by Leddy Harper
A Crowe’s Song
Leddy Harper
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Leddy Harper
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover by Wicked by Design
Paperback ISBN 979-8-5185-4414-7
Published by Leddy Harper
www.LeddyHarper.com
To my soulmate.
Your heart is my soul’s home.
Contents
Prologue
1. Drew
2. Kenny
3. Drew
4. Kenny
Chapter 5
6. Drew
7. Kenny
8. Drew
9. Kenny
Chapter 10
11. Drew
12. Kenny
13. Drew
14. Kenny
Chapter 15
16. Drew
17. Kenny
18. Drew
19. Kenny
Chapter 20
21. Drew
22. Kenny
23. Emily
24. Kenny
Epilogue
Leddy’s Notes
Thank You…
About the Author
Also by…
Prologue
Rebekah cried out in agony from the passenger seat, her eyes tightly clenched and teeth gritted. The sound of harsh, unrelenting rain pinging off the roof of the old car almost drowned out her cries and muted her pain.
Lightning lit up the night sky, highlighting the winding road and blowing trees. The blades on the wipers were old, unable to perform the way they should’ve, making it more difficult to see through the windshield. Nothing was visible in the rearview mirror, only blackness.
“I know, Rebekah. Just a little bit longer. Hold tight, okay?”
Rebekah’s shoulders curled in just as another scream ripped past her lips, piercing the air with her palpable agony. Her forehead pressed against the cold window next to her. Nothing would take away the pain, at least not as fast as she would’ve liked. Her thighs pressed together, her body curling in on itself as much as it could, her arms wrapped protectively around the tightening ball in her stomach.
“Just breathe, Rebekah. In and out. Slow and steady. We have to keep calm.”
“I can’t. It hurts too much.”
More lightning split the sky, quickly followed by crackling thunder that shook the car and rippled through the seats. The storm refused to let up. Bolts of electricity zipped through the dark, leading the way to the hospital, proving to be more helpful than the yellowed headlights glowing through cloudy lenses.
The wet pavement sounded like crumpling tissue paper beneath the tires, water flinging against the undercarriage adding to the cadence of the storm. Constant groans, hiccupping sobs, and timed screams only rounded out the mixtape of terror filling the driver. Her delicate fingers wrapped tighter around the steering wheel, blood draining from the knuckles. Her foot pressed against the pedal with a little more pressure than before. Only one thought in mind: Get her daughter to the hospital before her grandchild was born in the passenger seat of her 1983 Buick LeSabre.
In an instant, the tires spun without resistance, losing traction with the road. Nothing registered to the two women in the car. Seconds seemed to last for minutes, hours, too fast, not long enough to react. Panic wrapped its lethal talons around the older woman’s throat while painful contractions prevented her daughter from recognizing the spinning world around her.
Until the crunch of metal resounded.
Screeching of worn-out brakes.
Glass shattering.
And then there was silence.
Slowly, the world came back into focus, starting with the slapping of wipers as they slammed into place at the base of the windshield, repeatedly. Pellets of rain ricocheted off the car like a deluge of bullets. Rebekah’s whimpers filled the stale air, adding a despondent chord to the ballad created by the storm around them.
Bright blue eyes fluttered open, and a groan of agony was released through barely parted lips. Confusion caused her breathing to speed up, forced her lungs to expand and contract in frantic waves of hysteria. When she reached over and found her daughter’s hand, she linked their fingers together, praying she would be all right. The sky erupted in that eerie silence before the static of pending thunder filled the air. It only lasted a split second, but it was enough to send jolts of fearful anticipation through their veins as they waited for the impending boom.
Over and over again.
They waited in the car, unable to move, powerless to get help, watching the storm take over the town. Each passing minute brought them one step closer to the dark edges of consciousness. If it hadn’t been for the repetitive flashes of white light, they would’ve been bathed in night, cloaked in obsidian hopelessness.
With one final prayer, bursts of color filled the air. Red and white. High-pitched sirens replaced the deep rumbles of thunder—a symphony of promises. The song of terror became a melody of hope.
Of new life.
Of dreams not forgotten.
Help arrived and separated the women briefly, just long enough to transport each one to the hospital where they would both be treated. Rebekah cried out for her mother while her mother fought to stay conscious. She only needed to hold on long enough to make sure everything was okay.
“We don’t have room,” a woman, dressed in green scrubs, complained as they wheeled Rebekah into the emergency room. “The storm has knocked out all the power, so we’re running on the backup generators. Every room is full; we’ll have to park her in the hallway and pray she holds that baby in.” She spoke to the EMT as if Rebekah couldn’t hear. As if she couldn’t understand the words or pick up on her frustration.
With her rolling bed parked along the wall, a young man placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned down. “Someone will be here soon to check your progress. Please give us a few minutes.”
The only thing that kept her calm was the sight of her mother parked next to her. Two nurses busied themselves with hooking a monitor to the side of the bed and placing sticky pads to her mom’s pale skin, ignoring Rebekah’s pleas for information.
“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” she cried out, desperate for answers.
Finally, one of the nurses turned and calmly touched Rebekah’s swollen abdomen. “We’re doing all we can, ma’am. The storm has brought in more patients than we have beds. The birthing suites are full, the operating rooms are in use from the numerous car accidents that have come in, and the ER has no room left. That’s why you’re in the hall. We’re really sorry, but we’re doing the best we can.”
“No…my mom.” Tears filled her words while her lip quivered. She didn’t care where she was or how much space they had available. Her primary concern at the moment was her mother. “Is she okay?”
With a gentle smile, the nurse replied, “She seems to be all right for now, but we won’t know anything until she’s been examined by a doctor. We’re getting someone here as soon as we can.”
Her stomach clenched, and she immediately leaned forward, attempting to curl into a ball to alleviate the pain. Her screams echoed in the hall and pierced through the chaos around them. In an instant, several people crowded around her bed, yet Rebekah couldn’t concentrate on any of it.
Intense pressu
re built between her legs. Her skin broke out in a layer of perspiration, her face flush. Heat traveled through her like the lightning ripping through the sky outside. Each time her stomach hardened with a contraction, a scream tore through her and threatened to steal her voice.
The lights flickered above her.
Panic surrounded the bed.
And a baby was born.
Blue. No voice. No cries.
Silence.
Rebekah sat up and reached for the baby, willing it to make a sound. Any sound. She prayed aloud, begging and pleading to anyone who’d listen. She swore that if she could just hear her baby cry, she’d never complain about the sound. She’d never take the squawks of a newborn for granted.
Commotion.
That’s all it was.
A soft cry, followed by a stronger one.
And an elongated, shrill, steady alarm sounding next to her.
Simultaneously.
As lightning crashed, the circle of life reset.
Chapter One
Drew
I closed the heavy wooden door and turned the key, locking the main office. The day was officially over for me, but for some reason, I wasn’t as excited as I should’ve been. Once again, the overwhelming silence reminded me of how lonely life was at Black Bird Resort.
Every year on the Fourth of July, I took a six-pack to the main dock and watched the fireworks light up the sky behind the mountaintops. So with a small cooler of beer, that was exactly where I headed.
I didn’t visit the dock only on the Fourth; it was the perfect place for a bit of quiet contemplation. The lapping water along the embankment had a way of drowning out everything else and resetting my soul. It centered and soothed me, as though the lake summoned my spirit. It was the perfect place to be alone and grow lost in the whispers of nature.
The dock wasn’t far or difficult to get to, just behind the main office, tucked into the foot of the mountain. I could’ve walked if I’d wanted to, but taking the golf cart was easier and quicker. Honestly, it had become my primary mode of transportation, regardless of where I was headed. Most people opted to get around the resort on foot. I couldn’t blame them, considering how beautiful and peaceful the grounds were, but after living here my entire life—as well as working here every day for the last six years—I’d concluded that walking was overrated.
As I drove down the dirt path that led to the lake, I couldn’t help but feel the loneliness consume me. It didn’t matter how hard I fought the oppressive cloud that cloaked me in pathetic misery, it wouldn’t go away. The most ridiculous part of it all was that I didn’t have to be alone. I could’ve spent the evening celebrating Independence Day along with everyone else at Black Bird’s restaurant or bar. Instead, I’d opted to be by myself—just like every other year.
The dock, where we kept the tour boats, was private and isolated in a quiet alcove, mostly hidden by trees. It was the perfect place to sit and have a few drinks while the town set off fireworks across the lake. There was nothing like watching the explosions of color over the green landscape, reflecting off the calm waters that seemed to stretch out forever. It truly was serene and something I enjoyed, but even that couldn’t crack the funk I’d fallen into.
The sun, so close to setting, left the sky resembling a canvas painted with varying strokes of oranges and pinks. There wasn’t a single cloud between the peaks of the mountains surrounding the reservoir, which looked more like glass than water—a true masterpiece.
I parked the cart next to the clearing just off the trail and made my way down the wooden slats in the packed earth toward the floating dock. Just before the covered boathouse was a “no trespassing” sign tacked to a slanted post. For whatever reason, I couldn’t pass it without knocking on it the way you would before walking into a room. It’d been a tradition—or superstition—of mine for as long as I could remember. So I lightly tapped the metal sign with a single knuckle and headed toward the end of the platform.
However, the sight of long blond hair slowed my steps and stole my attention. A woman—goddess, angel, whoever she was—sat at the end with her shoulder against the railing, one leg dangling off the side, her head tilted with her attention focused on something across the lake.
I hadn’t expected to see anyone down here, and it made me wonder if knocking on that sign all these years had finally paid off. Like I had somehow summoned her. I didn’t know every guest who’d checked in, but I was pretty sure I would’ve remembered this one, which made me wonder what she was doing here.
I prayed she was a local who’d wandered over to watch the show.
Not wanting to alarm her, I made my way to the end of the dock as quietly as I could. Confusion plagued me, though I wasn’t sure why; it made my heart beat faster and more profoundly. Maybe it was anxiety. Whatever it was, I’d never felt it before. My face heated, and my head felt as though it were expanding like a balloon. And without consciously taking a single step, I drew closer to her, akin to someone pulling a string.
She glanced up, bright eyes wide, mouth agape, a song of surprise hitching in her throat. It was enough to make me pause. I stopped mid-step and frantically pondered what my next move should be. Never in my life had I been frozen in place by a look, by a set of piercing eyes. I’d never questioned my next move based solely on a gasp.
Until now.
Until her.
My heartbeat spiked and then threatened to give out altogether. My dad always said I hid surprise well, but for the first time in my life, I doubted that theory, because I would bet that anyone watching this had to have noticed my stunned reaction. The only thing I could do was keep going and pray that I could pull this off without coming across as a psychopath.
I slowly finished making my way to her, never taking my eyes off the glowing angel that sat in front of me. She remained so still, reminding me of a porcelain statue. The first thing I noticed about her was her crystalline blue eyes, like pools of shallow water that begged for me to swim in. Her straight blond hair hung on either side of her face like a veil meant to conceal her beauty—but instead, the thick, light-colored locks enhanced it. I continued to let my gaze tour her features, memorizing them as if I were a blind man finally capable of seeing for the first time. Her slightly parted lips—either in awe or surprise—were full and perfect, a deep V decorating the top. She had a faint dimple in her chin, virtually unnoticeable, yet I found it to be glaringly obvious.
That one tiny dimple was familiar, as if I knew it’d be there.
Memorable, as if I’d somehow seen it before.
“Can I help you?” I asked, hoping my deep voice didn’t sound as menacing to her as it did to my own ears. At times, when I least expected it, that gravelly additive to my tone would make me sound more like a grizzly bear than a twenty-one-year-old guy.
Initially, I couldn’t gauge her reaction, because rather than answer me, she opened and closed her mouth a few times, blinking as if trying to clear her vision. Then, with a sudden shake of her head, she whispered, “Oh.”
That one sound was enough to hook me.
A scarf of deep embarrassment wrapped around her neck and covered her face. She slid her bare foot along the wooden slats beneath her as she prepared to stand. “I’m so sorry.”
I quickly set the cooler down—no longer caring about the cold beers I’d craved not ten minutes earlier—and crouched in front of her. It was the only thing I could think of to keep her from getting up and leaving. “What are you sorry for?”
Without breaking my stare, she pointed toward the boathouse. “The sign says no trespassing.”
I couldn’t stop the smile from taking over. It seemed it had been the sign after all.
She placed her palms flat on the wooden decking and pushed up in an even bigger—and more obvious—attempt to stand. The thought of her leaving sent a wave of panic through me, and without a single thought, I held her knee. She stilled, her body stiffening beneath my touch. And suddenly, I began to panic for a who
le new reason. I didn’t want her to go, but I also didn’t want to frighten her.
In the softest voice I could muster, I said, “You don’t have to leave.”
Fear morphed into confusion when her wide eyes narrowed and the lines in her forehead deepened. Yet she remained mute—eyes lingering on my face, waiting for me to say something else.
“I mean, you’re here, so stay and watch the fireworks. That’s why you came, right?”
“Yeah,” she answered in a soft, timid voice that ran through me like a slow breeze on a cold day. Then she slowly readjusted her position until she once again sat with her back pressed against the railing, one leg dangling off the side.
Feeling like I could finally relax and breathe again, I settled against the post opposite her so I could see her as we talked. Granted, that was a bit presumptuous of me, but I wasn’t opposed to going after something I wanted. And I wanted a conversation—I didn’t want to be alone.
“Are you staying at the resort or just passing through?”
The beginnings of a confident smirk toyed with one corner of her mouth. “I’m staying here—got in this morning.”
I really wanted to find out which cabin she was in, but even I knew that would be a creepy thing to ask. So I did the next best thing. “What’s your name?” With that piece of information, I could look it up without scaring her off.