Legacy Reclaimed
Page 1
Legacy Reclaimed
Legacy Series, Book 3
Robin Patchen
JDO Publishing
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To Connie.
* * *
When I married your son, I had no idea then what a blessing it would be to inherit you for a mother-in-law. I’ve never doubted your love and support for me and our family. If only we lived next door to each other. By now, we’d have solved the world’s problems and made a yummy meal to celebrate.
* * *
You are a treasure, and I love you.
Contents
Also by Robin Patchen
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About Legacy Redeemed
Also by Robin Patchen
About the Author
Also by Robin Patchen
Hidden Truth
Convenient Lies
Twisted Lies
Generous Lies
Innocent Lies
Beauty in Flight
Beauty in Flight
Beauty in Hiding
Beauty in Battle
Legacy Series
Legacy Rejected
Legacy Restored
Legacy Reclaimed
Legacy Redeemed, Coming Summer 2020
Amanda Series
Chasing Amanda
Finding Amanda
Standalone Novellas
A Package Deal
One Christmas Eve
Faith House
Acknowledgments
Every story brings its own set of challenges, and this one is no exception. I sent a mediocre book to my critique partners and my editor, and they sent it back to me all marked up. If the book is better than mediocre, it’s thanks to them.
Pegg Thomas, Jericha Kingston, Sharon Srock, Terri Weldon, and Normandie Fischer, thank you for your fantastic critiques.
Ray Rhamey, thank you for your excellent edit.
Evelyne Labelle at Carpe Librum, thank you for the beautiful cover.
Misty Beller, thank you for your marketing advice.
Ed, Nick, Lexi, and Jacob, thank you for putting up with my crazy writing schedule.
And to you, dear reader: Thank you for buying, reading, and reviewing my books. You are the reason I write.
The Lord bless you and keep you:
The Lord make his face to shine upon you,
and be gracious to you:
The Lord lift up his countenance upon you,
and give you peace.
Numbers 6:24-26
Chapter One
She’d climbed this path a thousand times, but never like this.
Chelsea Hamilton pushed aside underbrush and ducked beneath a branch. It had been too long since she’d been home. If her mother had let her stay in New Hampshire instead of sending her away years before, the hidden path between her house and the state park would still be well-worn. But Mum had sent Chelsea away, and now Mum was gone.
Chelsea ignored her tears and continued the hike she’d walked nearly every day as a child. The cool pre-dawn air was heavy with humidity. Birds trilled and squirrels rustled branches overhead. Though the trees were taller, the bushes fuller than they’d been, the mountain was familiar. At least the mountain wouldn’t leave her. Though she’d been gone for years, the trees stood sentry, as they always had, protecting her. The rocky ground felt more solid than the asphalt roads of Paris and London. Here on the mountain, she felt safe.
And she wouldn’t think about how the mountain had taken her mother. Her mother’s car accident hadn’t been the mountain’s fault.
Chelsea paused, huffing, and looked toward her goal, the cleared trail of Mt. Coventry State Park. She had another twenty-five yards before she’d reach it. Her legs burned, but she pressed on. She could do this. In a month, if she did this every day, she’d have her climbing legs back. Maybe by then she’d feel normal again.
Normal. She hadn’t felt normal since she was twelve.
Yesterday, when the crowd gathered at her house after Mum’s funeral, all Chelsea had wanted was for everyone to leave, to let her grieve in peace.
And then they had.
And she’d been totally alone.
She’d thought the house had seemed empty after her father’s murder. Dad had always been the life of their family, the energy. He’d radiated joy and peace and acceptance. He’d lived large and loved passionately.
Just like that, he’d been gone. Chelsea had been twelve years old.
With only Mum and her, the house had seemed cavernous. Maybe that was why Mum had sent her away. Maybe she’d hoped to shield Chelsea from the emptiness. Maybe she’d done it for Chelsea’s good, not just because she didn’t want to deal with a grieving child.
Chelsea wished she’d asked. If only she’d confronted her mother with the questions when she’d had the chance. She’d thought there was time.
She’d been wrong about many things. Loneliness, for instance. Her loneliness had been terrible at school in England, wishing for her mother’s arms around her, the gentle way she used to stroke Chelsea’s cheeks.
But this was a new level of loneliness. Father murdered. Mother killed in a car accident. Chelsea left with the task of running her parents’ company, their legacy, without their guidance.
Father, what am I to do now?
Finally, she reached the trail that wound from a small parking area and led hikers all over the mountain. Trees towered all around her. The trail was rocky and narrow. It was deserted this early in the morning. Rare were the people who went for a hike at dawn, especially on a weekday. Summertime tourists staying on Lake Ayasha would arrive later, but Chelsea would be long gone by then, to the office, then to the reading of Mum’s will. She wasn’t ready to face that yet.
Brightness beckoned her forward.
Ayasha View Point. Her favorite place in the whole world.
She climbed a short rise, careful not to slip on the damp bracken, and emerged from the forest. She crossed the flat boulder that ended at a cliff that fell a couple of hundred feet to jagged rocks below.
The sun was just emerging over the peaks at the far side of the valley, and Lake Ayasha shimmered in the reflection. Boats bobbed near docks and in the marina at the country club. A few motored across the smooth surface, the fishermen barely discernible. Pines, oaks, maples, and birches ringed the water.
Below rested the town of Coventry, New Hampshire. Little houses, bigger houses, a few hotels and bed-and-breakfasts. Restaurants, shops, tourist traps. She stepped closer to the drop-off and peered over the edge
. Yes, there was her house, grand and gleaming against the backdrop of the dark forest, the grounds looking perfect. A half mile down the road sat her uncle’s house, smaller than her own but no less charming.
On the far side of the lake was the business her parents had built from nothing, the business that employed the majority of the people who lived in Coventry and surrounding communities. Before Daddy and Mum had started the company, the town had been dying. They’d saved it one job at a time.
Today, the Hamilton label was known worldwide. Chelsea’s dream had always been to settle in Coventry and work as a designer for the clothier, learning the business through the years so she could eventually run it. She’d studied both fashion design and marketing at university in England. She’d have come home to work for her mother a year before if she hadn’t been offered an internship with a prestigious designer in Paris. Her mother had insisted she accept the position, ensuring Chelsea that she had plenty of time to learn the workings of Hamilton.
How wrong Mum had been.
More tears. It was a wonder Chelsea had any left.
As she turned from the view, her foot caught a rock and sent it skidding over the cliff. She listened, barely making out the sound of it skipping off rocks below.
She peeked down but wasn’t willing to stand close enough to the edge to see. Her feet were too near the drop-off as it was, and her shoelace was untied. Thank heavens she’d seen it. A fall here would be deadly. As she crouched to retie it, a noise startled her.
A man bolted from the tree line and raced toward her, a black hoodie obscuring his face.
She tensed, her body registering the danger before her mind could catch up. A scream, a warning, caught in her throat. Surely the man didn’t see her. Did he plan to dive off the cliff? Was she in the way of a suicide attempt?
He slowed at the last second, lunged straight at her.
One of his hands connected with her shoulder, the other, her elbow. She tumbled.
Snatching, she reached for anything to keep her from the edge, but there was nothing to save her.
She careened over the cliff.
Chapter Two
The world spun in a whirlwind of rock and air.
Chelsea’s arm hit a crag jutting out of the rock. She grabbed at it, missed, kept falling.
Her stomach hit something. A branch. She spun over it like an out-of-control gymnast, fell forward, head first. She grabbed at another branch, the rough bark cutting into her palms.
She swung down, gravity trying to rip her away. Somehow, miraculously, she hung on. After a brief pause to breathe, she swayed and lifted her other hand to grab the branch. Then, she dangled in the silence and tried to catch her breath.
Someone had tried to kill her.
Below, jagged rocks. They gaped like the open jaws of a hungry monster.
She forced her gaze up. Focusing on the rock face in front of her, she tried not to think about the painful death awaiting her if she fell. Thanks to the jutting crag that had slowed her fall and the tenacious tree growing inconceivably from the face of the cliff, she had a chance to survive.
So far, she’d gotten lucky.
Lucky?
The word whispered across her heart, His voice as familiar as her own.
Okay, so it hadn’t been luck. The Lord had spared her. Surely He had a plan.
What now, Father?
If Chelsea could swing her legs up, catch them on the branch… But no. Her hands weren’t so secure that she could swing about without losing her grip. The branch, though… It was connected to a trunk that was secure against the cliff.
She inched one hand across the bark, then followed with the other. Her palms protested the scraping, but she kept her grip. Slowly, she made her way until she thought she might be near the trunk.
She closed her eyes, swung her feet toward the tree. Nothing but air.
She wasn’t going to look to see how far she had to go. Based on the distance to the cliff—maybe three feet now—the trunk had to be close.
She slid a few inches closer, reached with her foot toward the tree, and touched… something. Maybe the trunk. Maybe just a branch.
She inched closer still, her hands screaming in pain, and then swung her legs.
Yes! She caught the trunk, hooked her leg around it.
Pain shot up from her foot. Had she injured it during the fall? She ignored it. She’d deal with that later.
Now she was hanging awkwardly, one leg on the tree, two hands on the branch. This wasn’t better. She slid her palms toward the trunk. Another limb pushed up from the joint between the trunk and the branch that had saved her life, making it impossible for her to get any closer. If she could just get her hands from the branch to the trunk, she could wrap her arms around it and give her poor palms a rest.
Her other leg reached the tree. Not close enough to hook around it, but closer. If she wanted to get to the trunk, she was going to have to let go of the branch.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, breathed a prayer for help. Then, she pushed herself toward the trunk. Her left hand missed, but her right arm swung around it and caught her weight.
She hugged the tree koala-style.
Thank You, thank You.
She wasn’t safe yet, but this was better than hanging like a monkey.
Now what?
If she’d brought her cell phone, she could call 911. But she’d wanted to put off the day’s business a little longer.
Who could have predicted that the day’s business would include an attempt on her life?
She could yell, hope someone would hear. But what if the would-be killer was above, waiting for her to come up? What if he knew she hadn’t hit the rocks below? All he had to do was find a view of the cliff from another vantage point, and he’d see her.
She gazed at the lower part of the mountain with its thick forest. Was he there now, watching her?
Maybe someone else would see her and send help. But no. Even if someone from town were to look at the cliff, they wouldn’t notice her in this tree. She was too far away and too high up.
There had to be another way.
She studied the cliff face. It wasn’t as sheer as it looked from the lake below or as steep as it looked from the rocks above. There were handholds, but she was no mountain climber.
Should she sit there and wait, or risk it?
Lord?
As she breathed prayers, she studied the tree and rocks surrounding her.
The tree grew out of a ledge a foot or so wide. The ledge led to the far side of the cliff face. She couldn’t see around the corner, but a tree-lined slope was there. She’d seen it all her life. If she could get there, she could climb out. That was a big if.
If she reached the bottom of the tree that had saved her life and felt she couldn’t make it, at least her feet would be on solid ground.
That seemed a better idea than gripping the trunk for dear life hoping for rescue. Besides, though it had been years, she’d climbed her share of trees. As long as she didn’t think about the fact that this one was suspended hundreds of feet in the air, she should be fine.
She loosened her hold on the trunk and slid down. The rugged bark dug into her hands, her arms, even her stomach through her thin T-shirt, which was already aching thanks to the blow it had taken when she’d smacked into the tree. Thank God she’d worn jeans, socks, and sneakers. Not every part of her body would be scraped at the end of this. When she reached a branch below her, she settled her weight on it for a moment, allowed herself to breathe, and then continued to the bottom.
Finally, her feet touched solid ground, and she stood.
And nearly fell. Her left foot screamed in pain. She’d forgotten that. It must have smacked something hard in the tumble. Was it bruised or sprained?
Broken?
She tried her weight on it again. The pain was sharp, and she lifted it. Moved it around. Okay, maybe something was broken, but feet had a lot of bones. She’d just have to rely on t
he healthy ones.
Was that possible?
When she put her foot down again, pain shot up her leg. But it held her weight. She could do this.
Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d start to believe it.
The ledge wasn’t as deep as it’d looked from above. Eight inches, nine. Not wide enough to sit on. If she perched between the rock wall and the tree, she could almost rest. But she didn’t want to rest. She wanted off the mountain. Immediately.
She pressed her back against the rock and inched to the side. Bad idea. If she started to fall, she’d have nothing to hang onto. Using the tree to keep her steady, she turned so she faced the rocks, then found a handhold for each hand. The rock was jagged enough that there should be plenty of crevasses to grip. Slowly, she made her way along the ledge. Each time she put weight on the left foot, it protested.
The sun beat against her back. It was a cool morning, but, thanks to exertion and terror, sweat dripped down her spine. She continued, inch by torturous inch, until she reached the bend in the cliff face. She couldn’t see beyond it and prayed she was right and the other side would be gentler and have something to hang onto. The ledge was growing narrower, the handholds slick. She could go back, except she didn’t think she had enough strength to return to the tree, and if she did, then what? She’d wait, hope for rescue, and pray the murderer didn’t come back?