The Natasha Saga - Book 2
Keeghan’s subconscious has played tricks on her in the past, but she’s normally able to control the outcome of her dreams. No such luck with this story. The mystery magnifies when her husband William discovers something else by the eroding sea wall, something that peaks their curiosity even further. Now, Keeghan wants the saga to continue. Drawn into the story more than she was prepared for, she needs answers.
Hope is growing up quickly. She's intelligent, independent, and stubborn. Negative traits inherited from both her parents surface at inconvenient times. Will her beauty help or hinder her?
A tragedy. Stewart is forced to make a decision that will affect his life and the rest of his family. Then, an encounter that changes everything. Is he ready for this? Has Stewart’s past really been left behind? Will history repeat itself? Trust, integrity, and tradition all come into question.
Two months later, Stewart left the crew at the site and rode his mare to the office for a meeting with Hank, his father, and the engineer. The day was breezy, but the gusts became stronger as he travelled. Eager to get to shelter, he urged the mare into a gallop. The blue morning sky turned into thick dark clouds, and strong gusts of wind blew from the east. The rain was light at first but soon increased. He was still two miles from the office when he was forced to lower himself to the horse’s neck as the rain pounded harder and the storm howled around him. It was midday, but he could swear dusk was approaching.
Lightning lit the sky for a brief moment before the thunder boomed. The interval between was the all important indication of the storm’s distance. I’m a fool. I’m heading toward this storm. There was more lightning, but this time it came as a bolt. Chain lightning. Like her Aunt Vicki, Hope hated thunder storms. He was tempted to turn around and go to his daughter’s school, but that would be silly. He had no way to know whether the school was caught up in the same storm. When the thunder boomed instantly and lightning flashing almost simultaneously, Stewart knew he was in the middle of the tempest. The sound was deafening.
“You’re a good girl,” he soothed, rubbing the horse’s neck. “We’re close.”
He was within a few hundred feet of the office. Relief turned to panic when he saw the smoke billowing from the fifteen hundred square foot one level building. It’s on fire! Poppa, Hank, and Thomas!
“Whoa,” he ordered. Stewart flung himself from the horse and quickly looped the rein around a fence post. He ran toward the building, yelling for his father. Nothing. There wasn’t a sound. I lost Natasha. I can’t lose Poppa. “Poppa!” he bellowed.
He ran past the shed. Three horses.They wouldn’t leave without their horses. They’re in the building. He darted toward the door, flinching as the heat shattered the windows. Stepping to the opening, visibility was worse than he expected. He could barely see a few feet ahead, but his father was somewhere inside. Stewart inhaled the fresh, moist air as deeply as his lungs would allow and stepped inside. He knew the building well. He and Thomas spent hours there, reviewing and adjusting calculations for accuracy. Four rooms. The front office, where the bookkeeper worked part-time, the meeting room where Hank sat with potential clients, Hank’s office, and then the warehouse where stock, supplies, and tools were kept. The men would be in one of the last two rooms.
Working his way forward, the thick smoke made it almost impossible to see. Stewart rushed past the reception area toward the meeting room, heedless of the danger. There was something on the floor. A piece of furniture? It was hard to tell. He bent down and felt around blindly. It wasn’t something, but someone. Still holding his breath, he was afraid to speak. His eyes itched and watered in the smoky atmosphere.
Leaning even lower, he recognized his father’s face. First euphoria and then fear strangled his heart. He gripped his father under the arms and began pulling him toward the door. Willard wasn’t a small man. He was Stewart’s height but heavy with muscle from years of manual labour. Groaning with each small tug, he inched his burden toward the door. The dead weight and lack of breathable air cramped his muscles, and his chest burned. With another tug, his back spasmed and his grip loosened. Father in Heaven, I will not die in this building. Hope lost her momma. She will not lose her poppa and papa.