Other works by Felicia Rogers:
The Renaissance Hearts Series
Book One: There Your Heart Will Be Also
Book Two: By God’s Grace
Book Three: Labor of Love
Book Four: Beyond a Doubt
Stand alone works:
Love Octagon
The Painted Lady
The Perfect Rose
A Month in Cologne
Andrews Brothers
The Ruse
The Rescue
Southern Hearts Series:
Millicent
Amelia
Cora
Wounded Solider Series:
Diamond Mine
Pearl Valley
Emerald Street
Western Novellas by F. A. Rogers:
The Board Series:
Maralie
Reuben
Vanessa
Simon
Darla
Daniel (coming soon)
Excerpt from The Rescue…
Prologue
England, April 1802
Men on horseback pursued him. The pounding hooves matched his erratic heartbeat, and he forced himself to concentrate on his getaway.
“Huyah!” Chadwick yelled and whipped the horse. The curricle bounced hard enough to make him lurch to the side, and he glanced over his shoulder. All he saw was the tops of their bobbing heads. The men were losing ground.
He cut off the road onto an almost invisible trail. Thick branches struck the side of the curricle. Thickets tangled in the wheel hubs and emitting a clicking sound like irritated hen. The horse slowed and he whipped it again. Harder and harder he flicked the reins. The horse squealed, reared, and shot off. Chadwick struggled to maintain his tenuous grip.
Looming trees, rocky spurs, and eroded boulders flashed by. Small limbs struck him in the arm, the shoulder, and the legs. The curricle rocked and jounced along the trail. The fear that the vehicle might topple had Chadwick clenching his hands tighter upon the reins.
Why had he agreed to assist Lady Margaret? He was Chadwick Andrews, brother to the Baron of Stockport. He should have insisted the debutant solve her own problems, and yet the opportunity to touch funds, to feel coin in his hand, had been too tempting to resist.
Retrieving the canvas money bag from her escort, Mr. Malcolm, had gone surprisingly well. If Chadwick had only taken the coin directly to his room and hidden it then he wouldn’t be racing away from the inn with a band of men on his tail.
Fortune shone on him and the horse stayed in the road. The slope of the land descended and he drew back on the reins, gently applying the brake.
Squeezing his bum as tightly as he dared, he berated himself further. Why had he gone and bet every coin on the Faro game? It was because he had foolishly believed his luck had changed.
What had he been thinking? His ruse to imitate his brother and replace estate funds had failed miserably. Now his brother despised him, and he would probably never be welcome at Stockport again.
There was also the added misfortune with Zilla Ellis. If her father hadn’t been so involved in his daughter’s affairs then Chadwick would be dining in the lap of luxury and enjoying a good time with the wealthy of London society instead of fleeing in the rickety curricle.
He laughed under his breath. The irony that he now fled in a curricle belonging to the Stockport estate wasn’t lost on him.
He sighed. In retrospect he had no reason to assume his life’s direction had changed to a positive one. All signs pointed to the contrary.
The land changed again. Trees thickened, blocking his vision. Downed limbs crunched loudly beneath the wheels. The seat wobbled and he grasped the edges. The unsteady movement increased and braving the consequences, Chadwick bent over the side. A gasp escaped his lips.
The wheel hub popped off and the wheel tittered back and forth. Resigned, Chadwick watched the events as if he was someone else. The wheel broke and scattered in a random burst. He grabbed the reins. Debris struck his face. The horse lunged out of control, running in an awkward weaving pattern, as one side of the carriage thumped along the ground.
Sagging branches loomed ahead. Chadwick twisted his lips to the side. He could make it; he would make it. He hunched over. Pain radiated through his skull. The fleeing curricle created a plume of dust and he coughed, increasing his misery.
Numbness in his limbs limited his movements. He opened his mouth to call for help, but changed his mind. The men pursuing him did not do so with altruistic intentions. Vision blurring, he prayed for rescue.
****
He twitched his nose and scrunched his cheeks. An offensive odor of unwashed bodies, rotting food, and feces reached his nostrils. Bile rose in his throat. He twisted his neck. Excruciating, stabbing pain raced through his body until he groaned. The sound of a wounded and dying animal drifted back to his ears. Over and over the noise escalated.
Footfalls echoed. He struggled to lift his eyelids. They felt heavy. Opening his lid a fraction, he studied a blurry figure.
“Constable, he’s at it again. We need to find this man’s family. He’s disturbing the other inmates with all his whimperin’ and groanin’.”
“Agreed, guard, but the question is how? Coherent words are not the man’s strong suit.”
“I know. The only thing I’ve understood is the word Andrew and nothing more. So I’ve put out an advertisement.”
“And you believe someone will claim the reprobate? I tell you, if he was related to me I’d let him rot.”
“I believe he will be claimed. ‘Course with the hefty fine placed on his head his relatives might be discouraged and leave him be, but families are funny in their defense of one another.”
“If’n they leave him his health will suffer. Can’t get that fool doctor in here for a couple more weeks.”
“Guess our problem will be solved either way.”
The throbbing in his head increased as the strange individuals edged out of his line of sight. Drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth as he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep.
All I Have
Copyright © 2012 by Felicia Rogers
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Contact Information:
Website: http://feliciarogersauthor.weebly.com
Email: [email protected]
Published by:
M.O.I. Publishing “Mirrors of Imagination”
Cover Design: Elaina Lee (For the Muse)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter One
The helicopter hovered inches above the earth and clouded the surrounding area with dust. The landing skits touched down and the craft wobbled to a halt. A uniformed officer exited the chopper, his medals and ribbons shining brilliantly in the desert sun. An enemy officer waited and escorted him into a makeshift building.
Several prisoners crowded against the one barred window in the holding compound; another detainee tapped Nicholas’ arm. “This is it, Lieutenant. They’ve come for us. You said they wouldn’t forget.”
Nicholas stepped away from the soldier and paced while thoughts of his family raced across his mind. Unbidden hope rose, maybe this was the day of freedom. A commotion amongst the men brought him back to the window. With weary eyes, they watched the officer return to the helicopter. Had they been left behind?
****
Ellie Pickett, twenty-two years old and a recent college graduate, was home for the summer. Hot, humid weather had forced her out of the house and onto a blanket spread on the grass. Today she’d decided to relax and read a book. The last couple of days had been particularly trying because her job search was going nowhere. Applications with her qualifications were scattered all o
ver her small home town. So far there had been no responses.
For the third time, Ellie applied sunscreen to her lightly tanned skin. With a sigh of contentment, she stretched and watched clouds float across the sky. As a child, she had played a game of naming the shapes of clouds. Grinning, she whispered, “That looks like a sheaf of hay and that one favors a king. That one looks like a plump, white sheep.” She studied the clouds until raised voices captured her attention.
“You did what?” said a woman’s irritated voice.
“Carla, calm down,” Ellie’s father, Jake, said with forced laughter.
Carla stomped the dry ground and kicked up dust. “Why didn’t you ask me first? Don’t we have enough people sucking off of us already? How many mouths do you think we can support?”
Ellie cringed at her stepmother’s words. The comment about people “sucking” was obviously directed toward her. Listening intently, she heard her father’s response. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d care. I mean, I’m helping an old friend.”
“Yeah, Jake, exactly—an old friend. One you had before me. What if he doesn’t like me? What if–”
Ellie sat up and watched the couple standing by the fence. Carla was playing with her father’s collar, a flirty smile on her face. Jake pulled her against his body. “Now that’s ridiculous. How could anyone not like you?”
Ellie squelched her disgust. Standing, she cleared her throat and slapped her thighs loudly.
Startled, Jake and Carla veered their heads in her direction. “Oh Ellie, I didn’t see you,” said her dad.
Ellie nodded and picked up her things, trying to avoid her stepmother’s scowl. Walking toward them, she asked, “What’s going on?”
Carla wrapped a possessive arm through Jake’s. “Your father has invited a friend and his son to live at the farm for awhile.”
Her father sighed. “You make it sound like they’re coming as burdens or something.”
Carla’s gave him a disgusted look. “In my opinion, they are burdens. I don’t know why they’re coming and I don’t care. I’m going to the house.” She stalked away.
Ellie asked, “Want to explain to me why these people are coming?”
Jake leaned against the fence railing. Ellie mimicked her father’s posture and waited. On the other side of the fence cows plucked lazily at the grass. Ellie thought about the simplicity of the life of an animal. Nature provided for them. They didn’t fret over what would happen, day to day. They lived in the moment.
Ellie released a breath and waited for her father’s reply. She wasn’t in a hurry. She could stand and watch the beauty of nature all day. Her father’s voice sounded thick as he sought understanding. “It’s really not a big deal. Do you remember Shane Wiseman?” She nodded and studied his work roughened hands as he gestured with them. “He’s fallen on hard times and, well, lately, running the farm alone has gotten more difficult. So I thought we could help each other. He and his son are going to stay in the old cabin and lend a hand for a small salary; nothing major.”
Ellie shrugged. “Sounds okay to me.”
Jake glanced at the house. “I wish Carla felt the same way. I think she’s worried because Shane was friends with your mother and me.”
Ellie patted his arm wanting to give a measure of comfort. “I’m sure everything will work out. And when they get here, I bet Carla will be just fine. By the way, when are they arriving?”
“They’ll be here tomorrow.”
****
The truck’s wheels rotated, eating up the miles. Flat land with stray trees and occasional buildings flashed past. Deep in Alabama a small replica of the Statue of Liberty caught the eye of passersby, causing an immediate sense of patriotism.
“Its beautiful country, isn’t it, Nicholas?” said his father as he steered north bound along the interstate.
Nicholas nodded in agreement because he didn’t feel able to speak. The dream was still fresh in his mind. Swallowing hard, he wondered if he’d cried out in his sleep. Had his father seen his distress?
He glanced sideways, and for the first time in months, noticed that Shane Wiseman actually appeared happy. His dad’s fingers drummed the steering wheel in rhythm to a tune blaring from the radio and his lips twitched upward. A light shined behind the old man’s pale blue eyes. While Nicholas watched, however, his father’s smile faded and a line creased his forehead. Shane said, “Nick, you really don’t have to do this, you know.”
Before Nicholas could reply, his dad continued, “I know you think I need help, but really I don’t. I can do this on my own.” Nicholas started to interrupt, but Shane stopped him with an upraised hand. “Listen son, truth is, I relied on your mother for just about everything. She liked to feel needed. And now that she’s gone, well, I can take care of myself.” He sighed, “Heck, I’m glad you’re coming with me. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to help dear old dad.”
Nicholas noted the half-smile, half-grimace on his father’s face. Nodding his understanding, he shifted his focus back outside the passenger window. His anger remained too close to the surface. Sharing his true feelings wouldn’t accomplish anything. What was done was done, and it could never be rectified.
Memories flooded of a generous, loving woman—a woman who had cared for her family, helped the elderly, visited the sick, and taken food to shut-ins; a woman who had organized bake sales and fundraisers to raise money for homeless shelters; a woman, wife, and mother, who had wanted to make the world a better place. Nicholas could only view her as a saint.
His chest tightened and he released a pent up breath. He missed his mother more with each passing day. It didn’t matter that he was twenty-six years old, a military veteran, or a college graduate. He still missed her like a small child who’s been away from his mother too long.
Two years ago, Amy Denise Wiseman, had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. With her normal intrepid nature, she’d fought with every fiber of her being. She’d followed her doctor’s orders to the letter. When his treatments had failed, alternative medicines and remedies had been sought and explored. But in the end, nothing helped.
Nicholas had been on tour in Afghanistan and received frequent updates from his father. Most of the updates were of her degenerating condition. When he’d gone missing, all he could think about was how it would affect his mother’s illness. He’d tried to ignore his inner turmoil, believing his mother was invincible; that she could overcome this latest challenge.
Months after being freed, he’d been ready to sign reenlistment papers, but received the dreaded call. The one he’d hoped would never come.
“Son, I’m afraid your mother’s not going to make it.”
Nicholas had declined to sign the papers and immediately sought emergency leave. When he’d arrived home, his mother’s frail body could do nothing more than breathe. Helpless, he’d sat by her side and held the hand of someone who had helped so many. Amy Wiseman was nothing more than a shell. Then she died.
The funeral was packed. People from every walk of life wanted to attend and share their memories of this wonderful woman. Cancer patients from the hospital shared how she had encouraged them. Doctors shared her courage and fortitude. Everyone had a fond memory to pass along. Nicholas had listened and filed the testimonies away. Yet, to this day, bitterness and resentment over her death ruled his life.
After the funeral, his father had taken him aside. “Nick, we need to talk.” The serious tone of Shane’s voice had made Nicholas’ heart skip a beat. They’d sat together on the couch with Shane wringing his hands. Nicholas had covered them with his own and listened to his father. “I want you to know I tried everything. I…well…I had to make some tough decisions while your mother was sick.”
“I understand.” His dad’s uneasiness instilled fear of what was to come.
“I mortgaged the house to pay for her treatments and the bank is foreclosing.”
Nicholas remembered shouting, “What about the insurance?
You paid them for years and–”
His father had placed his arm around Nicholas, offering a reassuring squeeze. “They did pay. They paid a lot. But what they paid for didn’t work. I searched the internet and found experimental treatments. The insurance company had a panel review my request for alternative care, but in the end, their answer was no. Your mother insisted it wasn’t worth losing the house, our savings, everything, just to try unproven treatments. But I told her I’d risk losing everything to save her.” His shoulders sagged. “And I did.”
After hearing his father’s confession, it had taken Nicholas days to work through his shock. When he could think clearly again, he’d contacted the bank and did everything but beg on his knees for a reprieve, but with no luck.
The house had foreclosed and most of its possessions sold to cover funeral costs and medical bills. When things couldn’t look worse, his father had received a letter terminating his employment. In a week’s time their whole world had turned upside down.
Although his father encouraged him to go back in the military or start a career with his degree, Nicholas couldn’t leave his dad alone in such a situation. The decision to stay and assist was the reason he was now speeding down the highway to a new and unknown destiny.
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