Echoes of the Heart

By Stacey A Purcell

GOING UNDER

For Dr. Calista Montgomery, losing her soldier husband was like diving into a cold dark sea, and the events at his funeral swept her farther from shore. Crushed by the lies, Cali crawls into a bottle and flees all she knows. Inebriated and drifting aimlessly, she winds up in Esterloch, New York, where she’s arrested and hits bottom. Offered a chance to expunge her record, she accepts the conditions...but the real challenge is keeping herself safe from the arrogant, gorgeous and commanding sheriff.

FOR THE LAST TIME

Sheriff Jack Benfield hates drunks. They’re selfish, manipulative, and they break hearts, and his is no exception. He saw the damage inflicted upon his family, so he has no patience for any of them, not even the beautiful Dr. Montgomery. His body, however, has different ideas, and soon two desperate souls will discover that some breaks make us stronger—and sometimes we must drown before we learn how to breathe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
• Release date: Nov 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781942886860

Book preview

Stacy Purcell has penned a gorgeous and emotional tale that paints a vivid picture of heartbreak and renewal. A keeper and a weeper!

—Roxanne St. Claire, New York Times Bestselling Author

"A storm, a small town, and a story about flawed characters who will stay with you forever. Redemption has never been so sweet. Grab a blanket, and curl up with Echoes of the Heart. Purcell has a winner on her hands!"

—Christie Craig, New York Times Bestselling Author

"Stacey A. Purcell delivers an emotional punch with her debut, Echoes of the Heart. She tackles the tough subject of alcoholism and weaves together a story of loss, personal atonement, trust, strength, and above all that love can see us through."

—Bestselling Author Jennifer Bray Weber

GOING UNDER

For Dr. Calista Montgomery, losing her soldier husband was like diving into a cold dark sea, and the events at his funeral swept her farther from shore. Crushed by the lies, Cali crawls into a bottle and flees all she knows. Inebriated and drifting aimlessly, she winds up in Esterloch, New York, where she’s arrested and hits bottom. Offered a chance to expunge her record, she accepts the conditions…but the real challenge is keeping herself safe from the arrogant, gorgeous and commanding sheriff.

FOR THE LAST TIME

Sheriff Jack Benfield hates drunks. They’re selfish, manipulative, and they break hearts, and his is no exception. He saw the damage inflicted upon his family, so he has no patience for any of them, not even the beautiful Dr. Montgomery. His body, however, has different ideas, and soon two desperate souls will discover that some breaks make us stronger—and sometimes we must drown before we learn how to breathe.

ECHOES OF THE HEART

Stacey A. Purcell

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

ECHOES OF THE HEART

Copyright © 2015 Stacey A. Purcell

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-942886-86-0

This book is dedicated to those who fight for their sobriety or for their mental health. May they know that they are the hero of their own story and deserve admiration for showing up every single day.

Also, to the people who struggle with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, I would give anything to have it disappear.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

If a writer tells you they wrote a book all by themselves, they aren’t telling you the truth. Without my wonderful critique partners, Carla Rossi, Jami Crumpton and the rest of the gang at Critique Corner, I’d probably still be wallowing somewhere in the pages of this book looking for the exit sign. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being talented and fearless enough to tell me when I went off path.

Besides critique partners, I also have writing partners. We get together several times a week to hold each other accountable for new words on the page and to listen to each other whine when the going gets tough. Thank you, my Usual Suspects—Jennifer Bray Weber, Melissa Ohnoutka, and William Graham. All authors extraordinaire.

If all those people weren’t enough, I also have the amazing folks at Boroughs Publishing by my side. Michelle Klayman lent me her tough editorial talents, which made my book the gem it is today. There’s an army of others who created my terrific cover and do all the magical stuff it takes to get a book off the ground. This definitely would never have happened if I hadn't had your help. Thank you.

Then there’s my family.

Without Peter, Kayla, and Garrett, this book would hold no meaning. I love each of them to the moon and back and could not have braved the idea of writing a novel without all of their encouragement, feedback, missed suppers, and unwavering support. I am one lucky girl.

Finally, to my sweet mother who lost her battle with COPD, and to my father who still lives with this terrible condition, I thank you for allowing me the time and freedom to explore my creative side. From all the art lessons, dance classes and never laughing at my first attempts at writing; I am who I am because of you.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author

ECHOES OF THE HEART

Chapter 1

Sheriff Jack Benfield hated to go out into the early morning snowstorm. It was colder than a witch’s tit and his steaming cup of coffee felt way too good in his hands. He leaned back in his wooden desk chair and rocked, trying to loosen his lower back, which had become a better weather predictor than the TV meteorologist. Pain and stiffness equaled snow, and right now it told him they were in for a mother of a storm.

He picked up his cell phone, punched in his deputy’s number, and counted the rings. A sleepy hello came after the fourth. Sorry to call you on your day off, Todd, but we’ve got a big one rolling in and I’m going to need everyone on the job. We’ve already reached the high for today so all the goddamned rain we got the last two days is freezing. They worked out a few more details and he tossed his phone back on the desk. Jack could always count on Todd. His sister had chosen a good man to marry, and Jack had an excellent partner. Taking another gulp of hot coffee, he rose from the comfort of his chair to get ready.

Esterloch was a small town with small town ways, and that’s how he liked it. Central lockup was located right inside the sheriff’s office; the cells mainly used by deputies on night duty and a few people who didn’t know when to stop the party. A local prayer group even knitted blankets for each of the four cells, so people would be warm during their stay.

What a difference from his last precinct in New York City, a personal hell if there ever was one. Jack belted on his gun, grabbed the heaviest coat he had, and braced himself as he opened the large metal door leading out back to his truck.

Damn, the temperature had to be way below freezing. His boots slipped on a layer of ice already forming beneath the slush in the parking lot. If it wasn’t for studded snow tires, none of them would be able to get around for much longer. Several inches of rain followed by plunging temperatures did not make for a good combo. He was glad the precipitation, in any form, had stopped for a while.

The hot thermos he carried would be welcomed in an hour or so. He opened the truck door, got in, and cranked the heater. Slowly pulling out of the parking lot, he headed up Travis Street to begin systematically checking his designated area for stranded drivers, idiots who decided they could walk to wherever they thought they needed to be, and pipes that might have broken during the last hour or so.

He rounded the corner of Elm and there was his first rescue. Tom Bradshaw was stuck worse than that pig on the spit at the annual luau. Jack took a swig of his coffee, pulled his gloves in tight under the sleeves of his jacket, and got out. Tom opened his door and got out as well wearing nothing but a sweatshirt and a pair of old jeans.

What in the hell are you doing out here dressed like that, Tom? Marcy send you out for something she’s craving?

Tom crossed his arms tight over his body and pressed his legs together trying to keep the cold at bay. It was pretty obvious he failed. How come you always run into me when I’m out for something weird? Marcy said she’d die if I couldn’t get her some mac and cheese to make for breakfast.

I run into you because there’s only a limited number of streets in this little backwater town and Marcy’s got you going for something every day. Mac and cheese, hmm? That’s a new one.

I didn’t think the weather would move in this quick. My tires won’t grip and I’m sliding all over the place. Can you give me a lift back home?

Jack chuckled. Do I have to stop for the mac and cheese first?

After dropping Tom off at his place and assuring the very pregnant Marcy he wasn’t mad at her, Jack continued winding through the south end of town. The radio buzzed from time to time as different deputies marked their locations and what they were doing. An ambulance was called for old Mrs. Foster because she fell down her back steps trying to find her chickens to bring them inside with her. Looked like her hip might be broken, but he wouldn’t find out for sure until he finished with his shift and went to see her.

The streets of New York were never like this. Here, the sidewalks rolled up in a storm. Only a few braved Mother Nature, the rest stayed inside, built fires, and read a book. New York never stopped. He’d been there through some of the worst moments in its history and the streets never quit pulsating with energy. Bad guys never slept, neither did the bankers and Wall Street manipulators.

His thermos was almost empty and the heater did little to ease the cold permanently lodged in his boots. Sweeping through the far side of town, he followed up on reports of some homeless folks sleeping in the park down by the lake. He prayed he wouldn’t find any of them outside on this bitter morning. A frozen body was not what he wanted to deal with. A couple of hours traipsing around town and getting in and out of his truck was enough. It was time to head back inside to thaw.

Jack turned right into the park area and was relieved he didn’t find anyone at the first picnic area. The gray day turned dark as the storm moved over the top of the town. The snow was coming down in earnest and his wipers were having trouble keeping the windshield clear. Flakes blew from left to right across his window and the wind roared through the treetops. He picked up the radio and sent a message to have the power trucks start rolling. It was only a matter of time before lines were hit by branches and power would go out.

He crested the top of the hill and there before him, beyond the slope of fresh white snow, was Lake Aheeta, named after the sun by the Iroquois. She was magnificent. Her blue waters turned inky with white frosting as caps spilled over, churned by the winds barreling south. As always, the power of the water moved him. It reassured him there was something greater than man. Greater than himself. It was what saved him.

Jack had one last place to scope out. Letting his truck roll slowly to the bottom of the hill, he slid to a stop. The whole parking lot could have doubled as an ice rink. Unfortunately, the drainage problem was an item on the town budget that kept getting pushed back to give money to more pressing problems, like refurbishing the local elementary school. He estimated the water was four or more inches deep. Some spots weren’t totally frozen and he could feel the grinding crunch of breaking ice while his truck pushed forward.

He turned to check down by the public bathrooms and couldn’t believe what he saw. An SUV, with a bright orange cargo trailer attached, sat at the far end of the side lot right by the building. What the hell? No one in their right mind would try driving with a loaded trailer in this weather. How long had the rig been there? His truck crept down the middle of the large parking lot, his eyes scanning for any movement hidden within the tree line. Old habits died hard.

He flicked on the powerful searchlight, stuck it out his window, and shined it directly in the SUV. Nothing. No movement, no noise, no nothing.

Jack jerked the light back and forth across the suspect vehicle before snapping on the mic to the PA system. This is the police. Show yourself. Still nothing. You, in the SUV. Show. Your. Self. Now. He could hear the frustration in his voice, but dammit, he was past ready to get back to some warmth and this friggin’ idiot stood between him and the woodstove in his office. Maybe whoever owned it was left the car there when the weather turned bad.

Unlikely. Obviously they were traveling, so he doubted they’d leave their belongings out here. He sighed. There was no hope for it; he had to get out of his truck. Again.

The chilled air slapped him head-on. His ire rose with each slippery footstep between him and the offending truck. He reached the driver’s side door and peered in. Good God, it was a pigsty.

Knocking on the glass, he watched the bundle covered with a blanket move about. The movement stopped. He knocked harder while shouting over the wind, This is Sheriff Jack Benfield. I need you to open this door. A manicured hand shot out from underneath the wool blanket and motioned for him to go away. Like hell I will. Open the damn door. The hand disappeared back under the covers.

Truly pissed off, he turned and went back to his truck to rummage in the toolbox. Jack pulled out the slim jim and returned to the stranger’s vehicle. I will tell you one more time. This is Sheriff Jack Benfield. Open your door now or I will open it for you. The hand came back out of hiding, teasing him with bubblegum pink polish, and shot him the bird before retreating again.

He kneed the door so the woman couldn’t shove it open unexpectedly, slid in the tool while feeling for the locking mechanism, and pulled up hard. His mind raced with all the things he could book this sorry-ass woman with, freezing his toes on the ice not being the least of her transgressions.

Once the door was unlocked, he pulled his gun from its holster and slowly opened the door. The woman’s body fell out before he could catch her, and she sprawled onto the ice. Jack was shocked, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she fell out so fast or because she was one hot mess. Mascara ran in streaks down both cheeks, her eyes were swollen, and she reeked of alcohol.

Her car looked like she’d been living in it for quite some time. Papers were strewn throughout the interior and there was a large empty wine bottle wedged between take-out containers of Chinese food, small vodka bottles, and a taped-up box sitting on the passenger seat. Between the food smells and the wine, his stomach did a nauseated flop. Holy crap, lady, what’s happened to you?

He wasn’t expecting an answer and he got none. Whoever she was, she lay flat on her back with her arms thrown over her head, oblivious to the cold or the hard ground. Confident she wasn’t going to make a break for it, he reached into the car to retrieve her purse. He had to wade through the mountains of paper and garbage, but he finally located it in the backseat. Jack pulled out her wallet and found something he wasn’t expecting.

Doctor Calista Montgomery from Texas was drunker than Cooter Brown and passed out on the ice. He walked back to her limp body and shook his head. His day just got a whole lot longer.

After calling in his position and relaying the pertinent information, he opened her trunk and pulled out a couple of bags. She was going to jail, but he wanted to make sure she had her stuff because he couldn’t guarantee he could get back out this way anytime soon to tow her truck and trailer.

All that was left was to get her into his truck. On some level he hoped her butt was getting frostbitten, but she hadn’t been on the ground long enough for any serious damage to occur. Okay, princess, let’s get you up and outta here. He toed her with his boot hoping she’d respond.

The cold must have worked at clearing some of the inebriated cobwebs out of her brain since she blinked up at him a few times. Confusion written on her face, she put her hands to her head like she was trying to hold it in one place.

He chuckled. You stayed on the party bus one stop too many, Dr. Montgomery. Let’s go.

She blinked at him a few more times as he bent down to help her. She raised her hand up again, this time connecting with his face. Your clothes are all green. I didn’t know the Jolly Green Giant made house calls.

He pushed her hand off of his mouth and nose. That’s my uniform. I’m not the Jolly Green Giant. I’m Sheriff Jack Benfield and you are under arrest.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth and she was galvanized into action. The good doctor grabbed his neck and pulled herself up, using his body for handholds. There was nothing much he could do except wait for her climbing exhibition to finish. She managed to half-stand, half-lean on his crouching body. I’m jus’ fine, ossifer.

I don’t think so, miss.

It’s missus. I’m married. Get it straight.

He slowly stood while keeping a supporting hand on her waist while she weaved back and forth. Fine. Mrs. Montgomery, I…

It’s doctor. I’m a doctor, you know. You should call me doctor.

That’s it. Whatever you call yourself, you are under arrest for public intoxication, trespassing on federal land, and whatever else I can think of once we get back to the office. He was about to pull out his handcuffs, but she closed her eyes and collapsed into his arms.

Chapter 2

She hardly weighed anything. Ribs rubbed on Jack’s fingers even through his thick gloves. He shook his head. Another alcoholic on the road to oblivion. He’d seen it a hundred times before. People losing everything because they chose the bottle over their lives. He’d bet money this parking lot was her home last night because Dr. Calista Montgomery had nowhere else to go.

He yanked open his backdoor and set her on the chocolate leather. She moaned as her head rolled and hit the metal clasp of the seat belt. Pinning her to the back of the seat with the pressure of his arm, he pulled down the belt to strap her in. As the thing clicked, the woman tried to push his large hand off her chest.

We’ll add resisting arrest to the line of charges.

Her bloodshot eyes stared at him without a trace of comprehension. She must have been swimming in the bottle longer than he thought. Even though he didn’t want to feel compassion, he couldn’t help but be moved by the dark violet circles bruising the soft skin. He remembered that discoloration on so many women paraded through the precinct. Too many to count, and yet he never saw the one that mattered.

Don’t worry, we’ll get you someplace safe.

The drive back to his office took longer than expected. Clouds no longer kept their heavy burden; the snow now fell at a blizzard rate. It’d be a long time before life could resume at a normal pace. He pulled into the station to find a few other cars already there. His report of a stranded woman spread quickly.

And the usual suspects had beat him there.

The smell of hot chocolate enticed his nose as it bubbled in the copper-bottomed pot on the old stove. Laughter rose and fell in the next room, while the office unit cranked out welcome blasts of heat at regular intervals.

Entering the central room, all conversation stopped as they turned their attention to him. It’s not her.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could see their defeat once again. Anger speared through him because they still harbored hope. He’d left that bad boy in New York and, after all this time, they should have kicked it to the curb too. Why are you guys here? Go home, I’ve got this. He crossed the room to the nearest cell and dumped Calista on the cot.

A small hand on his shoulder pushed him to one side. I’ll take over from here. Go get yourself some cocoa and take those sopping boots off. You’re messing up the entire floor.

Yes, ma’am. He wasn’t going to get in his Aunt Pookie’s way when she was on a mission. Being a force of nature, anyone with common sense followed her directions without argument. She motioned for Todd to bring in Calista’s suitcases as she smoothed the dirty blonde hair off the unconscious woman’s neck.

Pookie stopped as she touched the wet collar of Calista’s shirt. What did you do to this girl? Throw her into the lake?

He rubbed his fingers across his eyebrows and shook his head. Oh boy, here it comes. No, I did not throw her into the lake. She fell out of the car, flat on her back. He turned and left the cell, heading for the pot of chocolate.

Well, you must not have brushed off any of the snow, otherwise she wouldn’t be this wet.

He refused to answer the accusation in her tone. Partly because it was true and partly because once Aunt Pookie made up