Heaven Scented

By Virginia Alison

The arrowhead sat dormant for eighteen years. Awakening to the present as the young girl’s birthday approaches, it sets events in motion, which pull on Ben’s heartstrings. Across country, the jasmine blooms and its scent drifts on the breeze in search of his soul. When a glimpse of the past gives fate a nudge, Ben yet again, finds himself chasing the fragments of a dream.
Jeannie has one big regret in her life and waits patiently for the day when she is able to see her daughter who she gave up for adoption eighteen year previously. Little does she know that her world will be turned upside down, as serendipity sets about having its wicked way.
In the final book of the first trilogy, fate tests the Adams family to the limits. Ben and Jeannie, amidst the twists and turns of life, rush headlong towards their little piece of heaven, which they hope waits just around the corner, over the hill...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Virginia Alison
• Release date: Jan 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311819208

Virginia Alison

Born in Bournemouth, England, Virginia’s gypsy heritage led her to a rather unusual childhood. Her father worked within the oil industry and she spent much of her younger years travelling, finishing in Canada, where she attended, and graduated from St John High school in New Brunswick. Her love of the English language was due partly to the inspiration of her English Tutor. An Oxford Don, he despaired of the American/English idioms, and as she was the only English student in the school, found her a delight to teach.Spending another year in working in Canada, life then returned her to England and on to the remote Shetland Isles for three years. Following her return to the UK, she threw herself into Floristry for fifteen years, and her artistic talents took another turn when she picked up a pen for the first time to write her first dragon fantasy novel. It took another ten years and the passing of her artistic father, to discover her talent for painting. Setting out on a new path, she now paints celebrity portraits to raise money for charities. Through Face book in 2010 she met a friend who encouraged her to take up writing again, shortly after this inspiration which rekindled her spiritual beliefs, she met her (writing collaborator and co-conspirator) Keith David. They now combine their sensual words drawn from the depths of their souls, to captivate the imagination, and entice the reader to discover their innermost desires.Virginia, now residing on Madeira Island, Portugal, soon intends a final move to a small town in Texas where inspiration for the Heaven Scent trilogy originated.

Book preview

For the final book in the trilogy, I would like to mention several people who helped me through the trials and tribulations of the journey, which brought me to this point.

A big thank you to:

Joel Nelson, for your poem, which inspired me to write these novels, and to you and Sylvia for your friendship and kindness.

Keith David, for continuing to be there for me every step of the way.

Emma for your continued encouragement and help with the publishing.

My mother and daughter for your continued support.

My wonderful friends for their help with proof reading and editing.

Pea, just for being there. You mean the world to me and couldn’t imagine life without you.

Charlotte, you gave me the endless inspiration to write your character into all three books. You mean the world to me Doll, and I will forever be grateful for your friendship.

Reed, simply for being you.

Finally a thank you to the unknown cowboy who sent me the poem

‘On Finding Someone’

ON FINDING SOMEONE

If on some better than average day

I should be riding along

Observing—not expecting—well maybe

And should see just as hoof swept by

One flawless arrow point—

If on that bright shining morning

I should step down to lift this point

Turning it delicately—feeling its smoothness

Beneath my fingertips

I would marvel at its perfection

At the way some ancient one

Had tempered and crafted such beauty

At how it came to lie there

All these centuries—covered—uncovered

Re-hidden—re-exposed

Until it came to me

To happen by this place

On this day made now more perfect.

And I would ponder such things

As coincidence and circles and synchronicity,

And I would pocket this treasure near my heart,

And riding on I would recall

Having seen such treasure as this elsewhere

But not this one—not this one.

And for one brief moment I would stiffen with fear

At how one quick glance in another direction

Could have lost this to me forever,

And I would touch my shirt over my heart

Just to make sure.

© 1998, Joel Nelson

PROLOGUE

Eighteen years had passed. The small red box, now slightly worn at the corners, sat empty in the cupboard, long forgotten and hidden away from the broken heart that placed there. In the distance, the arrowhead, which previously sat on the velvet lining, awoke from its slumber. The heavenly scent sprung forth and seeped into the air. It knew what was in store, but could she make amends for past? Lifted into the wind, the fated perfume drifted across the sky, over the bridge towards its destiny, which waited just around the corner, over the hill...

CHAPTER 1

A COWBOYS TALE

The Aspen trees littering the steep banks overhung the water trickling silently through the creek. Broken trees, splintered wood and a few dead animals were the only reminder of the storm, which deluged the state the previous week. He sat in the saddle, resting his arms on the horn gazing thoughtfully at the devastation that claimed three lives, left several people homeless and wondered if the reservoirs now had enough water to last them through the summer months.

Removing his black Stetson - which had seen better days - he wiped his arm across his brow, sweeping the mop of damp black hair away from his face. Replacing the hat, low over his eyes to shade them from the hot afternoon sun, he urged the horse forward and they picked their way over the rocks to the trail, which led through the forest and out onto the open field towards the aptly named homestead, Creek Ranch.

The black stallion, Midnight, was eager to stretch his legs in the early morning and before the sun rose to cast its shimmering heat on the land, they headed out to the pastures below the creek, which flowed into a – much-diminished - slow winding river. He loved plodding along at this idyllic time of day, where the only noise breaking the silence of the dawn was the crickets chirping in the long dry grass. The sun rose on a hawk circling lazily in the morning thermals as he followed the fence across the flat land to where Manny and Fred struggled with a broken post.

Morning boys, having trouble? Ben said as he swung down from the saddle.

Naw, its ok Boss, even with all that rain, ground’s still rock hard. What are you doing out here so early? Manny replied, standing up and stretching.

Just trying to keep on top of things, seem to have let everything slip a bit in the last few months.

Understandable Boss, you doin’ ok?

Yeah, life goes on. Fred, can you see to that water trough in the yard when you get back. It’s sprung a leak again.

Sure thing Boss. Fred replied without looking up.

The heat rose as they ambled back to the ranch, Ben’s shirt clung to his back, perspiration trickled uncomfortable down his chest and all he wanted was a cup of coffee and a cold shower as the house came into view.

Jed grabbed Midnight’s reins as they stopped outside the barn.

Afternoon Boss, how’s things?

Mornin’ Jed, better than yesterday, but not as good as tomorrow. Ben swung down, unbuckled the girth and pulled the saddle from Midnight’s back. Can you give him a hose down, he’s looking a bit dusty, and he’ll appreciate it.

Ben looked the horse straight in the eye and murmured, You will appreciate it so behave.

Midnight stood a little over sixteen hands, black as the night, with a white diamond on his forehead and at eighteen years old, was still going strong. Ben often felt a tweak of his heart strings when he looked at the horse. He never completely got over the break up and after Midnight returned from her father’s stables to Creek Ranch, Ben trained the horse himself; it kept her memory alive even though it pained him. The Mustang was a tough animal, although not of the Kiger clan, he was loyal and there was a deep understanding between them, after all, they both lost Jeannie on the day her mother died.

Charlotte was dozing in the lazy-boy when Ben entered the sitting room but stirred as he tried to tiptoe quietly past her towards the study.

I can hear you coming a mile away Ben Adams, no point in trying to sneak past me.

Didn’t want to wake you Char, do you want anything?

Will everyone stop asking me if I want something, first thing in the morning it’s coffee, then breakfast in bed, then it’s ‘don’t do this Char you don’t want to overdo it,’ or ‘let me help you with that Char... I am getting real tired of you treating me like an invalid, both you and JD, and now Maya has started, I can’t even go get the eggs by myself unless one of you is trailing around after me, whatever next, are you going to wipe my ass? It was only a mild heart attack, I have survived with you lot around here, you don’t think something like that is going to stop me...

Whoa there char, just asking!

Well as it happens you can get me something, a glass of ice tea would be nice. Charlotte grinned as Ben shook his head and headed for the kitchen.

You don’t half go on Char, how those poor hospital staff coped with you I will never know. Actually felt quite sorry for them by the time they threw you out. Ben laughed at her scowl when he returned with the iced tea and continued on his way to the shower.

Charlotte had given them all quite a scare last week. Her heart had misbehaved at regular intervals over the past year and she was in the hospital more times than she was out however, finding her barely breathing and gray lipped in the chicken coop on Wednesday evening was enough to put the fear of God into any man. She was a tough old bird however, and at the ripe old age of eighty-one, he was convinced she would outlive them all.

***

This was not turning out as the best of years and with summer imminent; Ben felt a cloud settling over the ranch, which weighed heavily on his heart. His wife of fifteen years died two days after New Year and it hit him hard. A brain aneurysm struck Lissa down on that fateful morning, and she was dead before she dropped to the kitchen floor. If he were totally honest with himself, there was no love lost between them. It was more a marriage of convenience nevertheless, they had stuck it out – childless - but comfortable for the duration.

They met shortly after Jeannie withdrew from the world. Ben was nursing a broken heart and Lissa lost her first husband a few months before, it really was that simple. Ben never recovered from losing Jeannie and although over the months he had attempted contact, it was a lost cause. He relegated that part of his life to the dark corners of his soul and over the years almost forgot about the glimpse of the scented heaven she showed him.

February saw the worst storms for over forty years, and March was not much better. A tornado struck the town of Marchant in the April and now in May blight threatened the cotton, which grew in great swathes across the land to the west. Ben however, was grateful that the ranch was going from strength to strength. The Mustangs bred well and their sales had soared in the past four years. They had few problems with their livestock and he was grateful for his uncle JD’s insistence on sticking to what they knew.

They at least had a positive bank balance, which was more than could be said for a couple of the ranches. The Johnson place was one of them. Tom - the only son - took over the running of the homestead about five years ago and that was only because his father died. In all the years Ben knew him, he never changed from being a spoilt brat and squandered money like it grew on trees. A lot of water had passed under the bridge in the last forty years - much of it unpleasant - and Ben still steered well clear of the Johnson boy’s company.

***

He ached all over and when Ben entered the bathroom, the bath looked more inviting to him than the shower. Drawing the water, he stripped off, climbed into the tub, and noticed the candles sitting on the shelf above, which Jeannie put there all those years ago. Lissa tried to remove them over the years but for some reason, which escaped him, Ben was insistent that they stayed. He picked up the lighter and while turning it around in his fingers, thought back to those bygone days. He hesitated - unsure - uncertain if he wanted those memories to surge forth, yet, in need of comfort he attempted to light the wicks.

The lighter refused to work and after several attempts, Ben threw it on the floor. Lying back in the bath, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. A shiver ran through him as he caught the faint whiff of an old familiar scent blowing in through the window. His heart thumped and his hand automatically reached for the growing erection. Her face, her perfume, her lithe form flooded into his mind and seconds later he groaned as his body convulsed with pleasure.

Trembling, Ben opened his eyes and sniffed the air. However, the scent had vanished as quickly as his orgasm had arrived. Now unsettled Ben could not relax so he swiftly washed, shaved, dressed and returned downstairs. JD was in the study, feet up on the desk with a Stetson covering his face and snoring softly when Ben entered. The Rolodex fluttered noisily when Ben turned it and despite JD stirring, he made no signs of awakening. Ben found what he was looking for, wrote it on a scrap of paper, and quietly left.

Remembering the problems they faced back then, when he made the call and found that Joe’s telephone number was out of service, he chuckled musing that some things never change. He spent many hours ringing people when Jeannie was around, most of the time, unsuccessfully. Ben poked the scrap into his pocket and raided the fridge for milk. The cookie tin was almost empty except for a few stale biscuits lying forlornly at the bottom amidst a pile of crumbs. He realized at that point just how much Charlotte did around the ranch and hoped she would recover soon, if for no other reason than to make some of her delicious chocolate cookies.

Berating himself for the uncharitable thought, he found some bread and cheese and that is where Charlotte found him - drinking from the milk carton - with a slightly glazed look on his face ten minutes later.

Will you never grow out of that habit? How many times do I have to tell you to use a glass? Charlotte growled, grabbing a glass from the drainer and putting it on the table in front of Ben. Hello, earth to Ben Adams, did you hear me?

Yes Char, I did. Ben lifted the milk carton to his lips and drained the remainder.

Ben, BEN, what’s got into you, don’t you have something better to do than to litter my kitchen?

Ben rose from the chair, smiled dreamily and headed upstairs to the cupboard. Dust particles floating in the air reflected the light when he flicked the switch. For various reasons it had been many years since he made a serious foray into the depths of the cluttered space. The main reason made him shiver he felt as memories oozing from the heart of the closet, threatening to disrupt his controlled life.

The long box sat on the middle shelf behind some old books that Charlotte brought home from an auction then decided they were not for her. Rather than throw them out she put them in the cupboard just in case she should change her mind. Tipping the lid back, the scent immediately rose from the contents. Ben quickly found what he was looking for, shut the lid, and stepped out of the cupboard - straight into Charlotte’s arms.

I knew I had seen that look before. She took the small red box from his hand, opened it, and looked inside at the velvet lining, which used to house the arrowhead. Gazing into his eyes, she said softly, You gave it to her eighteen years ago. I hope you are not planning on getting it back as I am not certain my heart will stand another round of that.

CHAPTER 2

JEANNIE’S STORY

The day had started too early for her liking with an early morning call at three thirty-five and by the time she finished, the sun was rising. Jeannie was sad that they lost the mare, but Giles and Sylvia had a beautiful little foal to show for the long labor. Sylvia insisted that she stay for breakfast and although sausages, tomatoes, fried bread and liver pudding were not really her thing, she managed to force them down along with two cups of tea and two slices of cake. She had to refuse the apple pie, as by that time she felt stuffed to the gills. Giles and Sylvia Grand – British by birth - owned the Grand-S Ranch on the east side of Sunningdale. Its size did not reflect its name at a mere one hundred acres, however, the owners certainly made sure that they gave a grand welcome to anyone who visited the comfortable little ranch. Sylvia was well known for her lavish parties, made any excuse to throw one and they were renowned for their hospitality.

Laden with food parcels after Sylvia wagged an admonitory finger at her for not eating enough, Jeannie managed to excuse herself two hours later. She loved to visit, but getting away from the spritely sixty year old was hard work. Giles was partially deaf and Jeannie realized a long time ago that Sylvia was lonely therefore, anyone visiting was lucky to get a word in edgeways and leaving could be even more of a trial. They were a lovely couple, but Jeannie did breathe a sigh of relief once she drove away; Sylvia was nearly as bad as Charlotte.

She screeched to a halt as a sob caught in her throat. She had not thought of Charlotte for years and as those days flooded her mind, she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from crying. It took a few minutes for her composure to return and when she regained her senses, Jeannie berated herself for being such a fool. She hid that part of her life in a diary where she hoped it would remain forgotten until the day she died.

When Jeannie arrived home, she stripped off to her bra and panties and lay on the bed, sweltering in the heat of the afternoon with tears in her eyes. She was surprised that even after all these years the feelings for Ben - hidden deep within her soul - could make her cry. She had tried not to think of him for over sixteen years. The first two years after her mother died were the worst. The psychoanalyst helped a great deal for the first nine months but after losing her daughter, she fell into a deep depression. Jeannie struggled with college however, after a long holiday on her father’s ranch and with help from ‘The Bimbo’, she returned the following year full of hope and with a new resolve.