Vestige of Legacy

by Sara Blackard

  Vestige Of Legacy

  Vestige in Time Series - Book 3

  Sara Blackard

  Copyright © 2020 Sara Blackard

  For more information on this book and the author visit: https://www.sarablackard.com

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  Editor Raneé S. Clark with Sweetly Us Press.

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  Cover Designer Hineni Asah

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  Author photo by Michele Flagen https://micheleflagenphotography.pixieset.com

  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.

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  As much as possible, I’ve used historic descriptions of Nathan Meeker, his wife and daughter, and Chief Johnson to create their interactions with Samara and Orlando, but this is fiction, and I, unfortunately, have not travelled back in time to meet them personally.

  Want to know how it all began? Find out what propelled Hunter to the mountains and back through time by signing up for Sara Blackard’s newsletter and receive Mission Out of Control, the Vestige in Time prequel for FREE.

  For my children who put up with my fractured thinking and lack of cooking.

  I love you all more everyday!

  Chapter 1

  August 2nd, 2019

  Samara McKenna’s arms, legs, and even eyelids weighed her down, pulling her deep, deep into blackness she couldn’t escape. Her breath sat like a boulder in her chest. She couldn’t remember anything beyond the heaviness. She focused on her breath, steady and slow, in and out. As she focused, the weight lightened and her surroundings became less muted. Samara brushed leaves with her fingers, and twigs poked under her body. A large, smooth rock rested beneath her hand. She recognized the earthy scent of forest and dirt, that comforting scent of summer. She detected the buzz of insects, the singing of a bird far away, and the rustling and muttering of something that wasn’t of the woods. A maniacally gleeful snicker cut short and steps moved toward her. The heaviness fled in the frigid, cold wake of fear.

  “Soon, soon.” The terrible voice whispered as a cool shadow fell over her face. “She’ll be coming around soon. Then the real fun can begin.”

  As the footsteps retreated, Samara chanced a peek through slitted eyelids. Harry Smith, a co-worker at the Colorado dude ranch where she was spending the summer, stomped away from her, his long muscled arms fidgeting at his sides. He’d always given her the heebie-jeebies, but in the awkward, harmless staring way, not the sociopath way. It was one of the reasons she left the ranch every day she had off, to get a break from the too-familiar touches Harry liked to give and the sense that she was being watched.

  She remembered cleaning up the weekly barbecue the dude ranch put on for its guests. She had played the Appalachian dulcimer, the stringed instrument her mother had left her with, while the guests had danced around the fire, eating ribs and drinking sarsaparilla. The job was her latest adventure, singing and playing for people who wanted to pretend they were back in the Wild West while staying in the comforts of modernized, rustic cabins.

  As far as her rotating temporary jobs went, this one hadn’t been all bad, aside from her altitude sickness and Harry’s creepy stares. She’d enjoyed the peace of the mountains that shot straight into the clear blue sky. The clean air and calm atmosphere had given her a desire she had pushed to the pit of her soul for so long she figured it had died— a desire to find a home, maybe even settle down and start a family. Just as fast as that yearning had surfaced, it looked like fate would tear it away. Again.

  She took a quick glance at her body, her head spinning as she did. The prairie dress the ranch required her to wear for the Old West effect appeared covered in dirt, but other than that, everything was in order. What had Harry done to her? She remembered their boss telling her and Harry to stay behind and grab the last of the supplies. She had guzzled her sarsaparilla, relieving her dry throat as she packed the supplies in the old Toyota pick-up while the rest of the crew took the guests back to the resort in the wagons. She remembered just putting her dulcimer hardcase over her shoulder and throwing the last bag of trash into the truck when her head started to spin and everything turned black. He must’ve drugged her somehow and brought her out to the middle of the woods.

  She had to get out of this. She had to focus, use that martial arts training she’d spent her hard-earned money on. Pull up the lessons she learned in foster care and on the streets of Philadelphia to get out of whatever horror show she now found herself in. Typical. If she still believed in God, she’d conclude He had it out for her. She wasn’t giving up her dream, now that she’d found the courage to go for it.

  “I see you’ve finally woken up.” Harry smirked at her.

  “Wha— what are you doing?” She hated the way her voice caught and shook.

  “Why, having a little fun of course.” He stalked closer, twirling a thin blade that looked like a filet knife. The blond hair he normally kept slicked back hung disheveled over his eyes, making his handsome face haggard and sinister in the shadows of the woods. “I like to have fun, and you seemed like someone who’d like to play.”

  Samara pushed back with her feet and elbows, trying to inch away from his advance. Pitiful, she knew, but it made her realize that he hadn’t tied down her arms or legs. He either didn’t think she’d fight or was looking forward to it. A sharp stab dug into her shoulder, revealing a rock that he’d laid her by. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. She continued to scoot back so she could put her hand over the rock and work it out of the ground.

  Harry bent down and, with excruciating slowness, slid the side of the knife along her bodice, skimming up over her belly and breast. As the blade reached the last few buttons, Harry cut the buttons off and dug the knife into the exposed skin of her chest and over her collarbone. A scream ripped from her throat as tears of pain and fear fell from her eyes. His look of glee had her taking a deep shuddering breath in and bracing herself. She couldn’t let him win, no matter what.

  He pulled a piece of her auburn hair up to his face and inhaled, drawing the scent into him. “I knew you’d smell like heaven.” He smiled down at her as he cut the section of hair and placed it in his pocket. “I’ve always wanted a redhead, just never found one worthy yet. My women must be strong and independent like you’ve proved to be. There’s no fun in conquering a weakling.”

  “You know, Harry.” She surprised herself at how strong her voice sounded. “I always thought there was something different about you. Special.”

  His head tilted to the side, and his lips pursed. He shook his head. “How’s that?”

  “Well, you like to give pain. I like to receive pain.” She attempted to sound sultry as she gripped the rock firmly in her hand. The look of rapture on his face almost made her vomit. “I wonder if you enjoy receiving pain as well.”

  As a groan of ecstasy escaped from Harry’s mouth, Samara brought her arm up with all her strength, slamming the jagged rock into the side of his head. He fell over with a thud, and she scrambled to her feet. She didn’t have any time to waste as she took off at a sprint through the woods. She grabbed her dulcimer case as she passed where it sat propped up against a tree and threw the strap across her chest so it rested against her back.

  Samara bolted, not caring which direction she sprinted as long as it was away. A horrific yell echoed through the woods behind her, causing tears of fear to race down her face. She’d hoped she’d have a bigger lead. She had to find help, find someone or somewhere she could go. But she knew there was no one around since the dude ranch sat
at the edge of the National Wilderness, and no one wandered in these parts.

  Harry’s crashing and shouting through the woods grew closer, diminishing the small distance she’d put between them. How he had guessed which way to go was a mystery, like the devil whispered directions to him. She pushed herself as hard as she’d ever run, ignoring the rocks and branches that tore at her hair and body. She chanced a glance back as she pushed through some thick brush and gasped as her foot caught on a root, tripping her forward into nothing but air. She almost screamed, but held it in as she gripped the brush to keep herself from tumbling down the steep hillside below. Recovering her footing, she fell to her knees, sucking air. Samara whipped her hair from her face, relief rushing through her body. Hidden behind the brush in the side of the hill was a cave.

  Samara scrambled to the opening and crawled in, not caring if it was already occupied. There was barely enough room for her to curl up with her dulcimer wedged in next to her. She was grateful for years of yoga as she twisted and tucked her body tighter than it had ever been. With the brush before the cave and the top of the hill overhanging the entrance, she hoped Harry wouldn’t catch on that she was there.

  “Samara!” Harry’s voice bellowed directly above her. Samara pushed her mouth into her knees to keep from whimpering. “I know you’re here, girl. Why don’t you stop playing and just come out?”

  The brush moved in front of the entrance, and footsteps crunched closer. Samara slowed her breathing in an attempt to calm her erratic heart. She should’ve just kept running. With the way she was wedged in the stupid cave, she wasn’t sure she could fight Harry off if need be. Lord, help me. Samara almost laughed at the prayer that popped into her head. She hadn’t prayed for years and doubted God would listen to her anyway.

  “Well, what do we have here?” The brush pushed further from the entrance, and Harry’s red plaid sleeve came into view. Samara slammed her eyelids shut. “Are you pretending to be a ra—”

  Samara flinched at the sudden silence that echoed in the cave. Her eyelids flew open. There was no movement of the brush, no red plaid. Nothing. Where had Harry gone? Was he playing a cruel game? Had he fallen down the hillside? Samara shook her head to her inner questions. She would’ve heard him falling.

  She took a deep breath and uncurled her body while mentally preparing to attack if needed. As she reached the opening, she peered down the hillside. No Harry lay crumpled in a heap. Pity. She craned her neck to look up the hill. No Harry lurked, waiting for her to emerge. Nothing but the chirping of birds and the bickering of a couple of squirrels met her ears. With a shiver, Samara rubbed the goosebumps that erupted up her arms and skittered down her legs.

  “No use sitting here waiting for him to return,” Samara mumbled to herself to ease the tension the sudden lack of Harry’s presence caused.

  Samara scrambled to the top of the hill, her dulcimer case knocking into her head as she pulled on branches and roots. She crawled over the edge and crouched down, prepared to run or fight. As she surveyed the area for red fabric, she wondered why the ground looked different, as if the thick undergrowth that plagued the national wilderness area had been cleaned up. She shrugged off the thought. Pondering the health of the forest wasn’t going to get her away from wherever Harry had disappeared to. Deciding the creek at the bottom of the hill might hide her steps better than the soft dirt, Samara adjusted the straps to her case and skidded her way down the steep slope, hoping she didn’t slip and break her neck in the process.

  August 2nd, 1879

  Summer was Orlando Thomas’s favorite part of the year. The mountains awakened with vibrant color, painting vivid images across his memory. Animals frolicked and raced to prepare for winter, creating a song that spoke life. The heat from the sun warmed his bones that winter had tried to freeze solid. Of course, he enjoyed winter when it came around just about as much as summer, though summer remained the friendlier season of the two.

  He peered through the trees as he sat on his horse, Loco, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. All he found was his Great Pyrenees sheepdog, Zeus, digging frantically in a tree root up ahead. He whistled, and the dog lifted his head and trotted over, his tongue hanging from a mouth that Orlando swore was smiling. No one would think the fluffy snowball vicious, but if danger presented itself, the big lug would do anything to protect his charges. That was why the breed worked so well with shepherds. That and the fact they looked like sheep.

  He smiled down at the massive dog. “Let’s go see what we can find.”

  Orlando had headed out here looking for any sheep that had wandered away, which was doubtful, and any medicinal plants he could harvest for his supply, which was hopeful. More than anything, he’d woken up with a need to venture out this way. He couldn’t explain it, almost like God wanted him here, in this area. When he’d had these feelings in the past, almost always he’d find someone or something in need of help. So Orlando left, following the call of God, like his father before him.

  He dragged in the sweet smell of grass shooting its way from the dark dirt and the muskiness of last autumn’s leaves working their way back to the soil. He surrendered to the peace that enveloped him and opened his senses to the world around him.

  Zeus’s ears perked up, and he shot off, dashing through the forest before Orlando could whistle a command. Orlando urged Loco into a gallop, attempting to keep up with Zeus as the dog plunged into a thick wall of brush ahead. A scream pierced the air, sending a shiver of dread up Orlando’s spine.

  He proceeded with speed yet care, knowing this part of the mountain grew thick with trees and brush that hid drop-offs that would take a man out in an instant. Orlando pushed the horse through the barrier and pulled up short. Behind the wall dropped a steep slope that ended in a thin pristine mountain stream. Zeus had made it to the bottom of the hillside and, with a wagging tail, approached a woman who was backing up with her hands held out. Orlando whistled for Zeus to sit, causing the woman’s head to snap up. Orlando watched as the tension of her shoulders relaxed slightly in an exhale.

  Orlando raised his hand in acknowledgement and scanned the hilltop, looking for a better path down to the lady. Not seeing one, he urged Loco down the steep terrain, knowing the mountain pony was game for the crazy ride, like many before that had earned him his name. As Loco picked his way down, Orlando surveyed the woman as she pushed the riot of dark coppery curls from her face. She wore a cotton dress that was grimy, and had some kind of case strapped to her back. Overall, she appeared unharmed except for a nasty gash that showed above her dress’s collar. Her body tightened like a rabbit cornered by a badger the closer he got, so that when Loco reached the stream bank, Orlando worried she’d bolt. He smiled at her and tipped his hat, hoping to put her at ease.

  “Oh man, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. I left my phone back at the ranch, not that it would do me any good out here.” Her words stopped him short, his leg freezing halfway over Loco’s rump.

  Orlando shook the dread off that slinked down his back and continued to dismount. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the hard, black case she had strapped around her. Though dirt covered the object, he saw the gleam of metal and a material that slightly resembled leather but wasn’t. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “Lord, not again.” His voice came out a harsh whisper of unease at seeing material not yet invented.

  “You okay?” The lady’s melodic voice sounded wary, and Orlando noticed she’d clenched her hands and taken a step back.

  The lady’s discomfort sent the nerves away and consolidated his focus and emotions on her. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now. If his instinct proved right and this little lady had somehow come from the future, she’d need him fully present, not shaking with nerves in his boots.

  Chapter 2

  The large man’s mutterings sent Samara’s heart to hammering. Without much thought, she curled her hands into fists, preparing to fight off the man before her. She heard a gro
wl, and flinched at the massive dog who now approached with the hair on his scruff standing straight up. She took a step back, her focus on the beast’s lips that twitched as he snarled.

  “Zeus, no. Protect,” the man’s firm and calm voice stated.

  Samara turned her attention back to the handsome, rugged man with blond hair that hung to his shoulders and blue eyes that matched the Colorado sky. He looked kind and concerned.

  “Miss, I’m sorry we frightened you.” The man held his hands up in surrender.

  “Help me.” Samara’s voice cracked, to her horror.

  “I’m going to help you, I promise. Nothing will hurt you now. I’m Orlando. Orlando Thomas.” His deep voice was calm and sturdy.

  “Harry. He’s out here. He’s psycho, wants to hurt me,” she stammered, her fear increasing with each word, as if the stress of the entire situation had fizzed up and popped the top off her control.

  “I know for a fact he’s not going to be able to hurt you anymore,” the man, Orlando, promised, which Samara found idiotic, since Harry could be lurking anywhere at the moment, just waiting to pounce.

  A howl echoed in the distance. Orlando’s head snapped in the direction of the call, and a deep growl issued from the dog next to him. Orlando peered with intense determination at her.

  “Miss, I need to get you to safety. It appears your injury brought a pack of wolves running this direction.”

  “There are no wolves in Colorado. They were eradicated in the 40s.” A howl ripped through the forest, proving her statement false.

  He cringed. “Yes, well, there are wolves in the forest now, and they’re coming this way.”