Children and Animals, They Always Steal The Show By Margo Hoornstra

Children and animals seem to possess the awww factor. Put them in a book or movie and the audience is immediately in their corner.

Glad Tidings, my first book for the Class of ’85 reunion series for The Wild Rose Press, has one such character, a little girl named Tina. In this excerpt, she has disappeared from the foster home where she’s been living and the hero, CEO of Mynderse Hospital Jake Holbrook, is desperate to find her.

*****

Jake’s mouth was dry and his face was numb, yet his palms soaked the inside of his leather gloves with sweat. He’d lost feeling in each toe awhile ago and the rest of him ached from the ruthless lash of a bitter wind. The abrupt drop in an already record setting low temperature flash-froze the slushy streets into skating rinks.

And would do worse to the fragile skin of a child.

Another brutal blast of frigid air whipped by his face to make his nose run and his eyes tear up. He could hardly see where he was going as he hunkered into the collar of his topcoat for its scant protection.

Having come full circle around the area more times than he could keep track of, he stood on the deserted loading dock at the back side of Mynderse. Before setting out, he’d dropped Bethany at the hospital so she’d be there if one of many other searchers brought Tina in. With the unforgiving cold of iced rain landing on his cheeks, he nearly quit breathing when he heard a sound like a small animal in distress. His entire body ramrod straight, he strained to listen when another whimper, faint as the first, came from beneath him.

Jumping off the dock, he dropped to all fours to search underneath then pulled aside the cardboard covering of a makeshift shelter. Peering inside, he nearly cried out when he found Tina huddled in the back corner, her legs covered in corduroy slacks, wearing a coat he could only hope had enough lining to keep away frostbite.

Wrapped in the thin arms of the boy known as Zeke.

“What in the world—?”

He dove inside to gather them to him then, helping first one then the other back up onto the dock, he soon had Tina clutched in one arm with Zeke under the other. The key card he fished out of his pocket fit into a metal case beside the door. At the opening click, he hit the handle with his backside and pulled them all into blessed warmth.

Working quickly, he removed his top coat to wrap around Tina and bundled the boy into the jacket of his tux. Then he sat down on the floor, with her cuddled in his lap and him sitting along side.

“What in hell were you doing?” In a voice raised more in alarm than anger, he started right in on the boy.

“It’s my job to take care of her.”

“What do you mean it’s your job to take care of her?”

“She’s my sister.”

He tightened his arm around youthful shoulders and went for an answer he’d tried for before. “Where are your parents?”

It was Tina who piped up from the folds of her camel hair shelter. “My mommy went away and didn’t come back.”

Jake sucked in much needed oxygen. “You two live alone?”

Zeke sagged beneath his arm. “We did.”

On reflex, Jake held him closer. “That’s why you weren’t going to school.”

“She’s too young to be left alone. Then she ran away on Halloween.”

“You’re the one who brought her here?”

“Yeah.” He looked up, mouth set in anger. “You took her away from me.”

“I did that for her own good,” Jake answered in a matter of fact tone which he quickly softened. “That’s why you were hanging around in here so much. You took her from the foster care home.”

“I needed to protect her.”

“Didn’t you realize she was safe?”

Young eyes relented then grew hard. “She wasn’t with me.” The crack in his voice betrayed a valiant show of strength. “So she couldn’t have been.”

“You got me there, pal,” Jake admitted. “How did you live?”

The boy raised himself to bring his mouth close to Jake’s ear. “After Mom died,” he whispered, “and, I’m pretty sure that’s what happened, messed up as she was, nobody came by to kick us out until a few days ago.” He shrugged as he sat back down. “I’d figured we were gonna be okay.”

“You’re name’s not Zeke, it’s Tommy,” Jake surmised out loud. “Which do you prefer to go by?”

Another shrug. “Tommy I guess.”

Jake swallowed hard. “Okay, Tommy, tell you what we’re going to do.”

Even as he shared a proposed solution, he hoped to hell his plan would work. If it didn’t—he paused in the middle of those thoughts—he’d just have to come up with one that would.
****

From her office in Family Health which was long ago closed for the day, Bethany heard the muted wail of a child in pain.

“Ow! My fingers hurt! And my toes. They burn!”

Out of her chair, she hurried into the hallway and toward the sound. The sight which greeted her as she came out to the reception area stole her breath and melted her heart. Jake knelt in front of two children, Tina held close with one arm and his other around a boy she’d never seen.

She came to her knees beside them and tried to pick up Tina who kept a strong grip on the collar of Jake’s shirt. “It’s okay, princess. It’s okay,” he soothed as best he could with the little girl’s head nuzzled firmly under his chin.

Heeding the look he gave her that all would be explained soon enough, Bethany settled back on her heels. One hand rubbed up and down Tina’s back, with the other she reached out to bring the boy close.

“Doctor Thomas, this is Tommy, Tina’s brother.”

She pulled back from the child she embraced. “Hi, Tommy, I’m Bethany.”

“Hi,” he mumbled with a shy nod.

“My fingers! Ow!”

An alarmed gaze shot to his sister. “Is she gonna be okay?”

Bethany cupped her hand over one of Tina’s and winced as a numbing cold seeped into her palm. Her quick visual for the white of frostbite revealed only the bright pink of exposure.

“She’ll be fine.” Out of necessity, she shifted to take charge physician. “We need to get both—all of you, warm.”

*****

You could call the result of this scene a pre-happily ever after to the final happily ever after.

And isn’t that the purpose of a romance?

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Scared spitless by my prologue by Barbara Edwards

With Halloween around the corner, I wanted to frighten readers. Here is the prologue to Ancient Awakening. I hope it draws you into my world.

Eastern Europe, 1000 AD

The terrified servant fumbled her armload of logs as she eased the laboratory’s paneled door open. The pounding of her pulse shredded his concentration. Hunger stabbed through his gut. His fingers flattened the quill’s nib against the parchment and ink smeared the last entry like blood. Saliva pooled in his mouth while she built up the fire, then scuttled to safety.

His low growl muffled the soft snick of the latch. Once again, he had resisted the impulse to rend, to carelessly feed. A frustrated sigh heaved his chest. The only way to keep good servants was to reward them richly and let them live.  That lesson had been difficult to learn.

He held the parchment to the fading light streaking through a slit in the thick stone. The pale glow outlined his almost fleshless fingers before a freshly penned phrase caught his attention. He threw the broken quill into the fire and selected another. The correction had to be made, and he bent over his desk to take care of it.

Satisfied with the change, he straightened and stared into the dancing red and orange flames until his stiff muscles eased. He had to eat, but he resented interruptions. His latest research into a cure had been so promising; the details so fascinating, only the relentless blood hunger forced him to stop.

Although he had searched the world, he had never found a remedy for the curse he had inflicted  upon himself. He eased erect and rubbed at his blurred eyes, before slowly stacking the parchment sheets, aligning the unused quills, and corking the ink well with shaky hands. He was weak, but the priests would have his nourishment ready. They always did.

A snapping log showered glowing embers onto the slate hearth. He pondered the coals for a moment before he swept them aside with his bare hand. His changed flesh didn’t burn. Along with his soul, his body had surrendered its ability to feel pain, to age, or scar.

Legend gave him many names, but the wide halls of his mountain retreat no longer echoed with countless worshipers. He could have ruled the world had his ambition not died with the passage of time. The endless whispers were from the cold winds and the few praying priests. He didn’t care that he couldn’t remember his real name or birthplace.

For an eon, he’d regretted the loss of softer emotions. Love had been the first feeling to die, along with the woman who had insisted he would never harm her. He couldn’t recall her features, just the merry tinkle of her laughter and the bright smile she had greeted him with every morning. He licked his lips. She’d tasted sweet.

Fierce need flared in his gut and he sniffed the air. Outside his chamber, a single acolyte in long, brown robes waited to escort him. His mouth curved with a mirthless smile. The silent servants had ignited the flickering wall torches. Shadows jumped and shivered in the drafty halls like nervous virgins.

A succession of priests had made him content with his self-imposed exile and search for knowledge. They kept his legend alive. Curious worshipers trickled into the fortress. The isolation hid their final lose. Many people died of natural causes in the treacherous mountain passes, and a few more deaths went unnoticed.

He hummed with anticipation when the scent of pulsing blood drifted to his nostrils. The acolyte trembled as he led the way deeper into the fortress’ deserted lower levels. Public displays of his power tended to empty the halls. The priests had objected to sacrificing their own members, so they had carved a location deep within the heart of the mountain, where the terrified screams of his doomed victims went unheard.

He trailed his hand over the rough walls hewn from living rock. It glistened with dampness. Recent chisel marks caught at his fingers. The memory of feeling cold tugged at him.

Low chanting grew louder, along with the sacrifice’s fearful prayers. They turned another corner, and his escort drew back. He stepped through a narrow doorway into a square room. The priests had created a new dining chamber for him.

His breath quickened. Clad in elaborate regalia, the high priest, Armid, waved him closer. Armid’s shoulders were stooped, although he was still in his middle-years. He bowed low and swept his embroidered robes aside with one shaking hand. The stink of fear flowed from him in an exhilarating river.

Torches flared in every corner. They reflected red off the sweating male body lashed to a center post. A heavy block of gray-green malachite was placed before the naked prisoner. Tiny carved figures danced and postured on the sides of the block in a grotesque celebration of death.

“My Lord,” Armid intoned. His eyelids nervously twitched before he lowered his gaze to the floor. “The servant reported you had finished your studies. We prepared the feast that awaits you.”

The youth held his stare for a second then strained wildly against his bonds. The thunder of his victim’s racing pulse echoed in his ears.

“He seems a suitable prize. His strong heart surges lifeblood like the rising tide.” He licked his lips. The feeding was so exquisite when the blood wildly pumped with dread. It was a taste he had developed after the other pleasures had faded.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Armid took a wet sponge from a nearby wooden bucket. He lovingly laved the victim’s face until the young man stilled. Armid held the youth’s head upright and gently murmured, “It is time. The path you have chosen has its price. Our thanks go with you.”

“Strange. Do you seek volunteers to come to me, priest?”

Not waiting for a reply from the elder, he hunkered over the sacrifice. The scream from his victim abruptly cut off. He drank with delight. So enthralled with his feeding, he was barely conscious of a loud clang reverberating through the small chamber or the wavering of the torch flames.

When he lifted his crimson-stained mouth from the drained remains, Armid’s white features were stretched over his skull in a death mask.

He spread his arms wide and chanted, “We have served you, Lord. We have filled your needs. We have provided the sacrifice.”

“And I thank you, Armid,” he managed before a sleepy yawn cracked his jaw. “Take me to my chamber.”

He wiped the fresh blood from his mouth and licked the last drops from his hand. The torch flames dipped lower. His body needed sleep to fully rejuvenate.

Armid collapsed onto the intricately carved block before he gathered his flowing robes about his legs as though chilled. His fingers trembled when he stroked the  sacrifice's dangling leg.

“This is your final chamber, my Lord.” Armid’s voice was powerful, but strangely calm. “While you fed, my followers sealed the door and closed the hall.”

It was an instant before he understood. Rage poured through him at the effrontery in this mere human’s resolute stare.

“I am indestructible. You cannot harm me!”

“It matters not. You will never escape. The entry hall is already blocked.” Armid shook his head before a deep sigh racked his chest.

“Then you will die here with me.”

“It is time to pay for my sins. I am the last to serve you.”

Tears flowed down Armid’s sunken cheeks. His arms hung limply at his sides. His hands lifted slowly toward the limp figure. “My only son volunteered to serve as a  sacrifice.  My death will end our line of human betrayers.”

His hands crunched bones as he lifted Armid, until his feet dangled inches above the floor. He drained the priest before flinging the corpse aside. Then he turned his rage on the sealed door. The air reverberated with his savage hammering. By the time the last torch burned out, he knew he was trapped.

“I cannot die,” he screamed into the darkness. “I am immortal!”

Blurb:

In Ancient Awakening, Police Officer ‘Mel’ Petersen investigates a death only she believes is murder. By disobeying direct orders from the Rhodes End Chief, she risks her career to follow clues that twist in circles to her backyard and lead the killer to her.

Her neighbor Stephen Zoriak is a prime suspect. Steve worked for a major pharmaceutical company where he discovered a weapon so dangerous he destroys the research. He is exposed to the dangerous organism. He suspects he is the killer and agrees to help her find the truth.

In the course of their investigation Mel and Steve find the real killer and a love that defies death.

Visit, follow or friend me. I love to hear from you.

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The MOST Hungover Scene I've Ever Written



Laura Breck

This is the most hungover scene in my book, Dancing in a hurricane. Marissa is Sixto's sister.

Enjoy!

Sixto woke on the couch and opened one eye. The light over the stove was on, otherwise the house was dark. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed in his throbbing head. Sitting up slowly, he caught a whiff of his armpit. Potent.

A bottle of water sat on the table in front of him next to his laptop, but the beer and tequila bottles were gone. He glanced at the dining room and kitchen. Marisa. She cleaned up for him. He smelled the citrus disinfectant she used to rectify his mess.

He opened his laptop and fired it up. In one pull, he drank all the water. It was 9 P.M. and he counted how long he was without Bree. Eighty-four hours. The first seventy-five without sleep. Marisa thought he was drunk this morning, but it was exhaustion that knocked him out in the middle of her crying jag.

He stood, stumbled a little and went to the kitchen, dropped his bottle into recycling. Hungry. He opened the fridge and found food. Marisa shopped for him, too. Making a sandwich, he remembered her face, the blank terror when she realized what her actions caused. Was it really her fault? What wasn't he recalling from his sister's lecture?

Walking back to the couch, he flipped on the light and sat, loading up his e-mails. In the middle of a bite of sandwich, he felt gut-punched as his sister's words roared back into his head.

 

I told her that I couldn't go to you because you'd try to be my savior. And it would end badly.

He set his sandwich on the plate. Damn. Bree thought she was saving him, protecting him from Victor. Is it excusable to do something morally wrong if you believe it's the only solution? Hell, he'd done the same to Bree. He withheld information on the club because of his responsibilities toward his family.

The bottom line was a choice—life without Bree, alone with his strict ethical code and pride intact. Or forgiveness, understanding, and the woman he loved by his side.

Elbows on knees, he dropped his head in his palms and heaved a breath. The stench of three days away from a toothbrush curled his lip. Worse, in his mind, the unpleasant smell of the temper he unleashed on Bree stunk worse than hell. God, he'd made a mistake.

That whole damn day had been a rollercoaster and he went off the rails, reacted instead of thinking. When he saw her packing to leave, his fear of losing her frightened him nearly beyond reason.

Then her betrayal. Murky pictures replayed themselves. Her tearful eyes begging to explain. Had he really told her to go home? And set her bag outside the door? "Damn."

What was he supposed to do now?

*** *** ***

Have a great day!
Laura

~Smart Women ~Sexy Men ~Seductive Romance
LauraBreck.com
Dancing in a Hurricane is available in digital and paperback formats at Amazon and in paperback at Createspace

Inside the Mind of a Killer by Jannine Gallant

Halloween is just around the corner, so I thought something scary and shivery might be in order... When I wrote A Deadly Love, I included two points of view in the story, those of the hero and heroine. My editor told me she wanted a glimpse into the mind of the serial killer stalking women in the town of Woodvale. She thought it would add a creepy element to the book. I agreed, but how could I do my killer justice without giving away his identity? It took some work, but the scenes were added, scattered here and there, giving readers a reason to leave their lights on at night. I hope! LOL

So, here's the prologue to A Deadly Love, the creepiest scene I've ever written. Enjoy!

           The sniveling creature crouched in the corner was a disappointment. Where was the stunning woman from the big screen who’d incited his lust no matter how hard he tried to repress it? This pathetic shell bore no resemblance to the sassy teen who’d starred in so many of his youthful sexual fantasies. Where was the girl who’d stolen a piece of his heart?

She’d given up completely, taking the fun out of the chase. Perhaps he’d made a mistake in keeping her here alone. If she had someone with her to offer support and encouragement… Not that he’d ever been on the receiving end of such basic human kindness. Until now.

            He set the lantern on the dirt floor and stared at her. Pathetic. Nearly made him want to end the game immediately and start over with the next one. But that would ruin his carefully constructed plan. Still, maybe a few adjustments were necessary. He couldn’t wait for another full moon, couldn’t stand another two weeks of cowering ineptitude. The new moon was tomorrow…

A smile slid across his face. Two at a time was the answer. It would add excitement and make the situation more interesting. In the meantime, a pep talk might motivate his current guest. He stepped forward and frowned as she shrank into a smaller ball. Nothing was visible but the top of her blonde hair and the billowing white nightgown tucked around her drawn knees.

“Maybe tonight will be the night you escape, Cybil. I’ll give you a bigger head start.” A mewling sound was his only answer. His breath whooshed out in a sigh. “Tell you what. Tomorrow I’ll bring you some company. Would you like that?”

Her head snapped up, and lusterless blue eyes stared at him. For a moment, there was a spark of animation.

Finally a reaction.

“No.” She shook her head from side to side. “No. No. No. Don’t do this to someone else.” Her voice rose in a shriek. “Just kill me and be done with it.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” he snapped. Stalking forward, he unlocked her shackles and jerked her off the cot. “Get up. It’s time to play.”

So, did I do my job? Were you a little creeped out by my killer? A Deadly Love and my other books are available on my website, Amazon, and Barnes & Noble.

Mingling of Characters

ANOTHER NIGHT FALLS

Another Night Falls,  Part III of the Tides of Charleston

Ya'll know that I love a good family saga and I'm kinda partial to American History. Another Night Falls is the end of the Tides of Charleston Series, but it isn't my only American Revolution saga.

RUSE OF LOVE

Winds of Betrayal series is set during the turmoil of the American Revolution exploding around two siblings, Hannah and Jonathan Corbett. When Jonathan is assigned to the Southern Continental Army down in Charleston in the second book of the Winds of Betrayal Series- Ruse of Love, Jonathan crosses paths with Sumner Meador. Sumner Meador- the hero in Another Night Falls! I admit I enjoyed having characters from different books and series interacting and mingling together.

In the first two books of the Tides of Charleston Series, Sumner is an interesting secondary character. Sumner is the half-brother of Catherine Blankenship and bastard son of a British Governor. Sumner shocks his sister by taking up arms against the British. Sumner has grown up in the wealth that his father's position and status allowed. So how could Sumner side with the Patriot cause?

THE PROMISE

Taking a small excerpt from The Promise when Catherine finds out that Sumner is a Patriot...

     “Why would William lie? He knows we are loyal subjects to the crown!” Cathryn declared in fury.

     “Calm yourself, Cathryn. Much has changed since you left. Your father, himself, was sympathetic to some of the unjust laws fostered upon the colonist,” Juriah said firmly. “Sumner said nothing because he knew you would react in the manner you have done. He didn’t want you upset with all you have gone through. In essence, it has no effect upon you as of yet.”

     “He couldn’t betray Father!”

     “No, Cathryn, he would never betray your father. But he is young and brash and dreams the world as he wants to see it, fired by idealism to create a new world,” she said simply. “He loved the Colonel and admired him greatly. Did you know that the man that killed your father was from a leading Loyalist family? I believe there were many factors. You will need to talk with him when you get control of your feelings. Ask yourself if it’s so important at the moment?"

So from that excerpt, one can assume that Sumner is his own man set to make his way in the world.
The next excerpt comes from Ruse of Love...different series, but set in the same time and place...here Jonathan is riding along side Sumner.

Within the hour, Jonathan found himself mounted next to Major Sumner Meador. Meador himself headed out to his home, Elm Bluffs, with family issues of his own, but neither man exchanged specifics of their issues.

Riding in silence for a time, Meador said directly, “Something bothering you, Doc?”

Glancing over at Sumner, Jonathan shrugged. “Just wondering about how the whole of the army is handled here in Charles Town. Doesn’t it bother you? Men coming in and out. Running in battle. No one listens to the commander of the army…”

“Hold on, Doc,” Meador cautioned. “You don’t know these men, lived with them. I don’t know how it’s been where you’ve been, but down here, we’ve always looked after our own. These men have their families to look after. Leaving them alone means they’re unprotected from a lot more than ’em Brits. You haven’t seen a farm after an Indian attack and you don’t want to. Or try picking up the pieces after a raid. These men take a stand and it leaves their families vulnerable and they ain’t at home to protect ’em. So don’t sit in judgment of people you don’t know anything about.”

“I think it is an excuse, Meador. We all have our issues and losses. No, here everyone wants to be in command. Seems to take offense when given an order. If you ask me, men are looking for a reason to justify a grudge. We fight more with ourselves than the British…”

“Suppose you may be right,” Meador interrupted. “I’ve been around it too long to notice.”

Just didn't feel right, Jonathan thought, but he didn’t have time to contemplate more. Sumner eyed him.

"Now, I'm just wondering, Doc. Do you do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Make friends like you did. You know what I mean. Rile up the troops like you did yesterday."

"Said what needed to be said."

"If you think so," Sumner said plainly. "But I'll give you fair warning. You won't do that often around here and live."

A great start to a friendship...

Sumner Meadow's character screamed to me that he needed his own book. So here it is...

Another Night Falls...

A short excerpt....

Sumner settled the girl in the front bedroom of the house. He laid the mystery lady down on the bed. What the bloody hell had happened here? Who was this woman? She hadn’t the look of a homeless wanderer. Moreover what was she doing in his house?

The room looked as though she lived within it, littered with female garments. A dress hung over the back of a hardback chair. Slippers sat on the underside of the bed. Running his hand through his hair, his gaze fell back upon her. He studied her while he felt the bump on her head, a large bump.

With his touch, she began to mutter unintelligible words. At least he hadn't killed the poor thing. He hadn't known what to expect when he entered the stable and saw the horse. The house in the darkness had given no indication of someone lived in his house, no light, no noise. Seeing the horse put him on immediate alert.

He heard crackling of leaves and trigs when he dismounted. He eased off and waited. He attacked with the same force he would have a man. He hadn’t intended to harm a young woman, especially one as beautiful as she. Or was it the moonlight that had shone down upon her?

He watched her breathing. His eyes inspected her from her lovely face sweeping down her body to her bare feet. He hadn't looked upon a woman in this manner for a long time. The fabric of the white nightgown hung from her shoulders, leaving her arms bare and revealed the swell of her breasts, falling loose around her petite body. Her hair as dark as midnight hung, unbound, over her shoulders and down her back. He wondered what color her eyes were, but her features were fine. 

Uncomfortable, she squirmed. One of her dainty hands folded into a fist and hit against the mattress, twisting and turning. Of course she was! He had knocked her out, but Lord, he must be in a bad state, for he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Questions raked his mind. Who was she? Why became clear as he thought. She was running, hiding. She had to be or she wouldn't be in such an isolated homestead. Was she running from her father, an abusive husband? In that he didn't know.

A few things he could discern about her while he watched her. She didn't frighten easily. She knew how to fight. And by God, she was beautiful.

Another Night Falls has it all...literally. Action, romance, adventure, intrigue...
Sumner Meador is one of my all time favorite characters. I look at him as the prototype for the American Cowboy. Read it and let me know what your think!

ROMANTIC PICKS BLOG

Also, Octoberfest With Books continues. I'm welcoming a great group of authors this week...a group of Indie Finalists from The New Kindle Book Review. I'm so excited about this group...such great books. I'm so happy for this group to be included in Octoberfest With Books.

Love the Fall. Have a good one! Keep reading!

Lost and Found... and Lost Again by Jena Galifany

Blurb:

            Brian Cummings has come a long way from Leicestershire, England. Miles of hard road lay between then and now – hard road he's kept hidden—until the nightmares began again.
            Diane Starling loves Brian. If she were not carrying his child, she'd still do anything to make him happy—even letting him go to someone else. Who is the woman in his nightly dreams? Why does she make him scream?
           Valerie Leonard, journalist, dredged up history that should remain buried; history that could ruin Brian and hurt the people he loves most. Should Val keep his dangerous past to herself? Doesn't Diane have the right to know the truth about the father of her child?
           Brian and Diane fight to overcome the past, embrace the present, and build a future as they travel with ShadowsForge on THE LONG WAY HOME.

Setting:

            Nineteen year old Brian Cummings had an affair with Mia Radley for three years. She finally sent him a letter saying she had to tell him something important and that she is leaving her husband, Nolan Radley, to be with Brian. An accident claims Mia's life. Before she died, she told her mother, Alison, to give Brian her journal and tell him that her son is actually Brian's son, not Nolan's. Alison brings Brian and Nolan together after the funeral to decide what will be best for young Brian, the son Brian never knew he had. Brian lost Mia but found his son, Brian Joseph Radley, only to lose him.

______________________________

             "You two have a nice talk, now." Alison retreated down the hallway as the boy looked at Brian over her shoulder. Brian's heart went with the child. Mia's child. His child.

            "So, Mr. Cummings, we find ourselves in an odd situation. My wife was less than truthful." Nolan lowered himself into a chair before the fire, and crossed his legs in a casual but arrogant, superior manner. Brian wanted to stand but for the sake of civility, he took the second chair.

            "With both of us. Until today, I had no idea." Brian felt uncomfortable. Nolan's eyes seemed to audit Brian's net worth by the value of his suit. "I didn't know what you were talking about at Avery's."

"You've seen him before?"

"Never. Mia talked about him…"

"When?" Nolan raised an eyebrow.

            Brian weighed the consequences of telling Nolan about their meetings over the years. What harm could it do to tell the truth?

"She spoke of him every time she came to town."

            "You met with her each time she was here."

            Brian defiantly looked him in the eyes. He didn't like the way Nolan made statements instead of asking questions. "Each time. Do you want the details?" Brian felt heat rise along his spine.

            "I could probably tell you. You met at some dismal motel somewhere to have a meaningful toss in the sheets. She probably meant more to you than you did to her." He gave Brian a smug look; his blue eyes sparked with arrogance.

            "Meaning?"

            "You were a means to an end. She wanted more children. I refused. She probably hoped to gain another one from you."

            "Odd you never brought it up to her. She feared you'd find out."

            "I'd hoped to gain more sons." He waved a dismissing hand.

            "She said he was named for his father. I assumed his name was Nolan. I called him Joey to save confusion."

            "Joey? Joseph. Brian Joseph." Nolan took a thoughtful sip of his drink. "I thought nothing of the name when she chose it. To be truthful, I didn't care. She trapped me into a marriage neither of us wanted. My family insisted I take the opportunity once it was presented. It worked out well, though, because she gave birth to a boy. If she had produced a girl, I would have seen to the divorce directly."

            Brian blinked. "Having a lover was acceptable but you'd divorce her for having a girl? There's a truly odd sense of morals in your family, Radley. Do you think you're Henry the eighth?"

            Nolan smirked, and gazed through his glass. "You see, there are no heirs in my family. I'm the last of the Radley line."

            "So you get a girl. Not that I would have objected to divorce, but try until you get a son."

            "Not possible. There were certain medical issues when I was a lad which prevent me from siring children."

            Brian narrowed his eyes. "How come you married her?"

            "As I said, my parents saw the opportunity to have an heir to carry on the name. They decreed I should marry and take full responsibility for the child even though we knew it couldn't possibly be my genetic offspring." Nolan drained the glass. He stood as he set it on the table, and faced Brian. Not to be looked down on, Brian rose. "Make no mistake, Mr. Cummings. He is my son and will remain so. You were merely a donor."

            "Did Mia know you're defective?" Brian inwardly smiled at the flinch his barbed remark produced.

            "She knew I'd only make use of her before her trips to visit her mother. She didn't know it was to keep up appearances in case she did conceive again. I wanted her to be unaware that I knew she was meeting with someone. I'd hoped it was someone of better breeding but…" He gave a resigned wave of his hand.

"I could take my son." Brian flexed his hands at his sides. He stood only two or three steps from Nolan; close enough to take him down with one swing.

            "You couldn't afford the legal battle." Nolan eyed Brian's hair and raised one brow. "What do you do for a living, Mr. Cummings?"
            "I'm a musician."

            "How do you intend to care for the boy on your income? Can you provide him a home, food, clothing, everything he needs?"

            "Not at the moment. I'm moving to London where…"

            "Where you'll spend your nights hanging about in pubs? Taverns? Nightclubs? Do you have a woman of your own, a wife? Someone to look after the lad while you're off doing what ever it is musicians do? Oh yes, drink yourself blind, sleep around with jaded women and dream of fame, is it?"

            Brian clenched his teeth, fighting his first instinct. Punching Nolan in the face would alleviate a lot of tension but it wouldn't change the fact Brian had nothing to offer the boy.

            Nolan smiled at Brian's obvious anger. "I am the vice president of an established investment firm. I can give him everything he will ever need or want. Let me tell you what you'll do, Mr. Cummings." He slipped his hand into his jacket. "You will take this," he handed Brian a cheque, "and you will walk out the door and not look back. This will see you on your way to where ever you care to reside. Payment in full for services rendered. Mia neglected to pay you a stud fee."

            Brian read the amount.

            Nolan continued. "This will get you out of Leicester. You may take your fond memories of my loving wife as well if it keeps you warm at night. Just forget about my son."

            "Five thousand pounds locked in a vault is not quite what I need." Brian glowered at Nolan. "Would you have a fifty pound note?"

            Nolan frowned. "You’re a strange sort, Cummings. Is this your way of having the last word?" He pulled the requested amount from his wallet.

            Brian folded it and placed it in his jacket pocket. He curled the cheque in his fist, and lashed out with all of the anger and humiliation he felt. He backhanded Nolan, and sent the man crashing into the chair. Nolan cried out, and held his face, shock-filled eyes locked on Brian.

            Brian stood over Nolan as Alison scurried into the room with the boy in her arms. Brian stabbed a finger at Nolan. "That's my way of having the last word." Brian took the lad in his arms. He hugged him, and kissed him on the forehead before looking him in the eyes.

"Always remember me, Brian. Ask your daddy," Brian tossed a nod toward Nolan, "who I am. Ask him every day of your life until he tells you the truth. Can you do that, son?"

            The child nodded.  His large eyes moved from Brian to Nolan, back to Brian.

            "That's my lad." Brian kissed him again, and handed him to Alison before he stepped in front of Nolan again. He savored the fear in Nolan's eyes. "You will take care of my son. I'll be watching. If anything happens to him, if he wants for anything, I'll come back. I'll keep coming back. I'll shadow you for the rest of your life." Brian looked with disgust at the cheque in his fist before he locked eyes with Nolan. "He's not for sale." He spat the words as he crumpled the cheque completely into a ball and threw it into the fire. "Neither am I."

            Brian grabbed the journal, stalked to the door, and jerked it open. The cold blast of air refreshed him as it cooled his anger. "Alison," he said over his shoulder, "thank you for your hospitality. I'll be in touch. See he takes care of my son."

Ty Synclair with beardless Brian Cummings

            With that, Brian shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked into the night with his shoulders hunched against the cold wind. He would spend his last night in the house. Tomorrow, he would pack what clothes he could into a sports bag, along with the journal and the envelope of pictures. The rest he would leave behind. Fifty pounds would see him to London and hopefully feed him for a few days, until he could hook up with a successful band and get on with his life.

______________________________________________

         In the week leading up to this scene, Brian lost his family, his band, his job, Mia and was arrested on two counts of murder. Then he lost the son he never knew he had. I think this is the most emotional piece I've written for the ShadowsForge series.

        The fourth book in the series, The Long Way Home is the most emotion-filled book, following Brian Cummings from age sixteen to twenty-six. I spent two years writing Brian's story. We spent many nights in tears together.

         "ShadowsForge 4: The Long Way Home is a reader's dream. The tug of emotions I felt while reading of Brian's story is a credit to Ms. Galifany as a writer.

         Ms. Galifany has woven a tale of tragedy and love that is more genuine than any I have read in a long time.  I wasn't expecting such a deeply moving story from a series devoted to a popular British rock band, but ShadowsForge 4: The Long Way Home is just such a story."

    - Sabine Maurier, reviewer for Novelspot.net

Buy The Long Way Home HERE 

Read more excerpts HERE

See the Trailer HERE

Cheers!

Jena

The SPOOKIEST scene from A Man Like That by Alison Henderson

I don't write horror; I don't even write what most readers would consider suspense. The problem is, I'm a chicken. When I write a scene, I'm always deeply present. I see, hear, smell, and feel every detail along with my characters. And I hate to scare myself.

In order to write the following scene from my post-Civil War historical, A Man Like That, I had to allow (i.e. force) myself to experience three of my hot-button fears: heights, caves, and being overpowered.

In this excerpt, Morgan and Jessy are searching for his pregnant sister, who has run away:

He reached back. “Take my hand. I’ll go first. The trail gets steep up ahead, with lots of loose rock underfoot.”

She entrusted her small hand to his and followed him. Morgan was right. A few yards into the woods, the trail began a steep descent toward the rushing cataracts of the river. The trees barely muffled the splashing sounds of water racing over rocks, fallen tree trunks, and any other impediments nature had the nerve to throw in its path. Several times her feet slipped on loose pebbles, but Morgan’s strong grip held her upright.

“Where are the caves?” she asked, trying to subdue her panic. The incline was so steep it seemed they were sliding down the face of a tree-covered cliff.

“The caves are above the river on this side.” He squeezed her hand. “We’re almost there.”

They skittered down another short section of trail before coming to rest on a ledge of solid rock. The sounds of the water were very close now. Hesitantly, Jessy stepped toward the edge of the rock ledge and peered over. About twenty feet below, the river coursed through the wide gorge it had carved in the rock. An unfamiliar fear of heights assailed her at the sight of the sheer drop, and she jumped back.

Morgan clasped her hand, drawing her toward him. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

“That’s very reassuring,” she replied, trying to sound unconcerned as she regained her footing.

He tugged her hand. “The caves are over here.”

She turned to follow but stopped short when she spotted the gaping black maw in the side of the hill. A prickly chill raced up her arms. The dusky mouth of the cave was ominous enough, but the striped limestone walls soon disappeared into an inky blackness that appeared to descend straight to the center of the earth. She held back at the entrance. “How can you search in there? It’s too dark to see anything.” She tried to mask her anxiety with logic. “There might be

animals in there, a bear or something.”

“What’s the matter? Lost your nerve?”

His teasing voice raised her hackles. She jerked her hand from his grasp. “It just seems like a waste of time if we can’t see.”

Morgan slid the small pack off his shoulder. “Unlike you, I came prepared. I brought a candle.” He struck a match.

She crossed her arms. “I’ll wait for you here.”

He reached out a long arm, snagging her elbow and pulling her with him toward the cave. “You’ll be safer with me. You’re more likely to be eaten by a bear out here, anyway. It’s too early for the bears to hibernate. They’re out hunting for food, fattening up for the winter.”

At his mention of bears, Jessy grudgingly ceased her resistance. She had managed to avoid meeting a        bear for twenty-one years, and she didn’t want to  spoil her record this morning. At least Morgan was armed if they should encounter any hungry wildlife.

The entrance of the cave was tall enough to stand in. She glanced at the rock walls lit by the candle’s yellow glow. Strange markings and drawings covered the walls, and the ceiling near the entrance had been blackened by smoke. She shivered. “Someone’s been here, but I don’t

think it’s Sally.”

“These caves have been used as long as there have been people in these hills,” Morgan replied. “Those drawings were made by the Indians long before white men moved into this part of the country, maybe even before they came to America. Since the Indians left, the caves have been used to hide all sorts of things. Caleb and his friends used to hide whiskey and counterfeit money here.”

“Well, Sally’s not here, so I think we should go back outside.”

“I want to check a couple of smaller chambers in the back. I might be able to tell if she spent the night here.”

He held the candle closer to the back wall, and Jessy saw a smaller opening, just big enough to crawl through. Her heart began to pound, and she couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. “If you think I’m going through that hole, you can think again.”

He crouched near the entrance to the smaller chamber. “You want to stay out here by yourself?”

“I’m not moving from this spot. If a bear comes, I’ll scream. I promise.”

He cocked a brow. “Suit yourself. I won’t need my rifle, so I’ll leave it with you. Try not to shoot yourself.” With that ringing vote of confidence, he laid the weapon on the floor of the cave and disappeared through the hole, taking the candle with him.

Although her eyes had partially adjusted to the dim light, Jessy inched back toward the entrance. If she stayed just inside the mouth of the cave, she would be keeping her promise, but she would also be able to see out and breathe fresh air. Maybe that would help fight the feeling that the walls and ceiling were closing in on her.

Suddenly, the light dimmed, and a dark outline filled the entrance, the outline of a man with a gun. Jessy gasped. With a speed belying his size, the man reached in, grabbed her, and clamped a filthy hand over her mouth, stifling her cry. She struggled in his grasp, but he was huge, huge and unkempt and as malodorous as fetid swamp water.

“Stop wiggling,” he growled low in her ear. He pinched his meaty fingers together for emphasis, grinding her soft inner cheeks into her teeth. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she fought harder. She struggled to form sounds in her throat. She had to make some kind of noise. She had to warn Morgan.

“Shut up and hold still, or I’ll have to knock your head into the wall,” the giant threatened. He lifted her off her feet and made a motion to follow through on his words. Jessy stopped struggling. She couldn’t do Morgan any good if she were unconscious or dead.

“We’re going to wait here quiet-like ’til he comes out,” her captor whispered. His hand pinched tighter, and her eyes watered from the pain.

“You understand?” he asked.

She nodded the best she could. Who was this monster, and what did he want? He must have watched them enter the cave, because

he obviously knew Morgan was with her and intended to capture him, too.

“There’s no sign of her here, but I did find a sizeable stash of corn liquor.” Morgan’s voice echoed from the smaller chamber.

Jessy struggled and tried to cry out, but the hand across her mouth tightened brutally.

“I wonder if it’s part of Ethan’s supply,” Morgan continued. His head reappeared through the opening.

At that moment, Jessy gave a sudden, sharp kick backward into the shin of the man who held her, catching him by surprise.

“Yeooww!” he howled, but his grip remained as

tight as ever.

Morgan’s hand shot forward toward the rifle he’d left on the floor of the cave.

“Drop it, Bingham, and come on out of there,” the monster growled. “I got your lady friend here, if that’s what you call this hellcat in pants. If you want to make sure she don’t get hurt no worse, you’ll come out real careful-like.”

What about you? Do you like to be scared when you're reading, or writing? What scares you most?

Alison

www.alisonhenderson.com