Of the Woods Read online

  She made it upstairs and put on some cut-off blue jean shorts and an old 80s hair band concert T-shirt. It was in one of the boxes full of her adoptive father’s belongings after he and her adoptive mother died in a freak boating accident right after she turned nineteen. They were the only foster parents who gave a shit about her in the long line of foster parents she’d had. She wasn’t exactly an easy child to raise because of the bitterness from being abandoned at an orphanage as a baby. She’d long since come to terms with the whole thing, and after several bottles of wine and all kinds of therapy she could finally say, “I’m angry” about the whole thing.

  She carried the last of the boxes of Roger’s clothes to the front foyer. It’s a good thing she didn’t have marshmallows for s’mores because it was going to be one hell of a bonfire, plus her diet didn’t allow for the extra calories, which was stupid.

  Entering the kitchen, she opened the drawer to find the lighter when the doorbell rang. She rolled her eyes in anticipation of it being Roger.

  After taking a moment to conjure up the perfect greeting for the ex-asshole, she squared her shoulders, swung open the door, and spewed, “Hello there, teeny weeny.”

  Then she gasped when she realized an extremely handsome, clearly ripped, very much not an ex-asshole man was standing there removing his sunglasses. “Good day. Are you Aoife Mahoney?”

  From the looks of him he could’ve been her next big mistake. You know the type, the kind who could be the star of her next big movie about a young man who did all the right things so the beautiful woman falls madly in love with him. In other words, the kind of movie to make her want to puke. Or rip out her eyeballs so she no longer had to witness such stupidity. Alas, the man was super-hot and Hollywood worthy, no doubt it would be a blockbuster with his looks backing it up.

  Shaking that thought out of her mind, she realized it had been quite a while since she had heard anyone call her by her birth name. When she shook her head, the handsome stranger frowned. Realizing he most likely thought he had the wrong person, she smiled at him and asked, “Who wants to know?”

  He adjusted his stance the slightest bit, but Ava caught the change. He seemed a little less confident about whether he might have gotten the right person. “I need to know if you are Aoife Mahoney before I can tell you who I am and why I’m here.”

  Her brow creased hearing her name come across his beautiful lips. “My name is Ava Smith, Aoife is the name that I was born with. Now, tell me who you are.”

  A smile came to his face. “My name is Derek Nelson and I have been looking for you for a very long time.”

  She rolled her eyes in the assumption that this guy had stalked her from the Tinder profile she posted several years ago when she actually thought there was such a thing as love.

  “Well, Derek Nelson is it? I’m sure you are a nice guy and all, but dating isn’t ever going to be a part of my life again. To be honest, that’s because all you men are stupid. So if you don’t mind, I have a bonfire to get to.”

  He looked at her as if she had grown two heads and produced a letter from his tailored gray suit. Ava stared at the envelope.

  “What the hell is that?”

  He placed the envelope in her extended hand. “This letter that will explain everything you need to know as well as give instructions about your next step. Read it carefully, Aoife. Time is of the essence.”

  She stared at the envelope as if it might explode as he handed her a clipboard and a pen to sign for the letter. He reached into his back pocket, removing his wallet, and found a small business card. Extending it to her, he said, “Here’s my card if you should need me at any time.”

  With that, he turned to leave, and as he began walking away, Ava couldn’t help but wish his coat was a little bit shorter so she could see what she was sure was a fine behind. It made her wonder if she could use his card for a booty call when she felt the need for him in her bed “at any time.” She shook her head to clear the thought and entered the house. All thoughts of the impending bonfire were lost as she stared at the letter in her hand.

  3

  Sheridan

  “Another morning of possibilities.”

  Sheridan woke up every morning and told herself this. Being completely alone for years can take the happy out of life for some people. It did her too some days. However, she knew she was best this way and was determined to make her life as happy as it could be. Even if that meant being on her own.

  Her renovated conversion van was perfect for her needs, even though it was a little beat up from all the branches that scraped against it on her journeys. She loved parking right in the woods, being in the center of what she considered her world, and then driving to the next place. No ties, no rules, no one to lose.

  Her world was complete because she felt alive every morning when she stepped out of her little moving home and was surrounded by the trees, the wind, water, and animals that lived as free as she did.

  Today was … Saturday? She didn’t even know. Details like days and dates were not her thing. The sun was about to rise over the mountains of eastern Kentucky and it was a glorious view she simply had to watch.

  Sheridan was on the curvy side and extra calories from drinks were not a good idea. Unless it was wine. Wine was always a good idea. In fact, she poured some into her canteen, a makeshift flask, to help start her day. She eyed the special brownies she’d made the day before, but remembering her father’s words of wisdom stopped her.

  “Never weed until after noon, but wine is fine anytime.” She was a classy woman like that if she did say so herself. And she did, often.

  The morning mist was thick and settled in the valleys. It obscured the view below, making her feel as if she was floating above the clouds. Tree tops were green from the warm spring and the orange glow of the morning sun was just beginning to illuminate Kingdom Come State Park.

  She’d traveled to every state park in Kentucky over the years, but she always came back to this one. There was something about the bright blues of the morning sky and how they chased away all evidence of night that resonated with her best here.

  Wearing boots and cut-off shorts, and grabbed her small backpack for her morning stroll. She hated calling it a “hike.” It wasn’t exercise, she was just taking a walk in her world. Simple.

  She began her walk thinking about her dad. He grew up in these mountains. A silly light-hearted man who taught her to love and respect the earth on which she lived. He didn’t do that by preaching or teaching. He did it by living.

  He was a woodworker. An artist. He would forge new trails through the forest, as she was currently doing, and find fallen limbs and trunks to make beautiful pieces of furniture that people flocked to the gallery in town to buy. His pieces were always one of a kind and made with a love of the woods that the buyer could not only see but feel for themselves.

  The forest soothed Sheridan, but it also made her feel loved. She didn’t know if it was because of the memories of her parents’ love or if it was some deep connection with the living earth itself.

  The woods also reminded her of her loving mother. Sheridan smiled as she thought about how that woman was a force. She was passionate and protective in a way that Sheridan ached with the loss of.

  Her mother could walk through the woods and it was as if she drew the animals of fur and feather to her. The deer would stop and watch her mother walk by, like she was royalty in their presence. The red-tailed hawks would fly above her and it was like they bowed to her in their swooping screams.

  Both of her parents enthralled everyone they came across. Including Sheridan. They seemed magical to her. Even during her teenage years, she adored them. If her father was a tree, her mother was the wind breathing life into the leaves and making them dance. Her parents were just like that. They played off one another like a song—one the harmony and the other the melody—singing the soundtrack to her life.

  She always felt them when she was surrounded by nature, because they wer
e there with her. In her memories, in the trees that towered above her, and with the animals that would stop and watch her as they did her mom. The gifts that her parents left her were in these hills and in the animals that called them home.

  Her pack wasn’t heavy, she didn’t need much except water for when her “canteen” wasn’t cutting it, protein bars (with chocolate coating of course) for nourishment, first aid kit to help any injured being she came across, and dry socks. A compass or GPS wasn’t needed. Even as a child, she always had a sixth sense of where she was when she was in the woods.

  It was early and the mist had started to rise up between the mountains. It seemed like she floated into the woods.

  The trees rustled in the wind above her and the sunlight glittered upon the ground at her feet. She briefly entertained the idea of stripping down to bask in its warmth, just as she’d done countless times when she was younger. Her steps were a fairy dance in the woods. Every tree and leaf upon the ground got a glance from her to acknowledge their importance.

  A movement to her right, up the hill, caught her attention. The fur of the stealthy cat blended perfectly with the fallen leaves. Its ear twitch was her only clue to the female’s presence.

  “Hello, beautiful.” Sheridan only whispered the words because she knew this mountain lioness could hear her breathe. There was no need to shout.

  The walk after this encounter was a basic meditation of the woods. The stray squirrel would follow her a while and the birds sang to her as she went along, but the encounter with the other female of the mountains was the highlight. She had an art lesson to teach to elementary-aged students at the library in a couple hours, so she headed back home.

  Sheridan broke through the veil of the woods to encounter a sight she never liked. A human in her space.

  He was sexy as hell lounging there beside his Jeep. No, he was annoying as hell, damn it. What was he doing here? Then his smile made her stop dead in her tracks. “What the hell?”

  She sighed to herself and put one foot in front of the other. Right into a rock. She tripped over a freaking rock. Made a stupid female sound and landed facedown, sprawled out like a baby giraffe, causing her backpack to land with a thud on her back. Yep. She felt like an idiot.

  More cussing escaped from under her breath as she tried to right herself. This is why she didn’t do people. She looked up into the most striking blue eyes she had ever seen. Add to that tousled brownish locks across his forehead and a charming grin.

  His hand extended to help her up. She gave him a no thank you look and got to her feet on her own. Her hands immediately went to her hips and stood in a “take no prisoners” stance.

  “What?” is all she said to him, with as much gruff in her voice as she could muster. How in the hell did that grin get bigger and cuter? It was beyond comprehension how totally gorgeous this guy was.

  “Well, I’m Derek Nelson, and I am quite sure you are Sheridan Byrne. Is that true?”

  His voice had an amused lilt to it. The whole situation made her tongue feel like cotton in her mouth, leaving her no choice but to nod. No doubt he was used to rendering females speechless, so she had no reason to be embarrassed, but that didn’t change anything on her end.

  “I came here to give you this.”

  Her eyes went immediately to his crotch. Her face looked shocked and caught on fire. Not literally, but it sure felt like it. Her eyes then locked with his and she wanted to die. She then noticed that he was extending an envelope to her and she still couldn’t speak. This happened often in the presence of other humans. Awkwardness.

  She took the envelope, signed the form on the clipboard, and felt a wave of anticipation rush through her. Before he turned to leave, he reached in his back pocket, pulling his wallet out. It wasn’t made of leather, score one point for him.

  “In case you come up with any questions, you can text me.” He grinned. He knew exactly what he was doing when it came to her. Collecting the business card he held out to her, she put it with the envelope and resumed her standoffish pose. Watching him climb back into his Jeep was almost as invigorating as her morning walk in the woods. Her appreciation for nature did extend to the male form, after all.

  As he drove out of sight, she sighed. Somehow, she could sense that her life was about to take a turn that she didn’t feel ready for. Her finger slid beneath the flap of the envelope and she pulled out the letter.

  4

  The Letter

  Dear One,

  No doubt you are wondering what this letter contains. You may have noticed the plane tickets in your name and rental car information, as well as a map to The Auld Triangle Pub where a member of my team will greet you and deliver you to our home, but this is not a notification of some grand prize you’ve won.

  It’s not I who has won either, because as you read this, I am gone. My lifeforce has left me and this serves as your invitation to the reading of my last will and testament. You are entitled to a handsome inheritance simply due to the fact my familial blood runs in your veins.

  Though my search for you began before my passing, I enclose some personal elements from beyond the grave. I know you will need these things on your journey: Strength, wisdom, and willingness to admit defeat.

  Strength to sure-footedly walk the right path even when it seems impossibly difficult to see more than one option. Wisdom in acknowledging the disadvantages, especially for times when there seem to be none. Willingness to admit defeat for those occasions when it is evident there will be no winners otherwise.

  My final wish is for you to carefully consider how big the scope of your existence is and widen your imagination to see how much bigger it could be.

  With warmest regards,

  Shawn McGrew

  5

  Arriving Flight

  Exhaustion consumed her. Traveling halfway around the world could really do that to a woman. Sheridan was grateful to have her feet planted firmly on the ground. If she never had to fly again, it would be a lifetime too soon. Actually, she was beginning to wonder when her return flight would be. The tickets in her envelope were one-way. At the worst, she would start her new life of adventure in Ireland. She wasn’t concerned about finding a way. As long as there was a tree in sight, and some kind of pot, she would have a place that felt like home.

  Walking through the airport was not helping her efforts to stay calm. Her hair was falling out of the messy pile she had hurriedly put it in that morning. Stray curls were falling all around her face and she was desperately trying to blow them out of her eyes. Her backpack was sliding down her arm and the rolling suitcase kept trying to turn over on her. It didn’t help that she was completely lost and people were everywhere. They seemed to steal all the air from her lungs.

  The cement floor and walls trapped the scents of sticky cinnamon rolls and funky body odor, which mixed together in a terrible way. It made her feel like she was buried underground and there was nobody left to dig her up. She was like a bird; she needed fresh, clean air and trees to perch on. That thought made her even more anxious to get out of the airport and take a deep, long breath. However, the first order of business was to find the car rental counter. The thought of having to drive on the wrong side of the road made her stomach hurt. She loved driving, but only on the right side of the road. Well, except that one time in central Utah, but she was really high on mushrooms and that was during the, “look I can feel green and taste sadness” era.

  She looked around for the car rental sign. Everything seemed to be swirling around and she closed her eyes to steady herself. A few deep breaths and she reopened them to somehow be looking directly at the sign she needed. Another deep breath, exhaling to blow the hair out of her face once again, and she followed the arrow. Stepping up, she took out her ID and handed it to the red-haired man behind the counter, whose nametag read Aaron.

  “Welcome to Ireland! How can I help you?” At least that’s what she thought the thick accented words translated to in American English. His wor
ds felt too heavy, because Aaron was far too chipper for her current level of tiredness.

  “There’s a car for me?” Sheridan was all about getting this business over with. Talking to people she didn’t know was not her favorite thing to do, at all.

  “Ah, yes, Ms. Byrne, we’ve been expecting you. Where are Ms. Mahoney and Ms. Murtagh, who are meant to be travelling with you?” The man smiled like Sheridan had any clue what the hell he was talking about.

  “Uh, no?” It came out as a question, because she had no idea who those people were. Her heart sank as she realized she should have listened to the director of the art program who told her this whole scenario sounded sketchy. It was too much to hope that this would give her a fresh start. The money she wished for to open her own art studio, so that she could help others discover the love of painting and sculpting on her own terms, was dangled in front of her and she chased it like a fish chases a worm on a hook. Now she stood here, victim to a group scam involving a Nigerian prince or some shit.

  “No,” she said and “no,” again as her vision started to blur in a mixture of anger and frustration. Surely, this was a nightmare, alone in a foreign country, and she’d been roped into some bizarre scam situation. Her lips curled in on themselves in a flat line and her heart rate sped up. She hated feeling lost and confused.

  “Yes, I’m quite sure. Mr. Derek Nelson informed us there would be three descendants of Mr. McGrew headed to the castle in one of our vehicles today.” At the mention of Derek’s name, some of the tension in her body let go. Aaron pushed buttons on his keyboard and scrambled to check his facts while her mind caught firmly on another word he uttered.

  “Castle?” Her pierced eyebrow was raised and she wasn’t talking to anyone but herself. Maybe this would be worth the risk, not like she had many options here. Even one-third of the proceeds from selling a castle would secure the funds for an amazing art studio. She could even make sure it was accessible so people of all kinds would feel welcome there.