Of the Woods Read online

  The Three: Of the Woods

  Book one

  JAS Bennet

  Contents

  PRONUNCIATON GUIDE:

  1. Jennyver

  2. Aoife

  3. Sheridan

  4. The Letter

  5. Arriving Flight

  6. Auld Triangle Pub

  7. Castle Mcgrew

  8. Dreams

  9. The Will

  10. Questions

  11. Guardians

  12. Decisions, Decisions

  13. Training

  14. The Woods

  15. More Training

  16. The Three

  17. Murder

  18. Embarrassment

  19. Emails

  20. Auld Triangle Pub

  21. Storm

  22. Aftermath

  23. The Struggle

  24. New Skills

  25. Recovery

  26. Making Messes

  27. Rumble

  28. Together

  29. Change

  30. Beginnings

  About the Author

  The Three: Of the Woods

  By JAS Bennet

  ©2018 Jolene Buchheit (http://JoleneBuchheit.com)

  Cover Design by K. Keeton Designs (http://www. KKeetonDesigns.com)

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, either living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

  Dedicated to Sam and Ev for their loving hospitality, and to their pool which was the inspiration for this story.

  PRONUNCIATON GUIDE:

  Murtagh – MER-taw

  Aiofe – EE-fuh

  Deaglan – DECK-lin, like the name Declan

  Cian – KEE-an, like the name Ian starting with a K

  Tadhg – TIGE, like tiger without the “er” sound

  Eoghan – O-wen

  Rosin – Row-SHEEN

  1

  Jennyver

  “Are you Jenny Jaynes, the author?” The voice behind her was a deeper timbre than she was expecting. Whenever she was making an author appearance at a book store, she was prepared for little kids to comment on her ocean-colored hair or grab her hand and lead her to their moms, or maybe even moms who wanted to share how much their kids loved her books. Turning around, she was shocked to find a tall, dark, handsome man in a gray suit looking all professional and businessy with a fresh haircut and perfectly groomed facial hair highlighting his blue eyes.

  Who in the world was this guy? Maybe she was being a bit misogynistic and she should have expected any parent, not just the moms she was used to? Regardless, she was there to touch lives and she could start with this one. Sticking out her hand, she replied, “Yes, that’s me. Hello.”

  “I’m Derek Nelson.” Instead of shaking her hand, he placed an envelope in it. That seemed brisk, but his voice didn’t sound annoyed. “Can I get you to sign here, confirming I have delivered it?”

  “Uh,” The envelope was made out to the name she was born with, Jennyver Murtagh, not the name her mom gave her when she was adopted. The man was holding out a clipboard and she blindly signed her name to it. “Thanks?”

  What a confusing turn of events. The situation became more bizarre when he looked her in the eye and stated, “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He walked out of the store, taking with it all the oxygen in the place, or maybe everyone in earshot was just holding their breath like Jenny was.

  How could he know her mother had passed away eight months ago? She’d never seen that man before in her life. She would have remembered. Anyone with a libido who fancied men and had working eyeballs would have remembered. In fact, Sophie, the bookstore owner, might have been drooling, as she surely hadn’t moved an inch since the man got their attention.

  “Please excuse me, Sophie, I have something in my car to bring in.” Jenny followed the man out of the glass door, only noticing the blue hair she’d straightened earlier and the bright pink shirt she wore in the reflection for a second. “Mr. Nelson?”

  “Derek is fine.” He turned to face her, shoving the clipboard through the open window of some fancy silver car. “What can I do for you?”

  “Derek, did you know my mom?” She used the envelope to shield her eyes in the bright sunlight.

  “Your mother? No, I was hired by your uncle’s estate. Everything is in the letter.”

  “I don’t have any uncles. My mom was an only child and she never married. Are you sure you’ve got the right girl?”

  “I believe so. I’ve been searching for you and your cousins for months now. You were adopted shortly after birth, correct?”

  Jenny nodded as she thought through his words. She was adopted, but she was alone in the world, now that her mom was gone. “This is all very confusing.”

  “I’m sure after you read the letter, it will all make perfect sense. Here’s my card.” He flung his jacket back so he could grab his wallet and she stared at where his shirt tucked into his pants, which were connected to his suspenders. She could practically see the hard V cut above his hip. She almost moaned in despair when his jacket fell back into place, but she blinked instead and focused on his chiseled jaw as he spoke. “Let me know if you have any further questions after you read it.”

  “Thank you, Derek,” she said breathily. She watched him shamelessly as he walked around to the driver’s side of his car. He waved goodbye and she wiggled her fingers at him in response. Her head was spinning, her hormones were evidently raging, and now she had to go read her children’s book to a group of little kids and their moms. Quite the situation she found herself in, and it wasn’t yet noon.

  Before going back inside the Nook of Books, she walked over to her car, sat down in the driver’s seat, and stared at the envelope. She decided it would be best to open it after her book event. She wanted to be fully present with the kids today, just like her mother would want her to be. That thought triggered a moment of nostalgia, and she wanted to wallow in it for a moment.

  Jenny began writing children’s books at the ripe old age of seven with her mother’s help, doing the illustrations of octopuses that looked more like squid, and sand dollars which more closely resembled fireworks in crayon. Her mom was faithful in getting her creations laminated and displaying them proudly on the bookshelf. Everyone who stopped by their house was treated to a book reading and offered a handmade bookmark. Book Marketing 101, her mom had called it. Jenny learned very young to take the book business seriously.

  Now that she was a grown woman and her mother was gone, Jenny had to make room on her own bookshelf for her published works and do her fair share of the advertising in a larger market than the neighborhood she grew up in. Writing and illustrating kids’ books about the sea hadn’t proven to be a lucrative business so far, but she was passionate about it. One trip to the ocean as a kid was all it took for her to fall in love with the saltwater world and she wanted to help other kids fall in love as well.

  Fingering her blue wave necklace with a pearl perched inside, Jenny could almost hear her own childhood giggles as she ran from waves lapping the shore on her first trip to the ocean. Her mom had held her hand as they walked along the beach; she told little Jenny all about the man who throws starfish back into the ocean. Just like in the story, Jenny had asked, “Why does he do that? He can’t possibly save them all.”


  Her mom answered, “He did it to make a difference for each starfish he touched. You don’t have to be everywhere and do everything to save the world, but if everyone made a difference in small ways, the whole world would be a better place to live. That’s our destiny, Jenny, to make a difference in each life we touch.”

  The echo of her mother’s voice tickled her ear and she clung on to the memory of that sound. Her fear was she’d forget not just the ringing lilt of her voice, but the warmth of love she felt every time she heard it. It used to be hard to have memories surface, because they would be quickly chased away by sadness, but now thoughts of her mom brought a slight smile to her face. Especially thoughts of her stories she could include in a book and share with other little girls and boys.

  When her mom first passed away, she held even tighter to this memory whenever she found herself fighting the desire to stay in bed all day. At first, it felt like the waves of grief would never ebb, with the near constant flow of tears, but the squall of grief couldn’t last forever, and she knew she’d weathered the worst of the storm.

  Her vow to her mother’s memory was to help others and she tried to always live in a way to make that possible. She hoped each child who read her books would be touched in a positive way.

  Grief made things hard for her though. Her first book submission after the funeral had been rejected by the publisher for being too sad for kids without a relevant life lesson. She was embarrassed that she had left it out, because the life lesson was the most important part about writing children’s books. “To entertain while teaching” was her personal motto and she had forgotten it.

  The rewrite turned out beautifully and a cartoon replica of her necklace was proudly featured on the final cover. Dedicated to her mom and the legacy of love and support she left behind, this book would be the one to “take her places.” Those were the words her editor had used. She smiled sadly as she looked at it in the storefront window. Her mom would be beaming with pride at the book and the pearl of wisdom it contained—sometimes losing someone forces you to take on their best quality so their memory lives on in you.

  Her phone chimed, knocking her out of her reverie. She wiped the tear from the corner of her eye before looking at it.

  Soon, she found herself smiling at the text from her bestie,

  Chris: Hey girl, I know you are going to totally crush your book reading today. Have fun!

  She sent back: THANKS!

  It was exactly the kind of encouragement her mom would have sent less than a year ago. Shaking away her nerves, she got out of the car and decided this was going to be a great signing.

  The Nook of Books was one of Jenny’s favorite places in this city. It didn’t have the commercialized feel of big chain bookstores, it had ambiance and personality. There were couches and coffee tables instead of stiff wooden chairs and mass-produced particle board desks. Each book on the main display had a hand-written review from a member of the community underneath. Instead of a Starbucks, there was a self-serve coffee bar with several creamers and flavored syrups to choose from. It was on the honor system too, just shove a dollar in the coffee tin and help yourself. Don’t have cash this time? Just pay two dollars next time. The small-town feel of this place in the middle of a big city in Iowa, was refreshing and welcome.

  Sophie, the shop owner, met her at the door with another hug as soon as she walked back in. “I hope everything is okay.”

  “Thank you, everything is fine. And thanks for having me, I’m so happy to be here.” It was true. She felt optimistic and she cherished that feeling more lately.

  “Is this a box of books for us?” Sophie grabbed one of the boxes Jenny had carried in when she first arrived and moved it toward the check-out counter.

  “Yep, I brought one box with a couple copies of all my books, but that box is just my newest title—the one I will read today.”

  “Oh, good. I sold our last five copies this morning. I should have stocked up a bit more, I guess. Thanks for bailing us out.” Sophie busied herself with opening the box and stacking the books on the counter.

  “No worries. I’m happy to hear it is doing so well.” Jenny’s smile was sincere; she was fairly pleased with its performance.

  “The illustrations are simply amazing. I think you’ve done yourself proud, Miss Jenny.”

  “Thanks, Sophie.” Taking a deep breath, Jenny relaxed her shoulders and mentally prepared herself for making this a great day for all who came to hear her story. She already knew it would be a fantastic day for her. Afterall, what was better than a room filled with books and children’s giggles? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

  2

  Aoife

  Ava sat at the boardroom table, completely exhausted. She wouldn’t admit to anyone that she was at the end of her rope. No one at work should know that about her, all they should know was that she made things happen, was a hard-ass of a boss, and a super bad bitch when things didn’t get done according to plan.

  She had built her life to fit into a nice little container. Everything in its place, every detail controlled. That’s how she got to the top of her profession. It’s not easy to become an executive in a bicoastal movie production company.

  In fact, she’d learned early on in the movie business that being female made her an easy target for wrath and blame. It wasn’t until she found herself cowering beneath her desk one day, that she realized she wasn’t going to stand for it anymore. This was not who she was.

  The next time her boss raised his voice at her, she imagined punching him in the throat and shared an evil smile with her tormentor. It was then that he cowered, and her attitude for achieving success turned away from “know one’s place” and “stay in your lane” to “if you want it, go get it” and “make no apologies”.

  She pulled her dark-brown hair out of the efficient single braid she normally used to restrain her unruly curls, and sighed. After checking her cell phone to see the fifty-seven text messages her ex Roger left throughout the day, she set it down.

  Rolling her eyes, she plopped her head down on her arm and asked herself, “How could one woman have so much under control in her professional life and be so atrocious in her love life?”

  Sitting tall, she attempted to contain the emotion she was sure was written all over her face. Then she stood up, and adjusted her perfectly tailored business suit, in black of course, watching her reflection in the window of the boardroom. She chose the same thing every day—black suit, black medium heels, and her hair braided to perch neatly on her left shoulder. Ex-asshole #2 told her that she would look so much better in skirts, but knowing this had done nothing to improve her ability to give a shit. Ex-asshole #1 only ever said she was boring. That’s why he had to look to find someone else.

  Ava used to consider herself a happy person. She loved her job, she had a cat and shit, but there was just the fact she had pitifully bad luck picking out men. She supposed it was part of having the personality of an executive badass. Regardless, it would be a long time before she let one in again.

  “I’m better off having nobody to disappoint and no chance of anyone disappointing me.” She stopped talking to herself when she heard movement outside the door of her boardroom. The rest of the employees she spent so many hours with were going home for weekends full of family and friends, but not Ava. She had just split up with the only family that she had. Ex-asshole #2, Roger, decided that his yoga instructor had better moves than Ava did. Good riddance.

  The only thing she had to look forward to this weekend was cleaning out the rest of his clothes. Maybe she would use a blowtorch to set them all ablaze before she flung them off her bedroom balcony. She was determined to never let someone hurt her as badly as Roger had. A brick wall was being built around her heart to prevent her from letting anyone inside it again.

  A Grinch-like smile spread across her face at the thought. Is this what she had been reduced to? Revenge blowtorching boy panties whilst whining about stupid, horny yoga instru
ctors. Her body wasn’t prepared for the amount of wine that would be needed to tolerate this task.

  She pulled herself out of her clothes-burning daydream and suddenly realized that the office was quiet. Once again, she was the last to leave for the day. Sighing, she stood up and grabbed her phone which vibrated when she placed her hand on it. She pulled up the fifty-eighth message from Roger and read it.

  So are you ever going to answer me or am I just to assume that I will need to purchase an entire wardrobe? Geez Ava, I didn’t know you could be so childish.

  She knew he was trying to bait her like a worm on a hook. She also knew she should just let it go like the rest. But her temper snapped in the three seconds she took to reread the last text. She hit reply and began to type.

  Pigs don’t need clothes. Then she added a pig face emoji to really get her point across.

  With that sent, she pushed his contact picture and blocked him to prevent further correspondence.

  Traffic was her least favorite thing about living in LA. She made a quick stop at the liquor store around the corner from her house and finally made it home.

  All she needed were her pajamas, wine, and break-up music blaring at eardrum-piercing levels. If she put on some enormous granny panties she would turn into Bridget Jones. Her life had definitely taken a turn toward no place good.