Brighten Acres

By Lea Roberts

Midnight Rage, led the pack in the final trifecta race. His throat still felt raw from yelling commands from his seat in the stands, but he didn't mind. Any discomfort he went through was worth it as long as he placed the right bet. He had decided earlier in the day that he would place one final bet.  He told Beth to put the two thousand dollars on the trifecta. Laughing to himself, Jack believed this had to be the stupidest damn bet he’d ever made in his life. With odds of one hundred fifty to one, lightning would have to strike. It did.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 9, 2009
• ISBN: 9781467860376

Lea Roberts

LEA ROBERTS is a father and daughter team.  They started their writing during her college tenure.  They have written many highly acclaimed short stories, before they ventured into novels.   He is an engineer by trade.  Raising four daughters, with his lovely wife, has given him a view of the world from the female side.  There has never been a dull moment in their home, located in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Missouri.   After acquiring her masters degree, she married a wonderful guy, and they have one daughter and a dog, they make their home in northwest Arkansas.  They are avid Razorback fans.    They enjoy the closeness of their large family (14) with birthdays and holidays, there are numerous opportunities for get-togethers.   They enjoy their writing and encourage you readers to contact them through AuthorHouse or you may reach them at  [e-mail].  

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© 2009 Lea Roberts. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/12/2022

ISBN: 978-1-4343-9842-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4343-9843-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-6037-6 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

About The Authors:

Prologue

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

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

About the authors:

LEA ROBERTS is a father and daughter team. They started their writing during her college tenure. They have written many highly acclaimed short stories, before they ventured into novels.

He is an engineer by trade. Raising four daughters, with his lovely wife, has given him a view of the world from the female side. There has never been a dull moment in their home, located in the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Missouri.

After acquiring her masters degree, she married a wonderful guy, and they have one daughter and a dog, they make their home in northwest Arkansas. They are avid Razorback fans.

They enjoy the closeness of their large family (14) with birthdays and holidays, there are numerous opportunities for get-togethers.

They enjoy their writing and encourage you readers to contact them through Author House or you may reach them at [e-mail].

Dreams have a place in each person’s heart.

This is a dream I have completed just for you.

Love Dad

PROLOGUE

Tommy, I don’t know if this is such a good idea. Samantha Jenkins was nervous for a reason. The tires crunched over the gravel as they made their way down the dirt road. She had no idea where they were. Tommy had said something about an old dilapidated building nearby, but she doubted such an existence in this secluded location. She peered out the window into the darkness. She swallowed hard. This wasn’t right. At that moment she didn’t care what all of the other girls were doing. She was scared and wanted nothing more than to go home.

Tommy pulled his truck to the side of the road, killed the engine, and slid his arm around her shoulders. Come on baby, isn’t this what we’ve been waiting for? Her back was pressed into the plastic seat of Tommy’s pick-up. It wasn’t the most romantic spot, but it was all he could afford. He had discovered this secluded location while running an errand for Mr. Brentwood.

Suddenly the moon broke free from the clouds and cast an eerie glow around them. The crystal light bathed the trees and reflected off the metal roof of the warehouse in the distance. Samantha’s eyes locked on the flicker of light shinning from the distant windows. What’s that? She pressed her hand to his cheek to force his gaze out the windshield.

It’s nothing, just some old building. He pulled her hand away and leaned closer, There’s no one else around. It’s just us, baby.

That thought was not a comfort to her at that moment. She had made a big mistake by agreeing to this drive and an even bigger mistake when she let him stop in the middle of nowhere. She felt as if every sense was heightened. She felt every sound the night made race through her body. Each screech from an owl vibrated in her ears broken only the by low rumbling in the distance. This was not a typical sound of the night. This was different. She put her hand back to his face to hold some distance between them, Did you hear that?

She listened carefully as the rumbling grew louder. This was definitely not imagined. What was that? She pushed him off again.

Tommy tried to close the small gap she created. It was nothing baby. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, then rested again on the faint glint of the metal roof in the distance. I know I heard something.

Tommy slid back behind the wheel, leaned forward and wiped the window with his thin shirtsleeve. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t see anything. A deep sigh escaped his lips. He had a feeling this night that had held so much anticipation earlier in the day was going to end much different than he had dreamed. I already told you. The only thing out there is an old warehouse that is about to be condemned. His frustration dripped from each word. He turned back to her, No one ever comes out here anymore. He gestured in the direction of the metal structure in the middle of the trees, That place hasn’t been used for years. The explosion shook the truck.

What the . . . His words rushed past his lips. His hand shot to the door handle. His gaze narrowed as he scanned the tree line. Where did that come from? Samantha reached for his arm. It couldn’t be an earthquake could it?

No, that’s impossible. He cranked the window down and peered out into the darkness. Silence surrounded them.

I think we should go. Visions from a horror movie flashed through her mind.

The explosions rocked them again.

Tommy, we should go. She sounded faintly hysterical this time.

Tommy patted her hand. I’ll check it out.

No lets just go.

He pushed the door open. I’ll be right back.

I think we should just go. He dropped a kiss on her lips. I’ll be back before you know it. He slammed the door closed. Just stay here.

He crept through the darkness. His eyes adjusted slowly to the shroud of night. He weaved through the hundred-year-old oak trees, which completely blocked the moon and stars from view. He stepped carefully past the thronged bushes that could easily tear his jeans and skin. There was only silence now. He could hear his heart pound within his chest.

He could see Carl’s warehouse clearly through the woods with the aid of the pole lights placed on each end of the massive structure. It certainly didn’t look condemned, as Mr. Brentwood had led him to believe. He crouched near a tree, contemplating his options. One thing was for certain. There was too much activity going on for the place to be condemned. He weighed his options. He could turn back and pretend this never happened. Or he could investigate and perhaps be able to alert Mr. Brentwood to the fact that someone was using his property without his knowledge. This could prove to be financially beneficial for Tommy. Mr. Brentwood always rewarded behavior above and beyond the ordinary; and this was most certainly above and beyond the ordinary.

Tommy pushed himself to his feet. At the very least it could turn out to be a good locker room story. His steps were slow and cautious as he neared the building. He heard the muffled voices as he neared the building. He heaved his body onto a rusted dumpster to reach a window. He wiped the dirt and grime from the glass with his palm. He could barely see through the streaks. He pressed his body against the wall. The metal siding was cold to the touch. He ignored the slight discomfort and focused instead on the scene in front of him.

The building was massive on the inside. He couldn’t recall what it had been used for before. Nothing of the interior could explain what it was used for now. It was void of any sort of machinery or internal structure. It was just a wide open space broken only by the group of men standing maybe fifty feet away from the window through which Tommy stared. Their voices were muffled but something in the body language made it easy to see that the discussion-taking place was not pleasant. Their animated gestures and angry faces made it easy to see that an argument was well underway. He eased the window open slightly. He just needed a little space to hear them.

The scene changed quickly. The gun came slowly into view. Tommy froze. This was crazy. This was something he would see in a movie. This wasn’t something that could happen here. The two shots brought the man to his knees. He wasn’t prepared for the violent reaction his body was taking. He had to get out of there. His mind screamed the message in his head. Run. Run. Run.

Tommy jumped back from the window and dropped from the dumpster. His feet landed hard on the gravel lot. His knees weren’t prepared to react to the command from his brain. He fell back against the dumpster that had just a moment earlier provided him with a silent perch, but was now vibrating with his presence and alerting the unknowing players of his existence.

Hey, kid! The yell came from the far corner of the building. The command from his brain continued. Run. Run. Run. His knees were now able to follow. Tommy took off for the trees. The sound of his beating heart was replaced with the sound of his pounding feet as he ran. He stumbled over the uneven ground, not caring when the branches and thorns pulled at his skin. He ran faster and faster, weaving in and out of trees. He heard the men closing in, but didn’t look back. He didn’t have much time. He pushed his body harder and harder. Run. Run. Run. At last he saw his truck. He wrenched the door open and threw his body behind the wheel.

Tommy, what happened? Samantha ran her trembling fingers across the cuts now decorating his face.

He slammed the door and turned the ignition, We have to get out of here!

Tommy, what’s going on? Tears choked her words. She was shaking now.

Tommy looked up as the driver’s door jerked open. The flashlight was blinding his eyes.

It was too late.

Chapter 1

Jack Montgomery stood before the wall-to-wall mirror, reflecting the elegance of the room. Looking around, he finally realized his constant compulsion to prove he was the driving force behind Brighten Acres was his undoing. He thought to himself, I’m just a pawn. Jack strode over to the bar and absentmindedly placed ice cubes into the glass. His eyes fell to his own reflection in the mirror. Life was about to change for ole Jack Montgomery. He reached for the decanter and began to pour. Jack’s days normally started and ended with a tall glass of Wild Turkey. He slowly brought the glass to his lips. The realization came quickly. He didn’t want or even need the drink. Slamming the glass down on the counter he turned back toward the mirror. He wanted a clear head today. Jack let an easy smile change the reflected image. For the first time, in more months than he could recall, the smile remained. It was a good feeling. Pride straightened his shoulders and inched his chin slightly higher. He had missed this feeling more than he realized.

He turned from the mirror. He didn’t need to crawl back into a bottle this time. He moved to the window overlooking the rolling hills of Brighten Acres. He paused for a moment as thoughts of that night, nearly fifteen years ago, came racing back. The memory was often close to the surface. Jack was usually able to push it back into the corners of his mind with the aid of one drink or another. But today, with his new resolution to face the world with a clear head. He had no help to fight back the memory. It was there, at the surface, ready to be seen in the stark daylight.

He remembered Doug’s question as Jack had summoned him into the office. His mind drifted back to their conversation. Is there a problem? Jack’s angry words returned easily to his mind. Damn right there’s a problem! He could see Doug’s offer of help when he staggered across the room. But Jack’s answer to Doug’s offer of help was. I don’t need your damn help! Pausing only briefly he went on to say, I don’t need your interference in the way I’m managing this place. You think you’re going to develop some Triple Crown winner with that stupid breeding program you’re working on? Well, it’s not going to work not here anyway. Turning his back to Doug he said, This place isn’t big enough for the two of us. You need to find someplace else to make your magic work.

Doug stood in stunned silence, I don’t understand why you are so against this. My program will work if you just give it a chance. Jack’s piercing gaze shot to Doug’s face. His bloodshot eyes narrowed. He had watched his son grow more confident over the past few months and was terrified. He couldn’t handle the competition. He had to eliminate it before it grew too strong. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else besting him. Not even if that someone else was his son. I want you to leave. His icy tone left no room for argument.

Jack’s thoughts slowly returned to the present. Fifteen years ago he had seen his son as a threat to his hold on Brighten Acres, but he now regretted driving Doug away. Jack’s insecurities kept him from reconciling with his son. A new desire stirred Jack’s conscious; maybe Doug could become a part of Brighten Acres again. The though of a phone call entered his mind. I’ll make that call, later. That thought gave Jack the contentment he had been searching for.

Midnight Rage, led the pack in the final trifecta race. Jack’s throat still felt raw from yelling commands from his seat in the stands, but he didn’t mind. Any discomfort he went through was worth it as long as he placed the right bet. He decided that he would place one final bet. He told Beth to put the two thousand dollars on the trifecta. Laughing to himself, Jack believing this had to be the stupidest bet he’d ever made in his life. With odds of one hundred fifty to one, lightning would have to strike. It did.

Jack pressed his back into the passenger seat and relaxed into the comforting warmth. Beth was the only one of his two children he acknowledged. Elizabeth Anne Montgomery-Livingston, a rather imposing name for such a small creature.

Beth was a petite 4’ 8", 92-pound version of a Barbie doll with her silky blonde hair flowing below her shoulders. Her pale blue eyes appeared bottomless. She was Jack’s most vigorous supporter at the track.

Jack watched Beth steer the car effortlessly through the late afternoon traffic. He tilted his head far enough to see her profile. She always had to position the seat so far forward it was difficult to see her face. The wrinkle above her right eyebrow told him she was deep in thought. Lifting her hand, she gently tucked a stray strand of honey blonde hair behind her ear. The movement was quick and would have been missed if he had turned his head a second later. It was no wonder most women hated her. She could have her pick of any man, married or not. His wonderings stopped there. He chose to picture her pure and pristine. He had chosen to ignore all of the rumors and gossip. God knew there were enough to go around, but he didn’t want to know the actual truth. He pulled his eyes away from her and returned them to the passing scenery. They drove west, directly into the setting sun.

Jack heard nothing but the slow beating of his heart in tune to the romantic melodies of Mozart streaming through the speakers. Life was good at that moment. He could honestly say he was happy. He had waited a long time to feel that his life was moving in the right direction. Now he could step up and face anyone. Jack had finally arrived.

He stared out the window at nothing in particular. Jack worried that even the slightest movement would destroy his tentative peace. His existence was precarious. Anything could ruin his delicate balance, and he would do anything to maintain it. Thus, his only movement occurred when his hand would stray to the thick envelope in his breast pocket. The money seemed to burn a hole through his shirt and sear his skin. He rarely, if ever, had held so much cash at one time.

His hands itched to hold the crisp bills again. He resisted the urge, for fear a movement of such magnitude would break the spell, and he would once again return to the real world and the stack of bills on his desk. His breathing was slow and steady. His fresh start was as real as the money in his pocket. He could even use this money to payback Carl Brentwood what he owed.

This passing thought was met with disdain. It was doubtful he would give Brentwood a dime of his winnings. His eyes narrowed. Jack’s hatred of Carl Brentwood grew with each passing day. In one of his more drunken stupors, Jack had even considered killing him. He had it planned perfectly. He would take the hundred year old gun from the walnut cabinet in the library, drive over to Carl’s fortress, walk straight into his office, aim and pull the trigger. It would take Jack less than thirty minutes to complete the task. He knew his plan sounded like something a youngster on a school ground would come up with. The gun probably wouldn’t shoot anyway.

Sanity had prevailed, preventing him from following through with the plan. If Carl died, the loans Jack depended on died with him. Carl’s money kept Jack in the game. He couldn’t give that up.

It was common knowledge that Carl controlled most of the money and people in Clifton, Tennessee. Jack was, therefore, not alone in his dependency on the Great Carl Brentwood. This realization was disturbing to the aging rancher. He was Often quite verbal about their relationship, based completely on money.

His lack of vocal restraint where personal issues were concerned was attributed primarily to the bottle. Jack had the tendency to become rather talkative when he was drinking. He always had a million little tales to tell, and did.

Jack was what most of the painfully traditional citizens of Clifton considered the town drunk. Drinking was the one thing he was good at, so he threw himself into the activity whole-heartedly. His morning ritual consisted of rolling out of bed, popping a few pills into his mouth, and chasing them down with whatever liquor he had failed to finish off the night before. He would then start all over again with a fresh bottle. He would eventually end up at one of his favorite watering holes sometime in the evening and stay until someone took him home. Thus was the bane of his existence.

Of course, his wife opposed his chosen profession as a gambling drunk, but she had little control over her husband’s actions. Clara Brighten and her uppity ways used to tempt him, but he wasn’t tempted any longer. He didn’t even feel guilty for his deception when he had first feigned an interest in her. His feelings had always been perfectly clear in his mind. His love extended only as far as the thread attached to her family’s wallet. Jack used her. It was as simple as that. He was born poor, raised poor, and had the fear of dying poor. Clara was his escape from poverty. She was his salvation. Furthermore, who better to raise him out of the common working class than a direct descendant of the man who, along with Carl Brentwood’s great-grandfather, willingly helped establish the town? Jack emerged from the shadows of destitution into the circle of wealth and privilege.

Jack could still picture the hovel where he was raised. Bare walls and more than one broken window haunted many flashbacks. His first monumental act had been burning that dilapidated shack down shortly after he married Clara. He had watched while the roof and walls collapsed into a burning mound. He hadn’t been able to tear his eyes from the flames. He had watched his childhood home turn to ash and expected his shame to be carried away on the waves of smoke. He was no longer the poor boy from the wrong side of town. That alone was supposed to give him peace and happiness.

Funny . . . Jack had found neither at Brighten Acres. He eventually gave up looking for that ever-elusive peace and happiness.

Jack rarely regretted using Clara all of those years. Why feel guilty for something they were both doing? He used her for her money. She used him as a showpiece. Jack was the epitome of all young girls dreams – tall, dark and handsome. Moreover, her father hated him. These two factors made him irresistible. She had willingly welcomed intimacy with him after only their second date. Moreover, from their somewhat unholy union came two children a boy, and girl.

Jack’s eyes drifted closed, blocking the disturbing thoughts from further exploration. He would buy Beth Anne something special to mark the day that the Montgomery’s broke their losing streak and moved into the big-time. His peace remained intact.

Beth Anne drummed her long fingers on the wheel to the beat of the music filling the small compact car. She glanced briefly at her father’s face. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was smooth. She was thankful he could finally relax enough to sleep. A faint smile played at his lips. It was about time they had something to be happy about.

She released a long sigh. She wished she could enjoy the moment more. The bitter words she had spoken to her daughter kept a cloud around her. She tried to force them from her mind, but they were always there. Her father had even commented on her silence at one point during the day. She had managed to brush his concern away as another race began.

She let her mind drift over the conversation once more. When had it gotten out of control? When had her five-year-old daughter started hating her? Chills ran down her spine as the last question was repeated over and over again in her mind.

It had happened only that morning. It was just like any other Friday. She got up, dressed, and waited in the dining room for her father. They left for the track around ten. It was the only day of the week she woke in time for breakfast. Lisa ran in and plopped her tiny body on the chair beside her mother. Beth braced herself for the onslaught of questions that invariably accompanied her daughter’s presence.

Is my daddy coming for me today?

Beth was slow to answer Lisa. Roger Livingston was the only man she had ever really loved. She proved it by leaving her father and following Roger to New York where they lived happily until Beth found herself pregnant. She had kept the baby, but lost the husband. Now she was having doubts about that decision, hindsight is always 20/20. She slid both elbows onto the table and cradled her head in her hands,

Why do you ask me the same question every week when you know what the answer will be?

She dragged her hands down her cheeks, then raised frustrated eyes to her little girl.

What do you want me to say? That he’ll be here in a minute!

She dropped her hands,

I have a news flash for you, and in case you’ve forgotten, your father left us a long time ago. He didn’t want anything to do with us then, and he certainly doesn’t want anything to do with us now.

Lisa looked away, I just thought . . .

Beth angrily interrupted Lisa. The last sliver of patience she possessed snapped. "You just thought your dear daddy would come and rescue you from your mean mommy?

She spoke with more vehemence than she had intended, but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Well, I have another news flash. It isn’t going to happen! She grabbed her cup from the table. She needed something to do with her hands. The slow sips served to calm her nerves, but only slightly. She watched her daughter wipe the tears from her eyes.

Sorry, Mommy. Mommy I’m sorry, stammered Lisa.

Her anger subsided, leaving behind guilt and misery. She cursed under her breath. What was she doing? She spoke slowly. Her words seemed ripped from within, If I were you, I would wish to be rescued from me, too.

Her voice lost its coarse tone. Her eyes were clear. It was the truth. Lisa was still too young to register the impact of her mother’s statement. In her childishness, she knew only to speak the words leaping through her thoughts,

Are you and Grandpa going to the races today?

The child was filled with questions that had been answered so many times before. Couldn’t she see that Beth needed to be alone? Her frustration quickly returned. Beth cupped the warm mug between ice-cold hands. She glared at Lisa over the rim, Why do you ask the same questions again and again and over again when you already know the answers? Her patience slipped as her voice rose. You already know that your father is never coming back and that your grandfather and I go to the races every week! Are you too stupid to remember the answers, or do you just enjoy driving me crazy?

Lisa’s eyes turned cold. Her quiet voice sounded harsh in the morning light,

Mommy why do you hate me?

Her question captured none of her innocence. In that moment, when the words were spoken, she was far older than her years. That realization was far more painful . . . especially for Beth Anne. Moreover, those were the words that Beth couldn’t block from her mind now. They repeated continuously in her head. She stared sightlessly at the stream of cars in front of her, but saw only her child’s face.

I don’t hate you.

Beth hadn’t realized she had spoken the words aloud until her father’s voice brought her back to the present.

What? Jack said as he rolled his head to the side. He noted the tear as it slid down her cheek,

Beth? Jack shouted.

She didn’t respond. She didn’t even move her eyes from the road. A sense of urgency surrounded him. Jack looked from Beth to the busy intersection,

Beth, the light’s yellow.

Jack Montgomery’s hold tightened on the door handle. His daughter’s recklessness sent his nerves racing. The tranquility from the racetrack began to fade. Fence posts along the side of the road were flashing past the window in a blur. Pure adrenaline raced through his veins. He wet his dry lips.

Beth, you can’t make it! His voice sounded strange even to himself. Beth pressed the accelerator closer to the floor. She revealed no sign that she had heard her father’s shouted warning.

Jack’s heart pounded in his chest as he felt the speed of the car increase. Sweat broke out on his palms and forehead,

It’s red! It’s red!

Their screams were ripped away by the sound of twisting metal and breaking glass. The truck screeched to a halt, but not before forcing the speeding car across the intersection and into another moving car. An eerie silence surrounded the wreckage as the smoke and dust dissipated. The driver of the truck slid from the cab.

Oh, God, don’t let them be hurt. He stepped to the ground as he spoke the offered prayer. The car was pinned beneath the wheels of his own truck. The male passenger’s neck was twisted awkwardly on his body. He circled the car slowly, feeling a wave of nausea clutch at his gut. The woman was slumped over the steering wheel.

Ma’am? He wrenched the door open, Ma’am, are you hurt?

He touched her shoulder and pulled her away from the wheel. Blood streamed from a gash on her forehead. Her head slumped to one side while eyes no longer seeing stared back at his face.

Oh, God. He pulled the cap from his head as he offered another silent prayer.

Chapter 2

The man behind the desk glared angrily up, as Stan Clayton came bursting through the doors into the private office of Carl Adams Brentwood the Honorable Mayor of Clifton Tennessee. Stan’s eyes flew to Carl’s stormy face.

Aaaaaa Carl, we’re in a load of trouble. Stan’s face reddened with excitement. His blood pressure was no doubt approaching stroke level. His fat paws cut through his thick gray hair, then dropped to his waist. He laced his pudgy fingers through his front belt loops. The well-worn khaki trousers of his sheriff’s uniform hung below his protruding stomach, completely hiding the waistband. His doctor berated him continuously to go on a diet. However, until they developed a diet that consisted of beer and pizza, Stan wouldn’t consider the option of losing the extra weight that clung to his five-foot four-inch frame. His eyes darted around the room as if he was looking for an escape route after his declaration. He didn’t relish the role as bearer of bad news.

Carl mindlessly moved papers around his desk,

What has you so crazy?

He wasn’t particularly worried. Stan was easily excited. This had both good and bad points.

Stan approached the massive desk with great