MOONLIGHT LEGACY

by Jewel Dartt

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  MOONLIGHT LEGACY

  by

  JEWEL DARTT

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  * * *

  Moonlight Legacy

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  P.O. Box 50251

  Bellevue, Washington 98015

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2002 by Jewel Dartt

  ISBN 1-59279-033-X

  Cover Art © 2002 Trace Edward Zaber

  Rating: R

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Jewel Dartt

  Enemy Mine

  First Love, Last Love

  Dedication

  Daddy: this is for you.

  Prologue

  * * *

  The kettle hit the floor with a loud clang; water splashed the floor and cabinets. Miranda grasped the edge of the sink and held on, her knuckles bleached white from the strain.

  "Oh!" she screamed, bending over in agony as another red-hot knife sliced through her.

  Mother of God, what was wrong with her?

  She breathed deeply…in…out…willing the pain away.

  It didn't work.

  The next pain took her to her knees as it twisted its way into her middle and then traveled down her spine.

  Someone screamed and then screamed again. Could that be her voice making that high keening sound? It sounded more like a wounded animal…not human at all. Dear God, what was happening to her?

  A sea of pain swept Miranda away, yanking her deep into an endless void of reddish haze. She was drowning…drowning in a whirlpool of torment. Slowly, she fought her way back to the surface.

  The phone…have to get to the phone, call…Hadden…doctor…make the pain go away. Fear—a fear more intense than she'd ever known before-overcame her. Dying…this must be what it's like. No…not like this…this is worse…

  Hadden…Hadden. His name echoed through her mind in a silent scream as she inched her body across the sopping yellow tile toward the wall.

  If she could just get to the phone…get to Hadden…everything would be all right. He would make everything all right again. Take away the pain…do something. Dear Jesus…please…

  The phone rang. Miranda's hope soared as she crawled toward the sound. Each movement was agony, but she kept going. Perspiration beaded her brow when the pain crested again, and she could smell the acrid scent of fear emanating from her tortured body.

  Miranda moaned and bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming; blood choked her as it flooded her mouth. Keep going…have to keep going, she thought, trying to distance herself from the pain and the horror.

  It didn't work.

  When she at last reached the wall where the phone hung, she tried to pull herself up next to the counter.

  A wave of nausea flooded over her. Her sunny yellow kitchen dipped alarmingly as she lost her grip and then slid back to the floor. The phone quit ringing, and despair slammed into her at its sudden silence.

  With a tiny whimper of defeat, Miranda curled up into a tight ball. She held herself tight, screaming from the pain that ripped through her. She didn't understand what was happening to her, but she knew she was dying…dying before she really had the chance to live.

  "Please…somebody help me…Oh God…" she screamed in despair as yet another pain swamped her. Dear God, would it never end?

  Something foreign…alien…had taken over her body. Now it was inside, rearranging her organs…her insides…to fit some demented scientist's idea of something not human.

  A distant memory, dark and foreboding, danced on the edge of her awareness. Something primordial…something inhuman. She moaned aloud as she tried to catch the gray wisp of knowledge floating so near, yet just too far away for her to grasp.

  Another stab of pain sent Miranda's mind scurrying into the dark. She had to get away…get away before the agony drove her mad. The sound of a wolf howling in the distance accompanied her into a void of warmth and darkness.

  A place where she could retreat from her body's betrayal and be safe…for now.

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  Hadden McNeal looked at his watch. She was already fifteen minutes late.

  "Relax, she'll be here," Steven smiled at his friend. "She's always running late."

  Hadden attempted a wry smile, "For her own wedding?"

  Steven placed his bible on the pulpit. "Maybe she had car trouble."

  Hadden shook his head, staring with blank eyes at the splashes of orange and gold that decorated the church. Miranda had insisted on using pumpkins and cornstalks, instead of the traditional flowers, while still keeping with the fall season. He'd agreed as he always did when Miranda wanted something. He loved her too much to deny her.

  "Miranda would have called." He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked at Steven. "No, something's wrong. I just feel it."

  He winced slightly as Mrs. Biggers hit a sour note on the piano. God, not again. This was the seventh time she'd played "Oh Promise Me," and he figured she was getting pretty tired of playing it. He sure as hell was getting sick of hearing it.

  Where is Miranda? He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to ignore the whispering in the church. This just wasn't like her. Oh, it wasn't that Miranda was always on time that made him worry about her lateness now—she hardly ever was on time for anything. And for the most part he didn't mind, although it was irritating as hell on occasion…like now, for instance.

  He'd thought that after the other day, when she'd come flying into the church fifteen minutes late for rehearsal—dammit, he'd assumed she'd be on time, today of all days.

  Where in the hell could she be? How could she even think about being late? Today was their wedding day, for Christ's sake!

  Did the church doors open? He turned his head that direction, expecting to see Miranda running down the aisle, her large blue eyes all soft and apologetic, her shoulder length white blonde hair wind-blown, her fingers stained from charcoal from the preliminary sketches she was doing on a new book of fairy tales.

  No, it didn't look like the church doors had opened.

  Hadden could hear the worried whispering coming from the pews filled with friends and family, mostly his family. Miranda's mother was ill and unable to make the trip from Florida to Silver Valley, North Carolina. The only other relative she had was her paternal grandmother, and Hadden had never had the pleasure of meeting her. Presently, she was with Miranda's mother.

  He wondered if Miranda had received bad news about her mother. Perhaps that was why she was late? Damn, he should never have agreed to that superstitious nonsense about not seeing the bride before the wedding. Miranda had even insisted they celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday a day early so as not to step on tradition. She'd wanted everything to be perfect for their wedding.

  She'd not be late and jinx our wedding.

  Then where is she? He glanced at his watch again. Five more minutes had crept by; Miranda was thirty minutes late and still counting.

  He looked up and saw his mother give him a thumbs-up sign. He
knew she was trying to let him know everything was all right, but he could see his own worry mirrored in her eyes. He tried to give her a smile, but it felt stiff and awkward. "OK, Hadden, relax," he whispered under his breath. He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and stared down the aisle.

  Where is she?

  It seemed as though he'd loved her forever. In his mind's eye, he could see her floating down the aisle in her white lace wedding dress, looking like the angel she was…

  "Just go call her," Steven said, looking at his own watch. "You can use the phone in the rectory."

  Hadden was startled from his reverie. Uneasiness became a knot in his stomach. But then, was he overreacting?

  Anything could have happened. He'd give her a few more minutes and then call. He tried to dismiss the anxious feeling that gnawed at the lining of his stomach.

  The scent of beeswax lingered in the quiet breeze stirred up by the ceiling fans, reminding him of the day he and Miranda had refinished an old bookshelf she'd found in her grandfather's attic. He shook his head and smiled. Jesus, she was such a kook for anything old.

  He stared at the empty aisle and frowned. Miranda loves me…she'll be here, he told himself over and over. It didn't help any.

  Suddenly, there was a disturbance in the back row. Low murmuring rose in the church as an impeccably dressed woman with beautifully coifed silver hair came down the aisle. She walked with a cane, but instead of detracting from her, it only seemed to add to the dignity that she exuded as she marched down the aisle, head held high.

  She was definitely one classy lady, Hadden thought, just like my Miranda.

  She stopped in front of Hadden, eyeing him with…sympathy? Now why would she feel sorry for him? Hadden wondered, feeling again the biting edge of anxiety. Or was it dread? He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it had something to do with the woman standing in front of him.

  "Hadden McNeal?" she asked. Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke.

  He adjusted the handkerchief in his tuxedo pocket with a nervous gesture. Some sixth sense told him he wasn't going to like what was coming next, but there was no way of avoiding the inevitable. He sighed. "Yes. Can I help you?"

  "Elizabeth Slate," she offered, extending her hand.

  A sense of overwhelming relief swept over him as he took it. It had been stupid of him to worry. Miranda was here. "You're Miranda's grandmother. I'm glad you could make it to the wedding." He looked beyond her, expecting to see Miranda coming down the aisle any minute. But the aisle remained empty. "Where's Miranda?"

  She shook her head and glanced around. "That's why I'm here. We must talk. In private."

  Steven gave his friend a concerned look, but like the true friend he was, he said nothing about the unexpected guest. "You can talk in the rectory if you like."

  Hadden waited until the door closed behind them before he turned and spoke. "What's wrong? Why isn't Miranda here?"

  The elderly woman wore a classic black knit dress and a matching black cashmere overcoat. More in line for a funeral than a wedding, Hadden thought wryly. He heard Miranda's laughing voice in his head. Don't be so morbid, darling. Despite his concern he smiled; even in his thoughts she chastised him to behave.

  Dammit, where are you, Miranda?

  He watched in impatient silence as the old woman, looking at him with haunted eyes, reached into a coat pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "I think this will explain. Or at least partially."

  Hadden took it from her hands, the dread inside him building until it filled him completely, making it difficult for him to catch his breath.

  Miranda's grandmother turned to leave.

  His hand caught her sleeve. "Please, wait, I want to talk to you."

  She must have heard the desperation in his voice for she turned back to look at him.

  "Is Miranda all right?" he asked, his voice husky with pain.

  A strained, hurting kind of look appeared on her wrinkled features as she studied him. "Hadden, my granddaughter may never be what we regard as all right ever again. I'm sorry for the way things have turned out for you two. It is my opinion that you and my granddaughter are a match made in Heaven." Tears glistened in her eyes. "It's a pity, a real pity. I really wish things could have been different. You young people deserve so much better."

  Hadden's throat constricted at her words. "Mrs…"

  She opened the door, and walked back out into the sanctuary. She didn't bother closing the door. She did not bother acknowledging Steven's questioning look when she passed him.

  Hadden looked at the note in his hands. A bone chilling coldness seeped through him as he read.

  Hadden,

  Please forgive me for taking the coward's way out—but I can't marry you. I realize that I don't love you the way I should love you. I know I should have told you sooner, but I couldn't.

  I'm sorry.

  Miranda.

  A sense of unreality clouded his mind, and he wondered if he might be in the grip of some horrible nightmare. He felt as if his heart had been broken into jagged pieces and then handed to him to fix somehow. But there was only one person who had the power to do that. Miranda.

  "What is it?" Steven asked as he came into the room. Behind his glasses, his kind eyes were filled with concern. "You're so pale. Are you sick?"

  Hadden tried to bring the trembling in his hands under control as he silently handed his friend the note.

  Steven scanned it quickly, and then looked up, his face registering surprise and confusion.

  "I don't understand. She can't marry you because she realizes that she doesn't love you? But I just saw her yesterday and she seemed happy to me. All she could talk about was you and the wedding, and the plans she had to redo her grandfather's house after you two got back from your honeymoon. She seemed happy that you didn't mind living outside town…this note doesn't make sense."

  Hadden swallowed the lump of raw hurt…and yes, anger that had crawled into his throat. "Me either," he rasped. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, get the truth, even if I have to shake it out of her."

  Steven put a hand out to stop him. "Perhaps you should wait until you cool off a bit, Hadden. There has to be an explanation. Try and be reasonable."

  "Don't worry about me," Hadden replied. "There is one thing. Could you do me a favor and tell everyone there's not gonna be a wedding today?" His voice trailed off as he found himself unable to continue.

  "I'll take care of it. You just be careful and don't say something to Miranda you might regret later. Give her a chance to explain, Hadden."

  Hadden left the church and got into his beat up red pick-up truck, jerking it into gear, and leaving the acrid scent of burning rubber trailing behind from protesting tires.

  * * *

  Miranda owned a small bungalow on the other side of the valley. The tiny house was nestled against the back of Overlook Mountain, and the green wilderness encased her on both sides. It seemed a bit lonely to him, but she'd told him she loved the privacy of the place when he'd encouraged her to move closer to town.

  And after a while, Hadden had grown to love it, even the privacy, as much as she did. With Miranda by his side, loneliness was a thing of the past. Or so he had once thought. There was something about being so close to the bluish haze-covered mountains that gave him a feeling of peace most of the time. Today, the mountains' magic wasn't working. Normally, they made him slow his pace and think, and take the time to appreciate life, not rush through it without seeing their beauty.

  The same way Miranda did. No…the same way Miranda used to.

  Pain, like nothing he'd ever felt before, swamped over Hadden at the thought of her. God, why had she done it?

  He forced himself to take a deep breath and watch how the October blue of the sky deepened as the sun began to dip behind the mountains, casting an aura of gold on the red and yellow fall leaves of the mountainside. The mountains had been here for thousands of years, and always invoked a sense of awe and wonder inside hi
m. Even as a child he'd felt their magic.

  But somehow, during the course of everyday life, he'd lost the ability to see beyond himself and his patients, ignoring the spectacular scenery that surrounded him…until Miranda had walked back into his life.

  Goddammit, he couldn't keep his mind off her.

  Hadden punched in the gas pedal with a brutal thrust as the pick-up truck bounced over a railroad track, his emotions in turmoil.

  Dammit, why had she stood him up? He still couldn't believe she had actually left him standing at the altar.

  God, what an awful cliché. But cliché or not, it hurt like hell.

  And why hadn't she come to him herself instead of sending her grandmother with a kiss-off note? It wasn't something Miranda would normally do, not in a million years.

  Could she possibly have been afraid to tell him she'd had a change of heart? He shook his head, down shifting gears automatically as he took the sharp curve in the road too fast.

  He ignored the groaning sound of metal against metal when he shoved the gear stick too hard; his thoughts focused on the matter at hand.

  Miranda's betrayal. No…not Miranda. There had to be a reason, a logical reason why she had done this to him…to them. Hell, he'd seen her take on the whole school board when they had tried to cancel the art program at the elementary school because of lack of funds.

  She had taken it upon herself to organize the valley, pushing and prodding people to give their time and money for bake sales, car washes and even an auction where she was the auctioneer.

  No, that woman had guts and spirit aplenty. And that's what worried him. Why? The question reverberated in his mind. Why had she called off the wedding?