Vestige of Courage
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Vestige of Courage
Vestige in Time Series - Book 4
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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Author photo by Michele Flagen https://micheleflagenphotography.pixieset.com
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Cover Designed by Hineni Asah
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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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For my Parents
For the countless long hours of driving me to dance classes …
For encouraging me to always try my hardest, even through the struggles …
For being the most amazing parents ever …
I thank you. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Chapter 1
Late September 1879
Beatrice inhaled, the crisp autumn air sharp in her lungs. She loved this time of year when the trees transformed the mountainsides golden and the weather turned chilly. The cold temperatures made her want to hurry up and slow down all at the same time. She knew there’d be a lot of slowing down once winter hit, that infernal season that kept her inside more than she liked, caging her for months on end. If she lived somewhere else instead of the Colorado wilderness, she could trek out more, visit people, if there was anyone worth visiting, maybe even do some good in this world. But until she could convince her overprotective family to let her go, she would spend her winter pacing the small cabin or sitting in her seat in the barn loft, dreaming of a different life.
She sighed. “Stop being so dramatic. For land’s sake, Beatrice. Just because you’re named after a Shakespearean character, doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”
Firestorm’s ears twitched, and he turned his head to look at her from where he stood chomping on some grass. Beatrice waved him off, hating how the horse could give her a look that questioned her sanity. Most people would call her loco for thinking of her horse like that. Maybe she was a bit. But she and Firestorm were born of the same spirit, needing the feel of freedom pounding beneath their legs and rushing through their hair. She didn’t know why he stayed with her. He certainly didn’t allow any others to ride him, and he would only stand for a certain amount of injustice to his pride before he’d toss himself around until he got what he wanted. Beatrice shook her head and smirked. Yep, they were the same spirit, that’s for sure.
One more winter. She would only be stuck in this isolated mountaintop for one more winter. She’d spent the summer scheming and researching. She’d read about Wild West shows being performed that showcased spectacular feats. She figured with her ability to shoot an arrow and hit any target she aimed for and her proficiency with knives, she could easily get an act in one of those shows. She guessed it didn’t hurt none that she had her mother’s looks on her side. Viola often commented on how beautiful Beatrice was. Beatrice snorted. It didn’t matter one lick to her, but she guessed if her looks helped her get her dreams, she wouldn’t scorn it. Once she was accepted into one of these shows, her dreams of traveling the world and seeing new things besides the front and backside of a mountain would come true. It was right at her fingertips if she could just hold out one more winter.
Beatrice left Firestorm to graze on the browning grass of the little meadow and ambled through the woods. She indulged in her daydreams and let her mind wander to the different tricks she’d been practicing in her spare time. Though, with Hunter and Viola off exploring the state for the last few months, her spare time had been limited. The homestead took a lot of work to ready for winter. Lately, she wondered if the two would make it back before the snow fell. She hoped they’d be smart and not get there too late, risking getting snowed in somewhere with her baby nephew.
Beatrice loved that they had left so Hunter could experience a different Colorado than what he was used to. Two summers before, God had miraculously brought him back in time over one hundred and fifty years, just when they had needed him the most. Beatrice still reeled at that, even after more than a year had passed. She’d always fantasized about her own father’s story of God transporting him to Pittsburgh where he met her mother, then to have Hunter show up out of nowhere had her mind whirling with possibilities. Since meeting her new sister-in-law, Samara, a few weeks before, whom God had dumped in Orlando’s path, Beatrice hated to admit she’d been peeking under bushes and down ravines a bit more than normal, searching for the man God would send to her.
But she couldn’t bank on that. With her being the only sibling who craved those stories, she’d likely be the only sibling with an utterly normal, mundane life. Which was why she had to take action, search out her own adventure. Wrangling up a Wild West show was just the ticket to get her there.
Beatrice’s thoughts paused on the one kink in the plan. River Daniels. Since her sister up and married Hunter, River Daniels, the subject of Beatrice’s secret infatuation, had suddenly become a possibility. He’d never really noticed her beyond the fondness one shows a little sister, and who could blame him with Viola, her kindhearted and breathtaking older sister, shining so brightly. However, Beatrice wasn’t so naive to not notice the change in River’s gazes when he continued to visit. How he’d look at her like she was a puzzle he needed to figure out. His stares alone could curl her toes and have her running for the creek to cool off. He not only seemed to realize that she had beauty of her own, but he also appreciated her abilities as a marksman. He’d taken her hunting several times over the last year, and his praise of her shooting nourished her like the parched flattop range after a rainstorm. She soaked it up, filling all her empty spaces until they nearly ran over. It thrilled and infuriated her all at the same time.
Beatrice didn’t want to be dependent on a man’s esteem to validate or negate her worth. She could handle herself just as well as any man and had survived this harsh landscape. No, not just survived, but thrived. Stories were told around campfires of her pa and brother, but she also knew her own stories had begun to circulate. Now was her time to break out of the shadows of the mountains and see the world and all it had to offer. She’d ask River if he wanted to join her, though the proposition made her blush just thinking about it. If his interest lay beyond simply finding any wife to pluck in his home but in Beatrice specifically, he’d join her. If not, well, she supposed there were worse things than being husbandless.
A twig cracked a second before an earthy smell filled her nose, causing her eyes to water. Arms banded around her, pulling her to a rock-hard body that stank of mud and sweat.
“Gotcha.” A cocky whisper rattled in her ear and raced down her spine in a slithering trail.
Beatrice threw her head back into her captor’s face and slammed her heel into the top of his foot. The man howled, letting her go and stumbling back. She pivoted, gasping at the sight of William Sweeney. He was no longer half-starved, but strong, his shoulders back and spine straight. He’d covered himself in mud and wore a fabric he’d woven leaves and branches to like she sometimes did when she hunted. She shuddered at the thought.
William lunged for her before she could react, tackling her to the ground, smashing her head into a root. The world spun and two Williams hovered over her.
“William … no … Where’s Robert?” She forced the thought from her mouth.
“That fool has turned a weakling, just like Linc said. He’s a traitor to his family, bowing down to yours.” The hate emanating from him curdled her blood.
If Beatrice didn’t get her head on straight, her dreams would be cut short. She bucked and rolled sideways, throwing him over her head. She grabbed for her knife in its sheath on her hip as she crawled dizzily from him. William roared and launched himself onto her, wrestling her arm for her knife. She rolled over, throwing her elbow into his face. He easily dodged it and used the momentum to flip her onto her back.
“I’ve won, you lose. Now you’re going to die.” His hot breath on her cheek curdled her stomach as he twisted her knife in her hands, pointing it toward her chest.
“No, Lord, help!” Beatrice cried out. With one last push of her muscles, she strained against his effort.
William’s face distorted in rage as he yelled in frustration and slammed his body down upon hers. The sharp pain she expected was overwhelmed by the heavy weight of his body. He breathed raggedly in her ear, and she pushed him off her. She looked down, frantically feeling her chest. Nothing, but a tender spot where the knife should be, existed. Her gaze darted to William, where he lay beside her, her knife sticking from his chest. She scooted away as he sat up and looked down, shock forcing his eyes wide and draining his skin of color.
Beatrice watched in horror as he stood shakily, leaning his hand on the tree she’d landed under. He looked at her with an evil sneer, pulled the blade from his chest, and advanced toward her. She scrambled to her feet and took off running. With her head still spinning like a top, she stumbled and tripped over roots and twigs, the forest turning against her, slowing her escape. William roared behind her, a sound so feral all the hairs on her body stood on end. She turned to gauge the distance between them. A branch grabbed her leg, tumbling her forward. She struck her forehead on the tree, and everything went black.
Late September 2019
Chase Bennett sat upon his horse and surveyed the changing leaves that hung golden on the trees. Discontent stirred in his heart. He wasn’t meant to remain isolated in the wilderness, with nothing but the crickets and livestock to talk to. He was used to being the center of the room, not just another being in existence in the vast chasm before him. Get a grip, his brother’s voice spoke in his head.
Chase rolled his shoulders and ran his hand along his neck, easing the tension that sat there. Since Hunter’s disappearance, Chase had taken the mantle of respectability his brother always wore and tried to fill it out. Yet, being the carefree guy that he was, it didn’t sit quite right and always chafed.
Chase surveyed the area around him. He was determined to discover the purpose God had for him. If it meant riding alone on a horse named Storm that would rather bite his leg and steal his hat than let Chase be in control while he searched for lost sheep, so be it. That was another turn in life he hadn’t expected. He’d made a fortune, and still did, on YouTube videos, doing every kind of crazy stunt he could think of that looked cool, held just enough danger to thrill the watchers, and landed him firmly in the spotlight. But after Hunter had vanished off the face of the earth without a trace, Chase had decided to stop globetrotting and search until he found some clue as to what happened. No matter how long that meant he had to stay in these mountains.
He still couldn’t believe when he’d come upon the homestead of sweet, elderly Vicky Bennett living practically alone on her sheep ranch, only the summer shepherds and one cranky farmhand to keep her company. And a ton of wooly sheep. He’d stopped in to see if she knew anything about Hunter’s disappearance only to be invited to stay with her for his base of operations of sorts. At the time he’d been desperate, needing the friendship and support she offered him when he barely held himself together, his loosely sewn seams threatening to rip apart and leave him exposed. He was all for throwing himself out there, being in the limelight. But only when he controlled the outcome and the image others saw of him. The desperation he first felt to find Hunter brought too many emotions too close to the surface. He’d been almost certain he’d implode or explode and worried who’d be around to witness it.
Yet dear Vicky had opened her house, had made him cookies, and given him a place to breathe. Given him someone to be real with. He smiled at her joke that they had to be related since they had the same last name. His smile grew at her silly insistence that he must be her distant uncle. Man, he missed her. After he’d lived with her for a little over three months, she’d approached him with a proposition. She then explained that she didn’t have much family left and the ones who were around were pretty set in life. She was sick, didn’t have much longer to live, and wanted to will Chase the homestead since he was the closest family she had, whether that relation was in her head or not. He’d balked at first, insisting it’d be better to give it to her real family. However, Vicky had been a force to reckon with, more stubborn than a ram determined to venture to the deep beyond, which he now had an intimate understanding of. Her only request was that he keep a few heirlooms to give to certain relatives if they showed up and that he buried her on the homestead. So he now was the proud owner of stinking sheep with a house full of old junk.
That didn’t bother him so much, he supposed. He hadn’t had a real home since his parents had died in his third year of college when he was only twenty-one—too old for him to be passed to other family to take care of, yet too young to truly be on his own. Hunter had done everything he could to help Chase adjust, but Chase hadn’t really felt grounded for the last five years. Kind of explained the extreme stunts and need to be carefree. He had realized quickly that people often didn’t question what lingered beneath the surface when you had a good time putting on a show. Hunter’s disappearance had shown Chase just how bone-deep exhausting his life had become. And lonely.
Blue, the ranch’s Australian shepherd, yipped wildly behind Chase in the trees, and Chase thanked the good Lord for the interruption to his humdrum thoughts. He spun Storm around and followed Blue’s bark. Chase pulled up short, staring in a stupor at a woman dressed in what looked like buckskin pants and a fringed buckskin jacket, crumpled beneath a tree. Blue hurried to Chase and sharply barked, pulling him out of his shock.
He dismounted and rushed to her, skidding to a stop and kneeling beside her. He surveyed her and let out a gush of air when he saw her breathing. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he found a dead person. Maybe upchuck, hopefully not pass out. He wasn’t his brother, after all, who handled everything with stoic efficiency.
“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?” Chase put a hand on her shoulder and rolled her over. She was beautiful, like a woodland nymph with her small, delicate features and defined cheekbones. A large bump had formed on her forehead where she must’ve hit the tree. “Miss, wake up, please.”
Chase’s relief as he peered into the most unbelievable green eyes the color of spring grass was cut short when the wildcat exploded into attack-mode, kicking and screaming.
“Whoa, whoa. It’s alright. I’m here to help you.” Chase grabbed her arm so she wouldn’t hurt herself, or him.
She stilled and looked into his face, her eyes, wide in fright, changing to recognition. “Hunter? Hunter … help … I think … I think I killed him.”
With that bomb exploding in Chase’s mind, she fainted. What did she mean? Killed Hunter?
Chapter 2
Beatrice’s head throbbed like a woodpecker was searching out bugs in her brains. The soft noise of people talking sifted into her head, and she squeezed her eyes ti
ght against the quiet onslaught. Though her head ached, she marveled at how soft her bed was. Hunter must’ve re-stuffed it while she was gone or something.
The rapid-fire of bullets had her eyes flying open. She jerked up, her head spinning so fast she thought it’d fly right off. She sat on an overstuffed couch in a room that had plush carpet, a mounted elk head staring at her, and a large window hanging on the wall. People were running around in the window, dressed strangely, and shooting at each other while shouting. She didn’t understand what she was seeing as it kept switching voluntarily from one person to another like magic. She stood and walked up to it, jumping back suddenly when the window changed completely to a pretty woman calmly talking to Beatrice about not having to worry about getting pregnant anymore, then the picture changed to the woman embracing a man intimately. Beatrice stumbled back, averting her eyes and tumbling over a table in front of the couch. Her hands slid on a stack of slick papered books with brightly colored pictures on the covers and knocked a familiar-looking black box to the ground. Beatrice froze and stared at that innocuous black rectangle.
“Oh, good, you’re up.” A man who looked incredibly familiar walked through a doorway carrying a steaming mug, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
He placed the mug on the table and bent to pick up the box from the floor. Beatrice’s eyes latched onto the thing like it was a rattlesnake threatening to bite.
“Eye phone,” Beatrice whispered, her eyes widening as she peered at the man. “Chase.”