Chapter One
Read an excerpt from Dark Legacy
Today marked the anniversary of the day Shannon Brendel had been given a second chance at life.
She tapped her toe to the country song playing through her speaker as she waited for the steaming bitter brew to stop dripping into her mug.
Today always brought a combination of excitement, anxiety, and sheer joy.
For most of her adult life, she’d done everything she could to shove the memories into a lockbox inside her mind.
But today, she embraced one small piece of her past.
So much negativity had come from her childhood. She tried hard to take all that baggage and stuff it under her bed. But the older she got, the harder it became. She needed to know that she’d done one good thing in her darkest hour.
She blew out a puff of air as butterflies filled her stomach. It was time to move forward and ask her neighbor for help.
She clutched the feather pendant dangling from her neck. Her stepmonster—no—stepmother and now best friend had given it to her shortly after her father had died, telling her it represented freedom.
Her freedom.
And what she did with the rest of her life was now her choice.
She kissed the pendant before snagging her coffee and heading outside to soak in a little morning sun as it kissed the crystal blue waters of Lake George. The second the spring air hit her body, she closed her eyes and took in a long breath, enjoying the cool breeze.
Her cottage was the last of five, each nearly identical in shape and size. A line of tall, lush trees with branches reaching across the long, curved driveway, hid the cabins from view of the main road.
The hum of a boat engine caught Shannon’s attention, and she snapped her gaze toward the lake.
“Oh, no,” she whispered as her mug slipped from her fingers, crashing onto the wooden deck.
Hot coffee singed her skin. She kicked her feet, but her stare remained on the tall mast with a line slinking down, rattling against the metal pole like a ghost gliding across the floor, rubbing its grubby fingers together, ready to capture and never let go.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Jackson Armstrong asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
She swallowed the bile smacking the back of her throat as she stared at her neighbor as he bolted across the yard.
“Is that…that…?” She squeezed her eyes closed, then opened them slowly. No way could there be a thirty-five-foot Tartan sailboat moored off the end of her dock.
“Shannon.” He knelt, picking up the broken ceramic pieces. “Stay still. I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
“Where did that come from?” She pointed toward the lake. The boat wasn’t identical to the one her father had owned, and it was certainly newer, but there was no mistaking that Tartan had manufactured it.
Jackson stood, his broad shoulders blocking the morning sun but not the damn boat. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen one in the last few years. The lake was filled with them. She just never expected one to be front and center at her home.
“Isn’t she pretty? I named her Sweet Freedom.” Jackson brought his fingers to his mouth, making a kissing noise and raising his hand in the air like in a bad Italian movie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mumbled.
“You don’t like the name? I almost went with No Sailing Around, but Katie, my business partner, thought that was stupid.”
“I agree. That’s a stupid name.” What was she going to do?
Tell her neighbor that a boat like that represented the kind of chains that not only held a person prisoner but also held the power to destroy the remnants of what might be left of a beaten mind, body, and soul?
“But having grown up around boats, you should go with something personal. Maybe something like, Finding the Wind, which goes hand in hand with what you do for a living.”
“That’s an interesting name, but as you can see, I already had Sweet Freedom painted on the back. And my sister came up with the name. She thinks it represents my move up here.”
Shannon bit back the sarcastic laugh that threatened to escape her lips. She raised her foot to step to the grass, but Jackson lifted her into the air. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He set her down on the ground in front of the common picnic area between the two houses. The cool grass tickled her toes.
“There are still some slivers from your mug, and you’re barefoot,” he said, shaking his head.
“I like to go barefoot, and there’s no need to hoist me up and drag me across the yard.” She brushed at her slacks, glaring. “You could have just said, ‘Be careful.’”
Jackson raised his hands into the air. “I was trying to be a gentleman.” His jeans hung low on his hips, and his untucked black T-shirt showed off his taut abs. He looked more like a Texas Ranger with his cowboy hat than a man who enjoyed sailing.
She let her gaze take in the details of the vessel’s fine craftsmanship as it rolled with a few waves. There was no reason to let that boat get under her skin. She held the power, not it. “I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy this morning.”
“You don’t say? I hope I’m not the one making you skittish.”
“No. It’s not you. It’s just that my dad used to own a boat like that, and today is the anniversary of his death.” She tossed in the latter only because people generally gave her their sympathies and didn’t ask questions. She should feel guilty using her father’s death that way.
But she didn’t.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” She gave the standard response instead of asking him to jump up and down for joy and celebrate with her. “I was just startled by seeing your new toy.”
She set her emotions aside and did her best to support Jackson and what seemed to be something he held dear. His boat and his life had absolutely nothing to do with her, and she needed to get over it.
“When did you get her?” Shannon asked, thankful that her voice came across as strong and steady—her insides were anything but.
Mentally, she used every trick her therapist had taught her, and those she taught to her patients, to sedate the beast that lurked in the shadows of her mind. There would always be triggers.
And she’d always battle them.
But today, they no longer needed to control her life.
Even when the biggest trigger of all taunted her from fifty feet away.
“I bought her a couple of weeks ago. I’d love to take you out on her. Even if it’s not a windy day, we could troll over to Sandy Bay or maybe up to Rogers Rock.”
“I’m not a fan of sailing. Or boating, for that matter.
I haven’t been since my father died.” She bit her tongue.
Jackson had a way of making her loose-lipped.
He kept his body language open, rarely crossing his legs or arms. He always made eye contact, and he seldom showed facial cues other than a relaxed jaw and a twitchy brow.
He’d make a good therapist.
“Why not?” he asked, resting his strong hand on her shoulder. His fingers squeezed gently, offering her comfort she didn’t need.
She resisted the urge to shrug off his touch, but only because she didn’t want to appear any ruder than she’d already been. “It just brings back too many painful memories.”
“I can understand that. But maybe it’s time to get back on the horse.”
She coughed. “I’m not going to change my mind on this one, but I appreciate the offer.”
“But you might change your mind about going out to dinner or having drinks with me?” He rose his right brow as he tipped his hat. “I told you, I’m a persistent kind of guy.”
The corners of her mouth tugged upward into an involuntary smile. The man wouldn’t give up, no matter how many times she said no. And at this point, she wasn’t sure why she continued turning him down.
He was kind.
Considerate as he always carried her groceries.
Shoveled the snow when it got out of hand.
And he was handsome.
Maybe it was time to say yes.
He twisted a piece of her hair between his fingers. “You got your hair cut.”
She pushed a strand behind her ear, a little dumbfounded that he noticed. “I needed a change.”
He pointed to his forehead. “I like the bang thing. And shoulder-length fits your face.”
“Are you trying to use flattery to get me to go out with you?” With most men, flirting felt as stiff and phony as cheap leather sticking to the back side of her legs on a hot summer day.
With Jackson, the kind words coated her body with a soft, foamy lather that, when washed away, still lingered with a refreshing tingle.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I am impressed you noticed,” she said. “I suppose I should give you points for that.”
He shrugged. “I have five sisters.”
“Ah, that explains a lot,” she said with a laugh.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned against the railing, folding one arm across his chest, while sipping his coffee.
It was the first time she’d noticed any hint of annoyance in his tone and body language.
Stop sizing him up. He’s your neighbor, not a client.
“Your taste in furniture, for one.” She pointed to his front door.
“I mean, I’ve never met a bachelor who has a place that looks like it should be the centerfold for Lake Living.
It looks like you had it staged with how the leather sofa sits a few inches from the back wall and the matching chair at a ninety-degree angle in the corner by the stairs.
And don’t get me started on the picture over the couch.
A man would not pick out an authentic image of the lake.
No, he would have picked out dogs fishing or some such crazy thing. ”
“You’re picking on me for having good taste?” He dropped his hand to his side and grinned.
“Oh, good grief. No.” She shook her head. “It’s just that the first time I walked into your house, I thought I entered a showroom. Or worse, my mother’s living room, where nothing can be touched without wearing gloves.”
“My sisters did the whole thing. I just unloaded the crap off the U-Haul using my brute strength and put it where they told me.”
“For some reason, I think you had a lot of say in the décor.”