Heart of Spring: Anchorage Seasons, #1

By Cherime MacFarlane

Her son is grown now and she hasn't seen him since her ex kidnapped the infant.

Lily Raven's husband took their son and disappeared. Will she ever see him again? Drake wasn't the only one who ripped her heart out. Destry was her friend, first love. How could Drake's younger brother keep her child away from her?

Destry did what he could. He had to wait until the boy came of age to say anything. Drake would have vanished into South America with Teller forever. A twist of fate kept him stranded on a mountain. He wasn't there to keep Teller from enlisting. At last he sees a chance to send Teller to his mother. He won't blow it this time.

The revelation about his mother sends Teller on a drive through Canada to Alaska. Did his father lie to him? Did she want him? He's about to risk his heart and find out. The women he finds in his mother's office will change his life. Note cliff hanger warning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cherime MacFarlane
• Release date: Mar 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393392590

Cherime MacFarlane

Meet Award-Winning, Best-Selling Author Cherime MacFarlane. A prolific multi-genre author, she has a broad range of interests that reflect her been there-done that life. Romance, Historical Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, all sorts of characters and plots evolve from a vivid imagination. As a reporter for the Copper Valley Views, Cherime MacFarlane received a letter of commendation from the Copper River Native Association for fair and balanced reporting. She was part of the Amazon Best Selling in Anthologies and Holidays, and Fantasy Anthologies and Short Stories. The Other Side of Dusk was a finalist in the McGrath house award of 2017.

Book preview

Prologue

Below her, the lights of Anchorage lit the homes and businesses surrounded by spruce and birch trees. The lights sparkled westward until they dropped into the silver waters of Cook Inlet. Anchorage gained daylight in hunks as break up preceded spring. Soon, dirty snow would vanish, the mud would firm, and another short Alaska spring would be on them.

Lillian Raven stood to one side of the table as she combed out her braid. The new case was going to be a hard one. Her client’s husband was a minor crook who reported to a mover and shaker in Alaska. The boss kept his hands clean most of the time, but Lily understood he dipped his fingers in slightly dirty pies now and again.

Hearsay meant nothing. If Curtis Hoyton had ties to any of the major criminals in the state, she couldn’t prove it. Nor did she have evidence of a link between Skoglund and Hoyton.

To the best of Lily Raven’s knowledge, Curtis Hoyton dealt in real estate, pricey real estate. She had represented him in five very expensive, involved land deals. Not one hint of anything illegal turned up when she checked the man out the first time he approached her. LRB Law could pick its clients and worked for Hoyton by choice. He paid well and on time. Never once had he acted other than a gentleman.

Hoyton, for all the whispered tales, appeared squeaky clean on paper. Rumors floated around Alaska like icebergs in Glacier Bay. If Hattie Skoglund had it right though, her husband worked for the big man.

She doubted Hoyton had anything to do with Skoglund’s personal life. Did the man even know a wife beater, an abuser, worked for him? Merc Westin, Hoyton’s second in command, might be his handler. Or Skoglund’s direct superior could be down the line.

Regardless, she would take the woman’s case. By Sunday evening, Hattie and Linda Skoglund would be safe. She couldn’t get them out of Alaska immediately. Skoglund would watch the airports. They couldn’t drive out because he held their passports.

Not knowing his reach, it would be best to keep them under wraps until she could get them to Homer. Even Whittier was too close. When the tourist season started, Alaska’s Marine Highway summer schedule would allow them to get the woman and her child out. They would be on the first ferry to Bellingham, Washington.

A month. That’s all they needed.

Her hair free from the braid, Lillian Raven Burnett, attorney at law, ran her fingers over her scalp to release the tension. To the west, the sun dipped below the mountains. Twilight lingered on a clear March evening.

Her thoughts turned to Teller. Where was her son? What was he doing? Was he well? Healthy? Then came the thought she had to tamp down hard. Is he even alive?

The blast of anger for her ex-husband was another thing she had to put away. Lily Raven learned the hard way the simmering rage only ate her up. It did nothing to Drake.

Destry didn’t fit in her ex-husband’s category, but she was angry at Drake’s younger brother all the same. Destry was her friend. Why hadn’t he tried to mitigate the pain?

Auntie, it’s time to eat. Come and sit down.

Thanks, hun. Lily Raven turned away from the big prow-shaped windows. Ruby was a blessing. She hadn’t realized how alone she was in the big house. When Bette, her paralegal of many years finally retired, Ruby stepped into the position. A third or fourth cousin, the young woman moved in instead of finding an apartment of her own.

Lily Raven smiled when she looked at everything laid out. Ruby wanted to fatten her up and the girl knew exactly what to tempt her with. Two large slices of cheesecake sat on the counter, along with the steak, potatoes and peas.

With a grin, Ruby moved the cheesecake to the side. No dessert until you eat your dinner. She giggled and Lily Raven laughed with her.

Spears with rose

It was the first day he felt fit. The climbing expedition to Argentina had almost cost him his life. Another climber in his party still sat in a rehabilitation center and would remain there for another month at least.

The day he got home, Destry wanted heat, wanted to be warm all the way through to his bones. Dink shooed him outside to the courtyard and reset the interior temperature to seventy. He spent the next month on a lounger on the patio. When the early morning sun bathed the area in warmth, he covered his head with one of the fancy linen napkins from the dining room. Destry put on his sunglasses and lay there soaking up the Nevada sun.

For the entire thirty days, he ignored the den. She was in there. He’d allowed the wrong against Lillian Raven to go on too long. Compliant in his brother’s deceit, guilt wouldn’t vanish from his bones as easily as the chill he’d picked up in Argentina.

Drake had no intention of ever telling the boy the truth. Destry knew it, had known it all along. When the boy turned eighteen, Drake should have sat him down and told him the real story about his mother. Instead, he let T.T. run away and join the Army.

Once the boy’s life was on the line, he didn’t dare tell him his father lied about his mother. Getting emotional in a hot zone was a good way to get dead. Lily Raven would never forgive him if he didn’t take care of the boy.

The ring of the cell phone startled him. Dink had pulled out of the garage a few minutes ago. Why would he call now?

Thought you should know the kid is on his way. If you look out the front window, you’ll see the dust cloud; he’s pulling into the driveway. Talk to you later.

He rose and the phone went into his pocket. Destry sighed. What the fuck had Drake done to the boy now? Maybe it was fate. The thoughts he had about calling Teller and laying the truth on his nephew still hung in his mind. He’d listen to what Teller had to say, then he’d tell the boy about his mother, Lily Raven.

Spears with rose

The five-gallon plastic bucket full of water sat on the floorboard behind the driver’s seat. The big V8 in the SUV idled and the heater fan pumped in warm air. The side street he sat on ‘T’ed into the main road out of the subdivision. This corner lot was vacant, but not for long. In another week construction would start on the fancy home planned for this spot.

Already in, the driveway made an excellent place to sit and observe. Before springtime twilight died, he had a chore to perform. This high on the mountainside, on the edge of Chugach State Park, there were still pockets of snow in the shade. Thin films of ice formed on the puddles of meltwater overnight.

When he was confident there was little chance of being spotted, it would be time to throw the water out on the westbound lane. A steep, long distance down to the crossroad, the city kept it sanded for the rich and influential residents. There wouldn’t be enough ice to cause any real harm to anyone else.

He hoped Ms. Burnett would find it difficult to keep her truck on the road when she encountered the patch of ice he planned to create. She could drive on ice, no sweat, but recovering from a slide caused by a bump on the driver’s side rear wheel wouldn’t be easy. A good hard jolt is what he had in mind.

He grinned. At the least, he’d screw up her truck. With any luck, he’d fuck her up. If he got an exceptionally lucky break, she might die. That would be the best possible result. He could give her vehicle an extra bump if needed. In the morning, he’d see how his little plan worked.

Chapter One

T.T. parked the SUV and popped the seat belt. As he opened the door, he looked across the street. The old man walked out of the lobby with a younger woman hanging on his arm. His vehicle’s open-door sensor pinged at him as he stared at the couple.

Not again. His hand slapped the steering wheel. Uncle Dez warned him not to go into business with his father; he did it anyway. This was the second time the old man had latched onto a female client with something other than work in mind.

He shut the car door. With a laugh, the dark-haired woman tossed something to his father. The couple on the other side of the street stood next to a new Lincoln Navigator. The woman’s ride had cost her a pretty penny. T.T. groaned when his father opened the driver’s side door and got in.

He hoped like hell the woman had enough sense to take the keys away after the old man’s third drink. Why had he ever thought he could control Drake? No one, not even Drake, controlled Drake Black.

Before the night ended, his father would return home and expect to find him there. There would be the usual screaming fight. Drake knew better than to lay a finger on him, so shouting obscenities was his new normal.

No, he couldn’t go home. Not this time. He snapped the seatbelt closed, started the engine, made sure he wouldn’t hit anything and took off. There was only one place he could go. Uncle Dez wouldn’t rag on him over being dumb enough to go into business with his father and might have a better idea than the one bouncing around in his brain.

T.T. looked at the clock function in the Bluetooth player. As of 4 o’clock this afternoon, he officially-as far as he was concerned—dissolved the partnership. Where he went from here... well, he was damned if he knew. Maybe he should go back to Arizona. Phoenix or Tucson, either city was big enough for him to get lost in. He didn’t want to have anything to do with his father for at least a couple of years.

The desert outside of Vegas slowly encroached on his uncle Dez’s home. It might take a few years more, but soon the city would expand this way. T.T. wondered where Dez would go from here.

Dink and his uncle Dez had lived here since he was four years old, or something like that. He couldn’t imagine Dez living anyplace else, but his uncle liked his space. If people got too close Dez would bolt. The only question was where?

Twenty minutes out, as he closed on the driveway leading to the house tucked at the foot of the small knoll, T.T. thought he passed Dink. When the he saw the motorcycle pull to the shoulder of the road in his rearview mirror, he was sure it was his uncle’s best friend and houseman. He wondered if Dink would turn around and follow him back to the house.

Another quick glance in the rearview showed the motorcycle back on the highway inbound to Vegas. That was better. He didn’t want to have to explain to both men what an idiot he’d been.

T.T. came to a halt in front of the house. He turned off the ignition and popped the seatbelt. Sitting in the silence, he lowered his face into one hand. He might as well wait for the dust cloud to dissipate. It was as good an excuse as any to delay.

A few minutes later, the tap on the window came as no surprise. Since Dink hadn’t returned to the house, T.T. assumed he called Uncle Dez. Not bothering to roll down the window, the young man took a deep breath, opened the door, and faced his uncle.

Hazel eyes just like his dad’s—only clear and sharp—stared at him. Dez nodded his head.

Get out of the truck. It's time we had a long talk. There're a few things you need to hear and he's not about to open his mouth, so I guess I will. As tall as his father, and a good two inches above his own height, the man turned around and strode off toward the door.

Dez’s broad shoulders hadn’t developed the slight rounding of Drake’s. His uncle appeared lean and fit. The last time T.T. spoke to Dink, Dez’s best friend said his last climbing excursion took a lot out of his uncle. To T.T., he looked the same as always.

Curiosity broke through anger and his slight depression. What did his uncle mean? What exactly hadn’t his father disclosed?

Chewing on one thumbnail, he followed his uncle into the study. Once in the room where Dez spent a lot of his time, the man motioned him toward one of the leather chairs. A big hand turned over two of the glasses sitting beside the decanter on a small table. Dez poured what T.T. guessed were two double shots of the good scotch into each glass.

Take it and sit down. I've got hard news for you. Your old man is a piece of work, boy. He should have said something a long time ago. What do you know about your mother?

His question caught the young man by surprise. He stumbled a little then settled into the chair behind him. She didn't want me, so Dad took me away. That's all I know.

Dez took a sip of the whiskey and motioned toward T.T.’s drink. Take a hit; you're gonna need it. Your father is a liar and a lush. He stole you from your mother. Your last name isn't Black, it's Burnett. I understand your mother looked for you for nearly ten years. Nothing he told you about her is true. I think you should grab all your stuff and go to Alaska. Go find her and make things right between you two. Leave Drake here to stew in his damn booze.

He lifted the glass to his mouth and swallowed the scotch down. For a while, he couldn't talk. He wondered if getting drunk might be best. T.T. decided staying with his uncle was safest for now because if he left the house, he might go kill his lying bastard father.

He wasn’t sure how much younger Destry was than Drake; he only knew his uncle was the younger of the two. Dez maintained his body well and could probably pass as T.T.’s older brother. A math genius and somewhat of a recluse, his uncle no longer frequented the casinos. A photographic memory and luck like hell hadn’t earned him the property and the home sitting on it. A series of prudent investments gave his uncle the means to do whatever he liked.

For all the casinos hated the man and banned him, Dez had never cheated. Nor did he take his penchant for winning any farther than Vegas. He got what he wanted from them and got out. Set up, his uncle spent a lot of time climbing almost every mountain in existence.

Gonna tell me more? What the hell really happened? Why bring this up now?

I made a promise to Drake. He swore he'd say something and the lying alkie isn't going to. I spent too much time in Argentina last trip. Dez took another sip of scotch and put both feet on the big polished-to-a-spit-shine desk. "I hoped he'd hit bottom and then I could do something with him. I don't think it'll happen. Drake is the kind of alcoholic who will drink himself to death. I've lost hope of any recovery.

Time moves along fast once you get past a certain age. And—the older man leaned forward to splash more into his glass—I almost bought the big one down there. One of those mountains damn near became my tomb. I've been trying to work up the courage to tell you. I'm glad you came here. It's fate.

T.T. watched his uncle pluck a file folder from the desktop. With a flip of the wrist, Dez tossed it toward him.

He stared at the name on the tab for a few minutes. Teller Thomas Burnett, his uncle spoke the words aloud while he read them silently.

The answer lies inside. Don't fixate on the tab, open it, the voice prompted.

Instead of Thomas Teller, the document inside listed his name as Teller Thomas the same way the label read. His glance took in the whole thing.

No! I was born in Arizona in some dinky-assed little town, San Miguel, down by the border.

Wrong. Your forged birth certificate says you were born in Arizona. You were born in Alaska, like the damn thing says, to Drake Burnett and Lillian Raven Burnett. I should know; I was there.

But... No more words would come out. He traced her name with a fingertip. He never told me her name.

That's ‘cause he's an ass. But his fucking pride kept him from taking you and going home to Lily Raven. Rather than admit he screwed up, he toughed it out. Only he's not doing so well with that.

Behind the Alaska birth certificate sat several old newspaper clippings and a couple of computer screenshots. Dez must have printed them out. Holy fuck! She's an attorney?

Yep, and a damn good one.

Then he saw the picture at the very back. She's one good looking woman. Something else struck T.T.—he’d seen her face before. Dad doesn't come in here, ever. It's because of the picture. What the hell gives here? Why do you have a portrait of my mother on your wall?

His uncle used the ball of one foot to push the office chair toward the wall where the painting sat. Glass in hand, Dez spun the chair and leaned back in it to stare at the portrait. I saw her first. We met in high school. When I brought her home, your damn father took one look and stole her away. He had her pregnant at sixteen, and it’s a damn wonder he didn't go to jail. Instead, her parents agreed to be quiet if he married her. Drake always has had a thing for young ones.

They're both in love with the same woman! It hit him like a grenade at gut level.

Why did he grab me and leave?

Destry didn't turn around. He took another sip of the liquor before answering. Her mother and father had a boating accident on the Yukon right after you were born. Your grandma survived, grandpa didn't. She needed constant care. Drake was about to get out of the service and didn't want to stick around through another winter and they had a screaming fight. He took you and me, left the state, and never looked back. It's eating at his soul and won't let go. I remember her screaming at him not to take her baby. Can't seem to get it out of my head no matter how high or far I go.

T.T. carefully folded the file and leaned forward to put it on the desk. He wondered what he could possibly say, but there was one thing he had to know. Why did you go along with it and keep quiet all these years?

Dez didn't take his eyes from the painting. T.T. had never really looked at it before. It had always just been there, a part of the study, the room his father never entered. From the frame, a sweet-faced girl with a hesitant smile stared at them.

I owed him. The words were almost a whisper. They hung in the air between them.

Why? How?

His uncle didn't bother to turn around. He could've dropped me on the State, cut and run. He didn't, Drake stepped in and gave me a home. Took me with him to Anchorage. Put me in school and fed me. Dez took another sip of the golden liquor. He took care of his kid brother. How the hell could I tell him no?

The young man saw it, the thing his father didn’t have. He wondered when the old man lost his honor. What day did he take the drink? The one which killed the last brain cell where his character lived? T.T. couldn't pinpoint the exact moment. He supposed it gradually declined until... it vanished.

When the last of the scotch left his uncle’s tumbler, the office chair spun and the empty container went on the desk. He didn't even glance at the crystal decanter. With one finger, he pushed the glass T.T.’s father would have filled to the top away and off to the side.

You hungry?

Maybe. I'm not sure.

Come on. He stood and walked over to take the glass from his nephew’s hand. We can both manage scrambled eggs, toast and jam. Dez grinned.

His last meal might have been breakfast. As muddled as his head felt, something so mundane didn’t register.

Back in the hallway Dez looked at him over one shoulder. "Why do you think I always called you T.T.? Your name is Teller, so it was my way of keeping things right. I should have said something the day you came of age. I'm asking you to forgive my misplaced loyalty. It should have gone