Emily (Daughters, Book #4) (Daughters Series) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Nine

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  My Other Titles

  About the Author

  [email protected]

  Emily

  by

  Leanne Davis

  Daughters Series, Book Four

  www.leannedavis.net

  Table of contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  My Other Titles

  About the Author

  Copyright

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

  Emily

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Leanne Davis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Publishing History First Edition, 2017 Digital

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-941522-43-1

  Daughters Series, Book Four

  Edited by Teri at The Editing Fairy ([email protected])

  Copy Editing: Jeannie Brooker

  Cover Design by Steven Novak ([email protected])

  Dedication:

  To Adam for everything

  Other Titles by Leanne Davis

  Diversions

  River’s End Series

  River’s End

  River’s Escape

  River’s Return

  River Road

  River on Fire

  River’s Lost

  The Sister Series

  The Other Sister

  The Years Between

  The Good Sister

  The Best Friend

  The Wrong Sister

  The Years After

  The Broken Sister

  The Perfect Sister

  The Lost Sister

  Daughters Series

  Christina

  Natalie

  Melissa

  Emily

  The Zenith Trilogy

  Zenith Falling

  Zenith Rising

  Zenith Fulfilled

  The Seaclusion Series

  Poison

  Notorious

  Secrets

  Seclusion

  Chapter One

  ~Emily~

  I stare out at the huge crowd and see every person I’ve ever known, or met, or been involved with. All of my family members are there, ranging from my sisters and aunt and uncle to my adopted cousin’s brother, his wife, and their kids. Everyone.

  And, of course, I see Harrison. Harrison is standing at the front, waiting for me. He’s beaming. His blond head and gleaming smile could be a poster for the all-American man. And he stands there waiting for me, his betrothed and soon-to-be wife.

  But I don’t step forward. No, I step back. Once… and then again. I duck behind a huge urn filled with flowers. Expensive flowers that my parents bought. Thousands of dollars have been spent on this day, and now I’m hiding and slinking towards the side exit. I tug on the neckline of my dress. It’s strapless with a heart-shaped bust, which, in all of its B-cup glory, doesn’t manage to remain in place very well. I slip the veil off and squeeze through the door.

  My heart bursts. Then my lungs burst. My stomach sinks as I creep along the building. I’m wearing low heels as I cling to the brick side of the church, and walk to the end of it, peeking around. It’s the back side of the church and I see no one associated with my wedding here. I quickly duck behind a car, and furtively proceed as if I’m on some kind of spy OP. My heart feels ready to explode. I don’t know why I’m sneaking around. If I’m caught, no one will do anything to me. Or arrest me. Or hurt me. Or even insist that I marry Harrison. I’d, no doubt, marry him. If I’m caught right now, I fear I’ll probably marry him as planned because I won’t know what else to do. I can’t do that. Not to him. Especially not to my family and my dad, who stands so stoically proud and regal next to Harrison. He’s one of the groomsmen. Untraditional, yes, but I cherish having my favorite man in the world, my dad, next to my husband-to-be. Now, I’m merely glad that he’s at the altar and not lurking around with his eagle eyes. He has a strange sense of knowing exactly where I am at all times.

  I have to escape now or I’ll become Emily Hendricks Jencks. I’ll meekly settle into Ellensburg, Washington, where I’ve lived my entire life, and where my family lives, and Harrison’s family and where both of my sisters settled. Of course. I’ll remain a citizen here too. Forever. Here. As Harrison’s wife. Emily Jencks.

  I don’t think I want to be Emily Jencks.

  But unfortunately, that thought only occurs to me when I’m staring down the aisle at the man who is waiting for me to join him, along with the entire room. My whole future life as a married woman is waiting for me.

  I’m not ready at all for this. I don’t even feel old enough to be running down the street alone. I have no idea where I’ll go or what I’ll do. I know I’ll be spotted. Duh! I’m wearing a long, white wedding dress wrapped in tulle. I look ridiculous. I grip the door handle of the car, and to my amazement, it opens. It’s a small town, and few people bother to lock their cars so it doesn’t totally surprise me. I get inside.

  At least now I have cover. What next? What should I do? Where should I go? How can I get away?

  Due to how I was about to walk down the aisle as a bride, I don’t have a purse or my license or cell phone on me.

  I hear a knock on the window as I am sitting there, having a full-blown panic attack, and breathing hard, while squeezing the steering wheel in a death grip.

  A guy is standing there. He has dark skin, black hair that’s a little long and shaggy, and deep, soulful black eyes. Cautiously, I crack the window.

  “I was passing by and I saw you. You okay?” He waves behind him. I see a truck with landscaping equipment in the back of it and the company name on the side. He seems legit enough.

  “Why would you ask?” I ask, glowering at him. Of course I’m suspicious. He looks my age, or maybe a year or two younger than me.

  “Um, because you were running out of a church wearing a wedding dress. Didn’t figure you just left your purse out here. You need a ride somewhere?”

  What? With a stranger? I glare at him. Is he stupid? How dare he come up to me in a parking lot and ask if I’ll just blithely go along with him, but… I steal a glance towards the chur
ch. A man in a suit comes out, squinting against the bright sun and scanning the parking lot. I duck down and hide in the car. They must have discovered I’m gone. They’re searching for me. It’s only a matter of minutes before more people come and I’m found. I glance at the guy again.

  “Where to?” I ask, my tone cautious.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  Okay, that’s good enough. I scooch out of the car, and grab the hem of my dress as I run for his truck. He follows me and I jump in the open door, tucking the yards of tulle inside before sitting on the passenger seat. He’s much calmer as he gets in behind me.

  “Go!” I wail. I spot more dressed-up attendees spilling from the church’s exits. Seconds stand between freedom and someone actually seeing me. He punches the accelerator and the truck lurches forward. I duck down again, hiding, but escaping. I eventually crouch all the way down on the floor and scrunch myself up into a ball.

  “Wow, the guy must be really unbearable,” my driver says and I look up at him. He’s smirking down at me before his gaze returns to the road.

  “Shut up,” I mutter, grinding my teeth. “He’s actually very wonderful, sweet, nice, and decent. He…”

  “So nice that you’re huddled on the floor of a stranger’s cab?”

  “Who are you?” I look harder, growing more suspicious.

  “Ramiro Vasquez. As if that would mean anything to you, snowflake.”

  “Oh, really? Super original.” I grimace at him. Not even a point for an original insult.

  “So what shall I call you, snowflake?”

  “Emily.” I discreetly omit my last name. After all, he’s a total stranger whose truck I’m hiding in so I can abandon my wedding and jilt my groom who doesn’t deserve it. Not to mention, my parents who paid for it. My formerly immaculate, pristinely white dress is crumpled on the dusty, dirty, uneven bits of soil-covered floor mats in a landscaper’s truck. I nearly close my eyes, suddenly feeling horrified. What have I done?

  “What were you doing at the church?” I ask him when I open my eyes after my moment of shame.

  He rolls his eyes in response, glancing at me for a second before he replies, “Landscaping, snowflake. You know, like the name says on the truck. Mowing. Trimming. Weeding. Labor. It’s called labor. The church is one of our monthly maintenance contracts.”

  “Then how did you find me?”

  “I spotted a blur of white, sneaking out of the church like a burglar. I might have actually considered you were one if you were heading inside. But coming out was the oddest damn thing I’ve seen for a while. I was finishing up anyway, so I figured, what the hell? Runaway bride. Something new for me.”

  The church is no longer in view so I climb up onto the seat and face forward, buckling the seatbelt and trying to seem semi-normal sitting there. I clear my throat as if I do this kind of thing all the time. I’m blasé, like it’s no big deal. Just taking a quick ride with my new friend, Ramiro.

  A few blocks go by. “So? What made you run?”

  “Um…” Wow. That is the question. Where’s my long list of items with all the answers on it? We’ve been driving for only twenty minutes. Shouldn’t I remember why I ran? And be able to articulate it? But I can’t come up with a single reason. I’m stumbling around in my mind for a reasonable answer and doing it unsuccessfully.

  He gives me an odd glance. “Why is it such a hard question? Didn’t you consider the reasons why you were getting married before you actually decided to get married?”

  “I did. I mean…” I nearly screech in my defense, folding my arms over my chest. “I mean, I… we, Harrison and I, have been together for a long time. Since we were seventeen. Which makes it five years. We should be getting married. We are destined to be married, and there is no other outcome for us, is there? I mean, after five years together? I don’t know. He asked me last year, and of course I said yes and after I graduated college, it was the perfect time. Perfect. But…”

  “But something isn’t all perfect, snowflake, ‘cause you’re here with me, not Harrison.”

  I shake my head and stare blindly out the window. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, but it seems a fair question, considering my role…”

  “Your role?”

  He turns and I see his smile. Wow. He’s a charmer, all right. His little half-assed grin has just the right amount of contrast between his white teeth and dark skin. “Yeah, Prince Charming. Or no, no. A knight in shining armor. That’s it, right? Where the handsome guy appears out of nowhere and saves the damsel in distress from a dismal future of hell and misery?”

  “I am no damsel, and my knight in shining armor wouldn’t show up in a landscaper’s truck. You’re simply the chauffeur and you have no other role. And you get no answers.”

  “So, where do runaway brides run to?”

  I’m stumped. I have no idea where to go. “I don’t know. Where were you going?”

  “Home. Gonna have a beer and watch TV.”

  That sounds wonderful. I don’t want to think or feel anything. Just float right out of my body and pretend none of this happened. I want to forget that I irrevocably ruined a long-term relationship with a good man, and disappointed and humiliated my whole family as well as myself. I think of my sisters wearing their matching purple dresses, whom I left standing at the altar as bridesmaids. I know I screwed up and I hate myself for it. But not enough to ask my new chauffeur to turn his truck around and take me back there.

  “Could I, uh, come with you? Just for tonight? Until I can figure out what to do next?”

  “What? You wanna come home with me?”

  I glare at him again, and straighten my spine for courage. “Don’t, not even for a second, get the wrong idea and think it’s anything except that I need help. Don’t be a jerk. Can I stay over one night?”

  “First of all, you should have learned by now not to take rides from strange men and certainly not to ask if you can go to their houses. Hasn’t your father taught you anything about self-preservation? Not to mention safety?”

  I cross my arms over my stomach. If only he knew the things my father taught me. He’s ex-military and made a point of teaching me all kinds of self-defense tactics. My sisters never learned them, but I did. I feel confident I could take on Ramiro without any problem.

  “It’s a shame that the men of this world make it so women have to learn such things. Be careful of strangers. Never be caught alone anywhere, including your own house. Watch out for men always. Men are looking at you. Men are following you. I could go on. My father was very thorough and taught me all that. I can knock out any man out who grabs me from behind, or in front, or from the side.”

  He whistles. “Tough girl, huh?”

  “My father’s a retired soldier from the Special Forces of the United States. Yeah, I am.”

  He scoffs. “Yeah, you sure look like it, snowflake.”

  No. No, I don’t. Especially now, what with the ridiculous poof! of my tulle skirt. I wish I’d chosen something slimmer and less crazy. I wish I was wearing my usual attire of jeans, a t-shirt, and canvas shoes. I wish I never created this circus, and even more, that I hadn’t bailed on it.

  “So… can I?”

  His expression turns puzzled. “Okay. I guess. But you know, it’s kinda odd for a girl like you to trust a guy like me so fast.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Um, duh,” he nearly grunts. “My brown skin clashes with your lily white skin.”

  “That sounds a bit racist, doesn’t it?”

  “What? Me towards you?” His eyebrows rise in disbelief.

  “No. That I would be racist about you. What I think about anyone, including Mexicans, is unknown to you.”

  “Oh, and you don’t live in the same reality, huh? You don’t see color?” he scoffs. “Get real.”

  I shift around, annoyed at his generalization. I’m well aware that my skin is pale and his is brown. But I don’t let that affect any of
my perceptions about him. Obviously, he does. I mean, if a white guy gave me a ride, I know I’d treat him the same. Even if Ramiro refuses to believe that.

  He swings the truck in front of a trailer. It’s a single-wide with rickety stairs leading to the front door. No fanfare or individuality. It sits in a long row of a dozen such trailers. All are similar, except some are in way worse condition than others.

  “Home sweet home. Still want to come in?”

  “This is your trailer?”

  “Well, no. I just rent it.”

  He gets out and so do I. The middle stair has a rotted board, a potential ankle-twister. I keep my skirt wrapped up tightly in my hands. It’s a cumbersome load. He has to turn the light on as the drapes are shut tightly over the windows. It’s painstakingly bare, but neat. I’m relieved, I have to admit. I don’t relish the idea of picking through some unappealing heap of his belongings. I’m a lot like my dad, a total germophobe and neatnik. I don’t care how poor anyone is, I can’t handle gross neglect.

  I flop onto the couch. It’s old, with broken-down springs and faded fabric. It reminds me of something from an antique store, but not as well kept. “Do you own your landscaping business?”

  He glances up from where he’s washing his hands. Thoroughly. Like for several minutes, he does it. Wow, he might be a bit like me. He scoffs. “Course not. I work for Eduardo.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, do I look like I own something?”

  I shrug. “I was just making conversation and I don’t know you, so it seemed like a reasonable question.”

  “Be careful what you ask around here,” he mutters.

  I glare at him. “Are you trying to sound threatening? Why so menacing?”

  “Reality. Just saying, you don’t go asking the wrong questions around here.”

  I shift and let my gaze wander. “Well, it’s not like I’ll be staying here long.”

  “You ready to go home, snowflake? Perhaps just to make an appearance at your wedding?”

  “No!” I’m shocked at my vehemence. No. I don’t want to go back. The thought of it horrifies me because of how I left. My guilt is gnawing at me, but I can’t. It puts me into a near panic. I don’t want to go back. “What shouldn’t I ask around here?”