the Cherokee a hundred plus years ago." Narrowing her eyes, she jutted her chin at the deepening darkness. "Nobody's driving me out." * * * "Would you look at what I've found?" Her elbows resting on the sill of the attic window, Linden dragged her gaze from her contemplation of the majestic Snowbird Mountains. "What now, Gram?" A Beach Boys tune from the Oldies But Goodies channel blared from the portable radio. Linden wended her way through the stacked pil