Savaged
Page 38
Jak stared into the fire as Harper snuggled. The fireplace where he’d burned the bow and arrow set that he’d found in a corner of the attic after his grandfather had passed away, never recovering from his heart attack. The bow and arrow set that had been missing one arrow—the one used to kill Isaac Driscoll. But only he and Harper knew that.
His grandfather had given Jak a name. In return, he’d made sure his grandfather would keep his good one. If he hadn’t killed Driscoll, the program would have. With that assumption, the police had closed the case.
His grandfather had left almost everything to Jak in his will, providing a small settlement to his step-grandmother, who had flown into a rage in the lawyer’s office, screeching like one of her caged birds.
Jak had had those cages taken apart and moved them out of Thornland the same day he’d had all the cameras removed. He’d kept Nigel on. He was still oily, but Jak had come to appreciate him much more since he could sneak up on him and make him jump and squeak. Since Jak had inherited Thornland and Loni, Gabi, and Brett had moved out, he’d even caught Nigel almost smiling a time or two. Even oily creatures had their good points.
Mark had helped Jak hire an acting CEO for Fairbanks Lumber. Jak trusted the older man’s instincts about people, and the company was doing great under the new management. Jak was taking his time learning the business and found it surprisingly interesting. Maybe someday he’d participate more actively in running it. Someday when there weren’t so many other things to learn as well.
He and Harper had remained at the family estate that was close to Harper’s school, though they’d also bought a few acres of wilderness of their own and built a small cabin. They planned to spend summers there when Harper wasn’t taking classes, and as many weekends as possible. Summers . . . when the rivers were bursting with fish, the berries were ripe and sweet, and the sun opened the flowers and warmed the earth. But . . . Jak had a feeling they’d also need the massive estate to offer sanctuary, if necessary, to those lost children, many who were now adults, that the police were still searching for.
That dark feeling rose up inside when he thought of Dr. Swift and what might be happening in some godforsaken wilderness somewhere. He moved his hand slowly over the swell of his wife’s stomach, his breath evening, calm descending. Life. Miracles. Hope.
Harper stretched her arm, picking up the book on the table next to them. “Again?” she asked, her voice filled with gentle amusement.
Jak smiled as she placed his beloved copy of The Count of Monte Cristo back down. He’d just finished it for the sixth time. It was dog-eared and wrinkled. Cherished. Well loved. “Each time I read it I find something new inside. Some different lesson.” And a new favorite word, or three.
She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder, stifling a yawn. “What lesson did you learn this time?”
He thought of one of the quotes in the book that had spoken to him the loudest during this reading. All human wisdom is contained in these two words—wait and hope.
“That if we can hang on—survive—through the hard times in life, there is something better waiting for us. There’s a purpose we can’t always see. There’s an . . . order.” He’d felt it—that whisper, that unseen something that flowed through him, into and around all living things and back again. There were no words he’d found that fully captured it. God, maybe. Fate? Miracles? The souls who had passed before them? All he knew was that it was loving and good, and it sought to make things right. Just.
Those were new thoughts. Things he’d realized, taken in, applied. He felt proud. Changed. Better. “Yes,” she murmured, kissing his jaw, lacing her fingers with his own. “Yes.” She yawned again.
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckle. “Go up to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She nodded, standing and giving him a small, sleepy smile before turning and heading upstairs. After a minute Jak stood too, leaving the library and making his way to the massive stone patio that ran the length of the house and overlooked the woods beyond.
The trees swayed, dancing to the sound of the wind, speaking an ancient language beneath the earth. He looked into the darkness, his mind picturing places far beyond what his eyes could see. Somewhere out there, the rest of his pack—his family connected by shared experiences few others would ever understand—lived and breathed, fought and struggled. He felt the whispers pick up inside. A song of unity and brotherhood. “Wait and hope,” he whispered to those unknown souls. “Wait and hope.”
Acknowledgments
Like Jak, my heart is full of gratitude—awe—for my pack. Thank you for guiding me, encouraging me, and helping me to tell this story to the best of my ability.
To my editing team, Angela Smith, Marion Archer, and Karen Lawson—This story had an abundance of moving parts . . . the mystery, the romance, Jak’s language, an unusual setting where every item the characters used had to be considered, and you three worked each and every angle, along with checking my grammar and keeping my characters’ sighs to a minimum. My appreciation knows no bounds.
So much thankfulness for my amazing team of beta readers, Stephanie Hockersmith, Cat Bracht, and Elena Eckmeyer, who read this story first and told me where I needed to apply the sandpaper. Thank you for your honesty, your sensitivity, and your deep love of reading.
To my book club members and beta readers, JoAnna Koller, Ashley Brinkman, Denise Coy, Rachel Morgenthal, and Shauna Waldleitner Rogers. Thank you for making time to read this book and offer comments and suggestions that were insightful, smart, and funny, and made me realize why I love talking ALL things books with you all so much.
Thank you to Sharon Broom for giving this book a final read-through. Your time and generosity mean the world to me.
Thank you to Kimberly Brower for doing all the things for all your people, at all times of the day and night. I’m so lucky to be one of them!
To you, the reader, thank you for coming along on this journey. It is my true belief that stories can save us in a myriad of ways, big and small. I am so honored that you chose one of mine, and I hope you close this book with a full heart, and perhaps a new perspective, or two.
Thank you to Mia’s Mafia for your constant love and enthusiasm.
To Katy, for being my sounding board, my pep talker, my trusted confidante, and my friend. No space, not ever.
To all the book bloggers and Instagrammers who make it their job to spread book love, your work brings beauty and happiness to the world and I am so very appreciative to each and every one of you.
And to my husband: This sweet life I am so grateful for is because you whispered to me, and I whispered back.
About the Author
Mia Sheridan is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author. Her passion is weaving true love stories about people destined to be together. Mia lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband. They have four children here on earth and one in heaven. Her works include the Sign of Love collection (Leo, Leo’s Chance, Stinger, Archer’s Voice, Becoming Calder, Finding Eden, Kyland, Grayson’s Vow, Midnight Lily, Ramsay, Preston’s Honor, Dane’s Storm, and Brant’s Return), and the standalone romance novel, The Wish Collector.
The standalone romance novels, Most of All You, and More Than Words, published via Grand Central Publishing, are available online and in bookstores.
Mia can be found online at:
MiaSheridan.com
Twitter, @MSheridanAuthor
Instagram, @MiaSheridanAuthor
Facebook.com/MiaSheridanAuthor
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