Stacey Joy Netzel Boxed Set

Copyright 2011 Stacey Joy Netzel

Smashwords Edition, License
Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook 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, then please return to Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or
locales, is entirely coincidental.

Available at :
Smashwords

Website and Blog:
http://www.StaceyJoyNetzel.com

Cover art by
Tamra
Westberry

TABLE OF
CONTENTS

If Tombstones Could Talk
(paranormal
novella)

Ditched Again
(high school
reunion)

Dragonfly Dreams
(Christmas
novella)

About the Author

Other Titles by Stacey Joy Netzel

Welcome To Redemption
Series with Donna Marie Rogers

Colorado Trust Series with excerpts

Mistletoe Rules Christmas anthology (3 stories in
one)

Chasin’ Mason with excerpt

Lost In Italy first chapter sneak
peek

Golden Opportunity by Donna Marie
Rogers

first
chapter sneak peek

If Tombstones Could Talk

a paranormal romance

by

Stacey Joy Netzel

(back to top)

Had someone asked Melanie
Sparks if she believed in ghosts, she’d have laughed before voicing
an emphatic
“No.”
Then she takes a walking tour of the cemetery in her new
hometown of Lindeman’s Crossing, Colorado and meets one of the
residents face to face. The story behind Andrew Lindeman's tragic
death after the Pike’s Peak Gold Rush in 1859 triggers dreams in
which she relives his last moments. Drawn to the handsome ghost,
attraction builds, and she resolves to clear his tarnished name. A
passionate kiss sets his spirit free, but will Melanie lose her
heart forever?

Reviews:

Romance Junkies: “IF TOMBSTONES COULD TALK
is sweet, sensual and one of the most romantic stories I've ever
read. This story had an incredible storyline that kept me intrigued
until the very end. The ending brought tears to my eyes, which
doesn't happen very often.” ~ Amanda

Fallen Angel Reviews ~ 5 Angels ~ “The plot
was brilliant and well played out. I enjoyed every aspect of the
story. The ending left me smiling and happy.” ~ Becky

For my family.

They let me write and follow my dreams.

I love you all!

Melanie Sparks stood in the cemetery lane,
torn between catching up with the rest of the group and examining
the black granite stone off to her right. It sat deep in the shade
of a large red oak tree with the Rocky Mountains towering in the
background, yet somehow, that one tombstone had caught her
attention from the moment she’d arrived.

She took a step closer, leaving the sun’s
warming rays. A curtain of her fiery-red hair fell forward, but she
absently tucked it back behind her ear to get a better look across
the cemetery.

Something stirred in the shadows next to the
stone. Her heart beat faster, startling a small flutter in the pit
of her stomach. She paused and squinted. Was someone over
there?

All remained still, except for the faint
rustling of oak leaves in the gentle Colorado breeze.

Drawing a deep breath, Melanie quickly
caught up to the others on the walking tour. She found herself
wanting to look back over her shoulder, but forced her attention to
the excursion’s leader. John, he’d introduced himself, and he’d
proved to be a great storyteller.

As a lawyer who dealt a lot with cold, hard
facts, she always enjoyed a well-told story—the more history, the
better. Settled in 1852, Lindeman’s Crossing promised to keep her
fascinated with its colorful past. Which is why she came on the
tour, to learn more about her new town beyond the stories her
grandmother used to tell her as a little girl while they snuggled
on the couch with hot chocolate. A town that she swore called to
her soul during an impulsive detour last summer as she made the
stupidest mistake of her life. That detour was the only thing good
to come out of following Chuck all the way across the country.

Melanie shook her head. The move was about
reconnecting with her roots and putting the past behind her. Her
personal past, anyway. The town’s past was a whole other story she
wanted to immerse herself in.

At present Lindeman’s Crossing was a small,
quiet town, likely to be absorbed by the ever-encroaching Denver
suburbs; but when her great-great-great grandmother lived here in
1859, during the height of the gold rush, it’d been bustling with
excitement and activity. Every once in a while, when life closed in
with suffocating pressure, she wished she could’ve been born in
that time. Back when bank robbers were the terrorists and global
warming wasn’t the buzzword of the day. Horses ate hay and grass,
and gas didn’t cost almost four dollars a gallon.

She knew the settlers had faced many other
hardships, but for some reason it didn’t dim the enthusiasm she
harbored for history. A simpler time, when a man on a horse,
sweeping his woman off her feet, was just
so
romantic.

She pictured him, tall, dark and
handsome—the total cliché. The complete opposite of her jerk
cheating ex, this guy’s dark eyes glittered from beneath his
wide-brimmed black hat. He smiled at her, his white teeth flashing
bright against his shadowed face. He leaned down, extended his hand
to grasp hers and pulled her effortlessly onto his lap atop his
coal-black steed.

Andrew
.

Melanie jolted to a stop. Where had that
name come from? She glanced around self-consciously, hoping she
hadn’t done something stupid during her impromptu fantasy. Not one
of the residents from the Riverview Senior Living Center paid her
any attention as they came to a stop beneath the giant red oak. Her
stomach started its acrobats again when John placed his hand on the
waist-high, black granite headstone. She’d been so preoccupied she
hadn’t realized they’d made their way around to this side of the
cemetery.

Melanie shifted her gaze down. Her heart
leapt into her throat, and the hair on her arms stood up, yet she
couldn’t tear her eyes away from the stark etchings in the
stone.

Andrew Lindeman

1831-1860

A good man we are forever indebted to.

“And this leads us to the last tombstone,
the man our town is named after.”

She hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and
down to relieve the unnerving sensation tingling across her skin as
she stared at the name on the headstone.

“Are you cold, dear?”

She looked down at the short, white-haired
lady who stood at her side.

“You young kids these days care more about
fashion than comfort,” the older lady chastised as Melanie’s
grandmother used to do. “It’s not warm enough for sleeveless
blouses yet.”

Her high-pitched warble had drawn the
attention of the tour guide, as well as the rest of the group.

“Just a little case of the willies,” Melanie
explained before offering John an apologetic smile for the
interruption. “Please continue.”

His gaze moved to the others. “Andrew
Lindeman is the source of many debates for the Historical Society
over the years, because although our town is named for him, there
are details of his story that have created much controversy.”

Melanie felt the interest level rise around
her. Seemed everyone loved a good story, the more controversial the
better. Her own anticipation pulsed in her veins, and she eased
closer. The name Andrew Lindeman had never been in her grandma’s
repertoire of tales.

John stepped back to allow a clear view of
the tombstone. “Legend has it, he arrived in town for the gold rush
in the spring of 1859. Young and eager, he was one of the lucky
ones, struck it rich in a matter of months. Most of them left once
they filled their pockets, but Andrew stayed and started the town
newspaper.”

“The Lindy Gazette? You mean it really was
established in 1859?” one of the gentlemen asked.

A picture of the front page of the newspaper
that thumped against her front door every morning flashed in
Melanie’s mind
.

The tour guide nodded. “It sure was, George.
Others have come and gone over the years, but The Lindy Gazette has
always pulled through. Old journals describe Andrew as a very
handsome chap and say it wasn’t long before he began courting the
most eligible lady around, Miss Lorena Van Bueren.”

“Of the old Van Bueren Bank and Trust?” the
lady next to Melanie asked.

“Her father owned the bank,” John confirmed.
“Andrew and Lorena were a great match—the toast of the town—the
stuff fairy tales are made of. Everyone loved to watch them stroll
hand in hand down the raised wooden sidewalks.”

Melanie smiled at the enthusiasm in his
narration. If she had a story to tell, she’d want him to tell
it.

“However, the day before their wedding, in
the spring of 1860, the bank was held up and Lorena’s father was
shot.”

“How awful,” someone murmured.

John’s brows lifted and his eyes twinkled.
“You may think so, but Jacob Van Bueren didn’t die, and as the
story goes, Lorena was one of the bank robbers.”

“She shot her own father?” a gruff sounding
man to the left asked over the surprised murmurings of the
group.

“Her partner did,” John corrected. “And this
is where the controversy begins. Most of the town swore Andrew
Lindeman pulled the trigger.”

Melanie saw a swift shift in the shadows
directly behind John. She blinked, and then stared. The air
seemed…
thick
, somehow. Hazy. And yet anywhere else the
mountain air was crystal clear.

Inexplicably drawn, she took another step
closer to the tombstone.

“Townsfolk on the street saw him run from
the bank with Lorena before they made their escape across the
bridge.”

“The river walk bridge?” George asked.

“That same exact bridge,” John
confirmed.

“What color was his horse?” The question
popped out before Melanie even realized she’d opened her mouth.
When silence fell and everyone turned to stare, she felt her cheeks
burn as red as her hair. “I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question. I
didn’t mean to interrupt.”

John cleared his throat. “That’s okay. I
don’t know if it’s the same one he rode that day, but in the single
verified picture we have in the museum of Andrew Lindeman, he’s
outside the newspaper office, astride a large black horse.”