Excerpt of To Save a King by Rachel Hauck

Hearts Bend, TN

Gemma

There comes a time in every girl’s life when she must honestly answer the question “How’d you end up here?”

She, the one most-likely-to-succeed, a National Merit Scholar (she was good at taking tests), a beauty queen, had completely and utterly failed.

In a decade plus two, she’d sunk to a depth she’d never fathomed—lost in a black hole that still gripped her. But she battled her dark walls constantly. Willingly. Gratefully.

No one knew her whole story. Not her parents, her best friends Haley and JoJo, nor her foster daughter, Imani. As far as Gemma Stone was concerned, no one ever would.

Staring at her desk wedged into the nook of the old linoleum and paneled-wall kitchen, she was filled with gratitude. This run-down old place needed a major renovation, but it sat on the most glorious twenty acres west of Hearts Bend. She’d paid for it with cash. Every penny she’d managed to save, and perhaps, maybe a few she’d stolen—but he owed her—deposited on her one and only future.

With each sunrise and sunset, she managed to discover more of her own light and laughter. Lately, the black hole didn’t seem as deep.

At the desk, Gemma shuffled through the pile of bills and sighed. Working one-and-a-half jobs didn’t meet her needs. So far, her financial juggling act kept the lights on and a bit of food in the fridge and in the barn. If it weren’t for a few generous donors here and there, depositing money for her at the feed store, she’d not be able to keep her small herd of rescues.

Still she slept well at night, knowing nothing could ever take her land. Not even her past.

Gemma pushed back the window’s faded flowered curtain. Steam rose from the ground as the early-morning July dried the dew from last night’s rain.

Looking farther, beyond the pond and giant, shading maple—where Daddy set up a homemade picnic table—her darlings grazed through the tall grass. Hercules, Whinny, and Silver.

The rescues that had rescued her.

“I can almost forgive you, Matt Biglow,” she whispered. “But not quite.”

This homestead, her surprise venture into animal rescue, and becoming the parent of a sixteen-year-old orphan, Imani, numbed the pain and disappointment birthed from the previous twelve years. Hollywood, she learned, was not always where dreams come true.

Looking toward the barn, she thought of her big plans for the house, the barn, the land. A total gut and remodel of the house. A new barn, though the one she had was in good shape. Better than the house.

She’d plant gardens. One for looking and one for eating. Then, eventually, build an outdoor living space with a pool and a She Shed.

But they were all pipe dreams until she recovered her losses—emotionally, physically, financially.

In the meantime, she worked at The Wedding Shop and assisted photographer Taylor Gillingham when needed. Gemma may not have achieved stardom in Hollywood, but she’d picked up skills like how to live on a shoestring, being organized while living with six roommates, set design, fashion, and makeup artistry.

Gemma checked her schedule and to-do list. Her days were fairly static. Wake up, feed the “herd”—three horses, five dogs, six cats, seven goats, two rabbits—muck out the stalls, haul food and hay, then spend her day managing the shop’s accounts and inventory, occasionally working the sales floor, helping a bride find the perfect gown while her mother wanted another one.

But today was the Fourth of July and all work stopped. Nearly everyone in Hearts Bend and the surrounding cities flooded to the seventy acres by the Cumberland River to celebrate.

Thirty acres of this property were owned by the Castle family but everyone still called it the Scotts’ Place. Since the ’30s, as the town and the Fourth celebration grew, the city annexed another forty acres to host the growing crowds and expanded the games, entertainment, and a plethora of food stalls.

The Fourth was a big deal, and Gemma intended to indulge. One of her good friends, country superstar Buck Mathews, would take main stage after all the usual suspects—the local bands—and play a set or two.

So if she didn’t get there early, there was a good chance she’d not get there at all. A free Buck Mathews concert…

The town may never be the same.

“Gemma, can I take the truck to the Castles’?” Imani, her foster daughter, a rescue of sorts who was also rescuing her, breezed into the kitchen, phone in hand. “Penny’s already there waiting for Mrs. Castle’s deep-fried cherry popovers.”

“What about a cute boy named Justin?”

A slight pink painted Imani’s caramel-colored cheeks. “He can get his own cherry popover.” She reached for the keys on the hook by the door. “If I go now, I can get a good parking spot.”

“I’ll ride with you. I’m done here.” Gemma closed her laptop, tucked her phone into her shorts pocket, and slung her red Prada tote to her shoulder. Another relic from her former life.

If she sold it, even used, she’d get enough for two months of groceries, feed, and utilities. But she couldn’t bear to part with it. As much as it represented her mistakes, it also represented her success, however limited and short-lived.