by Alex Jane
Table of Contents
The Legacy
All Rights Reserved
Copyright
Dedication
The Legacy – A Homestead Legacy Story
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
One Year On
Thank You For Reading
Acknowledgments
The Arrangement
The Alphas’ Homestead Series
Also by the Author
About the Author
The Legacy
by Alex Jane
All Rights Reserved
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer-to-peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.
All characters and events and places in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.
This is a fantasy world that only bears a passing resemblance to reality.
The Legacy
Copyright © 2020 Alex Jane
First Edition –– 2020
Cover Design by Alex Jane
Editing by Victoria Milne
For anyone trying to find some peace.
It’s out there. Keep searching.
The Legacy – A Homestead Legacy Story
1919. Nebraska.
After returning from the frontline in Europe, all Emmanuel Jackson wants is to find a little peace. Unable to cope with life in New York, he escapes to the homestead his grandfathers left to him in Nebraska. Except, after four years, the sleepy town of Lastford isn’t exactly how he’d left it.
With many of his neighbors forced out by financial hardship, and a ruthless businessman taking full advantage of the fact, Emmanuel finds himself being drawn into matters he’d rather avoid. One of them being Asher Franklin, his childhood tormentor and unfairly handsome officer of the law.
Having to fight his attraction to the man he once hated, as well as defend the community he wants to make his own, is far from the quiet life Emmanuel had envisioned for himself.
But some things are worth fighting for.
And when there’s no fight left in you, love might be the thing that brings you home.
**A standalone story set in the Homestead universe**
Prologue
1919. Nebraska.
It might have been hyperbole to say that disembarking the train was akin to a religious experience but, damn, after two days stuck inside it was close. Although tempted to kneel and press his lips to the dry Nebraskan dust that coated the platform, Emmanuel was distracted, helping an elderly couple with their carpet bag full with toys and gifts for the grandchildren he'd been hearing about for the last few hours of the journey. Then his uncle's voice calling his name caught his attention and that alone was enough to tell him he was home without getting a mouthful of dirt.
"Manny!" Uncle Ephraim's voice carried through the throng of people and over the sound of the engine letting out steam. Emmanuel turned to face him, knowing the hug was coming, and dropped his pack just in time to save them both from toppling over as Ephraim threw his arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. It was a small mercy his uncle didn't lift him clear off the ground as he'd had a habit of doing when Emmanuel was a child, but he was far beyond being a child anymore so that might have had something to do with it. Although with his uncle being a Were, he still could with little effort.
"Hey, Uncle Ephraim. You're a sight for sore eyes." Emmanuel stepped back, holding his uncle at arm's length. He looked older, but that was only to be expected after four years.
The way Ephraim took Emmanuel's face in both hands and stared at him, drinking in the sight with tears welling in his eyes, was all the mirror Emmanuel needed to know that he had changed somewhat too. "Oh, my boy," was all Ephraim whispered, but there was a lot more that went unsaid in those few words.
Emmanuel was grateful for his uncle’s terseness, at least since his return from the frontline. It was bad enough to have to deal with his mother's fussing, and his father's sad eyes, and if he'd had to listen to his grandmother crying anymore… Emmanuel nodded. "It's good to be here."
"It's good to have you." Ephraim barked out a laugh and pulled Emmanuel into another brief embrace before he scooped up his bag and steered him down the platform. "Come on, let's get somewhere less crowded."
Of course, the whole process had to be repeated when they finally beat their way through the crowd to the lot where Joshua was waiting with the horses and trap. As soon as he saw Emmanuel, Joshua beamed and pushed himself up to stand. Emmanuel took off running, if only to stop the man from having to go through the awkward process of struggling down from his seat on the wagon. He was only just deploying the walking stick when Emmanuel got to him and made it unnecessary by climbing up and pulling his uncle into a tight hug.
"You made it." The quiet words were half-muffled in Emmanuel's shoulder, but the sound of his uncle's voice made his throat tight with emotion. Emmanuel could only nod and hold him tighter. They had both come through the wars, in one way or another. It wasn't the only thing they had in common, but in that moment they both felt like survivors.
They only broke apart when they heard Ephraim dumping Emmanuel's bag in the back of the trap and clearing his throat. "If you two are quite finished?"
Emmanuel laughed and let Joshua push him off with a cuff around the shoulder and a loud, "Never. We're keeping him this time, so I'll never be done."
Emmanuel felt himself blush a little. He'd always been close to his uncles—Ephraim being his blood relative, after all, and Joshua being a human in a wolf pack, like him—and it was no secret they favored him over his siblings somewhat. But still, it was nice to have their approval and attention.
Both Emmanuel's parents were human too but somehow they seemed to fit better into Were society than Emmanuel ever had. His mother, being a doctor of medicine and fiercely independent, was as much an Alpha as a person could be without growing fangs and claws.
His father too was a free spirit, always ready for adventure. Ephraim always said he thought Josiah to be the strongest person he knew, being he had the guts to stay married to his sister.
Emmanuel's siblings were both wolves, like Ephraim. Although Alice was an Alpha and her twin—named Henry after their paternal grandfather but called Harry to avoid confusion—was a Beta. They were both still as insufferably cheerful and full of mischief as adults as they had been as children. The whole family had been forged in a whirlwind of travel and adventure, only really settling permanently in New York fifteen years previously. And out of them all, Emmanuel was the only one who longed for quiet and peace and a place at his grandfathers' table on their sleepy homestead in Nebraska where nothing ever happened.
Emmanuel sighed, long and full of relief. "Yup. You're never getting rid of me now."
The journey back to the homestead was surreal, being both familiar and yet strangely altered at the same time. Memories of sitting in the carriage, jolting and bouncing around as he'd clung to the window frame and gazed out in wonder at the flat landscape rolling by as a boy, came floodin
g back. Passing through Plum Creek was somewhat of an experience. Gone was the sleepy town of his childhood, replaced with sprawling slums and freight yards. They eventually left the town behind and the sparse land that Emmanuel remembered was still there, littered with a few more houses than he recalled, but the view was still familiar. As they followed the tributary north, eventually, even those dissipated until the next thing he saw was his uncles' house rising up in the distance.
"What do you want to do? Come back with us to eat or go straight to the homeplace?" Ephraim didn't look over as he spoke and it afforded Emmanuel a chance to smile. His uncles had been living in their home on the south end of the property for more than twenty years and yet still the Alphas' homestead was the center of their world.
Emmanuel brushed some dirt from his knee, more out of habit than with any hope of staying presentable. "Actually, I thought I should go see my grandfathers first. Seems right, y'know?"
Ephraim only nodded but Joshua said quietly, "All right. Then you'll come eat and we can get you settled in later."
Nodding back, Emmanuel wished he had a hat to hide behind. "If that's all right with you, that is."
Without taking his eyes from the trail ahead, Ephraim reached over and squeezed Emmanuel's shoulder. "Of course, Manny. But don't blame me if someone eats all the cake before you get back though." Joshua's disgruntled huff and the subsequent bickering made Emmanuel feel as if he'd made the right decision yet again.
The two men were still teasing each other when they pulled up the horses on the ridge above the homestead. Emmanuel jumped down and wheeled around to pull his pack onto his shoulder.
"You gonna be all right?" Joshua sounded concerned but there was no hint he was going to try to get Emmanuel to change his mind.
"I'll be fine. I just want to let them know I'm here and then I'll be back. I'm starving, apart from anything else." Ephraim laughed and gathered up the reins. "If you get lost, just holler. I'll hear you." Emmanuel saluted and watched as his uncle pulled the horses around him and headed back down the trail, waiting for the dust to settle a little before he started down the ridge to the homestead below.
It was quiet. And strangely different from the way he remembered it. Smaller somehow. The garden was a little overgrown and he made a mental note to get instructions from his Uncle Thaddeus about what he wanted done with it, being that it was him who'd planted the plot as a boy.
The house looked too still and the yard was devoid of animals, with most of them having moved up to Ephraim and Joshua's place. Otis, the son of his grandfathers' foreman, still lived in the cottage when he wasn't with his sister in Plum Creek and kept an eye on the place, but working in town as the schoolmaster, he had no time to take care of a stable full of animals. The old place seemed barren without another living soul in it.
Emmanuel didn't go into the house. There would be time for that later. Dumping his pack on the porch, he opened the drawstrings at the top and pulled out a small canvas bag. He had no worries about leaving his belongings behind as he took off toward the creek. It wasn't as if anyone would disturb them. The thought was like a balm suddenly, and he was at once both calmed and less weary than he had been for a long time.
There was no rush as he walked by the old stable and the paddock beyond, the path beneath his feet well-worn deep into the ground even though it had become overgrown with matted grass and lichen. It led him straight to the rickety bridge that he had helped build with his grandfathers one summer. He didn't pause but slowed enough to run his hands over the weathered rail and let his fingertips trace the initials he and his siblings had scratched into the posts the following year. It felt like a different world, yet like yesterday, some weird twisted reality that his father might create in one of his science fiction stories.
Except, a few more steps beyond the bridge and everything was far too real again. The trees loomed large, dark, and just as frightening as he'd perceived them as a child. Harry and Alice would run screaming into them, hunting each other and whatever small animals they could find. But, to Emmanuel, the woods seemed more like a trap than a playground. And, as he approached, a source of grief that could never truly heal.
The wooden headstones had moss on them now. Emmanuel was tempted to brush it off, but clearly Ephraim was here, if not daily then often enough that if he wanted it gone, he would have done it himself. There were flowers planted at the base of each marker and the area appeared well looked after. Emmanuel lowered himself to sit with a bump and a grunt between two of them, and then fished into his bag.
"I brought you something," he said awkwardly. What really were you supposed to say to the dead?
His hand caught first on a small paper bag and he pulled it out. "Mom said you liked the lemon ones best but I got you both kinds just in case." He placed the bag of bonbons next to the peonies on Caleb's grave, adjusting the little package so it wouldn't topple over and spill the contents.
Except when he pulled his hand away, he had second thoughts, and reached back to pick one of the sweets out and popped it into his mouth. His grandfather had always insisted the children have the first pick of his favorite candies, so it seemed wrong not to take one now. He nodded a little as he went back to his bag and rifled through it. "Yeah, I think you're right about the lemon. Strawberry is just a little too—oh, there it is."
He smiled as he held up the pencils. All he had left to look at was Jacob's name, neatly carved in straight, even letters that in no way reflected his bright smile and warm hugs. But Emmanuel could still see and hear him as if he was sitting right there with him. "I got the kind you liked. I sharpened them too, just the way you showed me. I was going to bring some paper but—well, Mom said the pencils would be enough."
There was a second where he debated whether to stick them in the ground so they would stand up to echo the lavender growing there but settled on simply laying them beneath the blooms, nestled into the grass.
Turning to the third grave was perhaps the hardest in some ways. Mostly as he could remember standing here with his grandfathers as they'd dug it. Still, he managed a smile. She hated it the most when he was sad. He took the last item from his bag and held it up.
"Now, I know this looks like a dumb rock," he started, his voice breaking slightly, "but I've had it checked out and that right there is a fossilized sea urchin from the—I don't remember which period but, well, I found it on a French hillside, someplace where a sea urchin definitely shouldn't have been…"
Where neither of you should have been.
Emmanuel could practically hear her say it. "I thought you'd like it." He leaned the stone against his Aunt Sarah's marker beneath the dahlias, and then let his hand drift up to run his fingers over her name and Beloved daughter, sister, friend, and adventurer carved beneath. It was harder than he'd thought it would be, sitting there with the three of them.
Blowing out a breath, he sat back and looked up at the blue sky above. He closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the wind stir the trees. The leaves hummed to him, harmonizing with the drone of the insects and chatter of the birds hunting them. He'd often do this when he found himself in a quiet spot. With his eyes shut, he could fool himself that he was here—on the homestead—safe from whatever dogged him in any particular moment. It was a relief to be able to open them again and find himself in exactly the place he wanted to be.
"I'm sorry," he started, but had to clear his throat again to get the words out. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get here. I just—" He didn't even know how to explain it to himself. Maybe if his aunt was there she might have been able to coax the truth out of him, or Grandpa Jacob would have wanted to talk things over until they both understood. Caleb would have simply fixed him with his bright blue gaze and waited him out. But then if they were there, he would never have left in the first place.
"I guess it doesn't matter. I couldn't be here before. But I'm here now." He reached out and pushed his fingers into the grass like he would do into the fur of his grandf
athers' wolves. "I won't let you down. You left this place to me, to my safekeeping, and I promise I will do my best to make it right. I won't be running anymore."
He sat that way for a minute longer, until a bird broke from the bushes and scared him back to himself. Huffing out a laugh, he rose slowly to his feet and stretched, groaning at the stiffness in his bones after his long journey. Then he bent and retrieved his bag, balling it roughly in his hand, and gazed down affectionately at the headstones.
"Anyway. I just wanted to let you know that I was back and—well, I guess, I'm here to stay." Having done what he came there to do, Emmanuel smiled and turned to the homestead—not simply the homeplace any longer, but his home—and the new life awaiting him there. Whatever that might be. Because, after coming all this way, he still had no idea.
Chapter One
Waking with start for no other reason than it was just the way things were now, Emmanuel didn't recall a bad dream, or dreaming at all, but still his heart was pounding, and he could hardly catch his breath as he rolled onto his back.
It took him a moment, blinking into the darkness, to get his bearings. From the darkness alone it was clear he wasn't in the family home in New York. His mother had taken to leaving him with a night light, as if he was a child again. Which had been only a little humiliating, but at least her over protectiveness was for reasons even his siblings wouldn't tease him about. And he knew he definitely wasn't back in France. The air was too quiet, no sounds of distant guns, or the sniffling whimpers of sleeping soldiers, or the scent of fetid mud underfoot, or the screams from the infirmary that went on and on and on.
It was simply dark, the window pane a gray shape to his left, casting no light yet, although it must have been morning, with the only sounds his own breath stuttering into his chest and the call of birds from the grassland as they hailed the new day.