A Memory Worth Dying For
A Memory Worth Dying For
This is fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
© 2014 by Joanie Bruce
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-62020-253-1
eISBN: 978-1-62020-353-8
Cover design and typesetting: Hannah Nichols & Joshua Frederick
E-book conversion: Anna Riebe
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I would like to dedicate this book to my loving husband, Ben, who supports me in everything I do. He’s my biggest fan. Thank you Sweetheart.
I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
I would like to thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ for giving me the ability to share His love with everyone who likes to read.
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CARSON CITY, TEXAS
MARTI GRIPPED THE CAR SEAT
in front of her with rigid hands and wondered why she let her brother-in-law drive her car.
“Please, Vinny, slow down or let me out.”
“Aw, come on, Martha. Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. I know what I’m doin’. I’ll have you to the hospital in no time.”
Vinny’s wife, Angela, grinned and turned around to glance at Marti in the back seat. “His NASCAR reflexes are still there, hon. He can make a car do amazing things.”
Marti leaned back in the seat and tried to relax. Tucking an auburn curl behind her ear with one hand, she massaged her stomach when she felt the baby kick with the other. She swirled circular patterns on her stomach and yearned to be anywhere but in this speeding car.
Up ahead, a crooked stop sign balanced halfway between a vertical position and the pavement. Instead of slowing up, Vinny’s foot forced the gas pedal further down to the floor.
“Watch me beat that old rattle-trap, Angie darling.”
Marti’s stomach clenched. With tightness in her throat, she watched a beat-up red truck plowing toward the intersection. The truck was traveling too fast. They weren’t going to make it to the stop sign first. She inhaled a stale gulp of air and watched in horror as the truck barreled toward them.
Marti closed her eyes. If she ignored the truck, maybe it would disappear.
What a ninny! It wasn’t going to disappear.
Lord, please make it disappear.
Dread forced her eyes shut, but terror opened them up again. The truck was still there, and it wasn’t slowing down. The driver couldn’t see them through the willows blowing on the side of the highway.
She held her breath as Vinny sped through the intersection, foolishly ignoring the proximity of the two vehicles. The front bumper of the truck passed within inches of the back corner of their car.
A long horn blared behind them as the truck flashed by—the sound hollow and metallic in the humid air. The tires of the truck squealed briefly, and Marti’s imagination supplied the smell of hot rubber.
She watched the red truck round the sharp corner behind them and disappear. A gulp of air cooled her parched throat, and a sigh of relief made its way to her lips. She turned to the front. “Vinny, please—”
Suddenly, she felt the car slide on the muddy road and hydroplane on top of the puddles of water. Her brother-in-law let out an expletive before he wrenched the wheel to the left.
Inside the car, Marti had the surreal feeling of being suspended in a boat on top of frothy waves. The car skated steadily sideways until Vinny lost control, and the right side of the car lifted into the air. Marti experienced a floating sensation and braced her hands on the car frame.
Lord, please help us.
The car tilted. Hard metal met her body as she was thrown against the side door. Broken glass scraped her arms and face.
The car tumbled. She crossed her arms over her stomach and tried to protect her baby from the blows. Screams filled the night air, and she heard crunching . . . metal ripping apart. The car beat at her whole body. A heavy blow to her arm was the last thing she remembered before something hit her in the back of the head, and the whole world swirled into oblivion.
A pain in her stomach woke her. Groaning filled the air around her until she realized it was coming from her own throat. The taste of her lips was bitter, but wetting them was impossible. Her mouth was parched, and there wasn’t enough moisture to keep her tongue from sticking to the roof of her mouth.
Towering over her, a strange woman gazed down at her. Marti stared up at the blurred face.
“Who . . . who are you?” Marti’s voice was just above a whisper.
The woman hovered over her. “Don’t you know who I am, Martha?”
Marti shook her head before another pain in her stomach doubled her over, and the woman moved to help her.
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll help you. You’re gonna have this baby right here, before the ambulance gets here, aren’t you?”
“What h-happened? Where’s my husband?” Marti grabbed the woman’s hand as another contraction filled her body with agony.
“Just relax, honey. I’ll take care of everything.”
ONE
LANDEVILLE, TENNESSEE
THREE YEARS LATER
“AND I WILL RESTORE TO YOU THE YEARS THAT THE LOCUST HATH EATEN.” JOEL 2:25A
NO! NOT HERE!
Marti Rushing gawked at the coffee-colored hair of the man standing fifteen feet to the left of her. He was pointing out the brush strokes in one of her paintings.
Chills immobilized her heart and muscles for what felt like a full minute. It took that long for her feet to respond to her brain’s command—
Hide!
She slipped behind a rotund man gesturing wildly about his life as an architect and peeked around him at the man who caused her initial panic.
Daniel Rushing—her ex-husband.
First surprise and then shame raced through her head before being washed away by the next emotion filling her heart—fear.
Why was he here? Had he chased her down to torment her further?
Memories of their last argument three years ago threatened to emerge from deep within the crannies of her mind. She pushed them out of her thoughts. No! She would not think of that now. She’d ignore him. She could do this. Her jaw tightened, and she took a deep, shaky breath. This was her big day. After working for months to prepare for this exhibit, she would not let the appearance of one man ruin it by his mere presence.
Even if it was Daniel.
“Marti, here you are.” Her friend and gallery owner, Sandra Wellington, put her lace-covered arm through Marti’s and pulled her over to a couple sipping punch from a vintage crystal goblet.
“Mr. and Mrs. Samson, this is Marti Rushing. Marti, the Samsons are buying your Blue Mountain landscape.”
Sandra’s calming British accent soothed Marti’s angst, and she forced a mega-smile at the couple. Trying to keep the shiver from her voice, she spoke. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad you like it.”
Mr. and Mrs. Samson smiled and held out their hands to shake hers before Mr. Samson bobbed his head into her space.
“Like it? We
love
it. My wife came in every day this week, hoping no one would buy this painting before today’s opening. It’s so nice to finally meet such a talented artist.”
The smile Marti gave the couple felt genuine, but her face felt like it would break into pieces. She looked at Mr. Samson as he spoke, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched Daniel and the back of an elegantly dressed female in a satin gown standing a few feet from their circle.
Marti’s eyes strayed to his lean form as she watched the back of his wavy hair, her breath shallow and tight.
“Marti?” Sandra’s voice prodded, and Marti jumped.
“Oh, uh . . . I’m sorry. Would you please excuse me?”
