Jamie DeBree's Blog, page 72
December 24, 2010
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 32
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30 | Ch. 31
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 32
"Room service," Moncia said loudly, her voice an unwelcome sound in the deserted hallway. A deadbolt snapped open and the door opened a crack, arrested by a short gold chain. A stern man peered out, his eyes moving up and down her body and over the cart as she waited. He closed the door, and she heard the scrape of the chain being removed. He opened the door wide and she pushed the cart in, disconcerted to hear the chain slide back into place and the deadbolt click home.
"This way." The man led the way through an average sized living room to a table in one corner. "You can leave everything here," he said, reaching for one of the plates. She nodded and put all the food on the table, finishing off with a rose in a vase for the center. She wanted to look around, but he watched her constantly, an odd look on his face. When they were finished, she grabbed the cart and walked toward the door, acutely aware of him following. She glanced briefly into a doorway, where a woman sat on a bed next to a child's car seat.
The woman looked up and met Monica's gaze, her eyes widening in recognition. She got off the bed and stood in the doorway, anxiously clasping and unclasping her hands. "What's she doing here?"
"You know her?" The man laid a firm hand on Monica's arm as she tried to continue toward the door. She didn't fight him, hoping that if she went along and acted nonchalant, they'd let her go. After all, she hadn't done anything, really.
The woman frowned. "You don't recognize her? That's Mr. Burns' daughter. I saw a picture of her in his room - is she supposed to be here? Does she know?"
"I know about the package," Monica said, the grip on her arm tightening. "My husband is supposed to deliver it later." A low cry came from behind the woman, and Monica peered into the bedroom, the woman moving to block her view. "How old is your baby?"
The woman laughed. "That's not my kid - I'm just the courier. I'd let you see him, but I wouldn't want you to get attached."
"Courier? But I thought..." Monica felt sick. "The baby - he's the package?"
The guard pulled her away from the bedroom door. "Enough. Irene, see to the child. The driver will be here in ten minutes. I'll call Burns." He pushed Monica onto a couch. "You stay there."
Stunned, Monica nodded. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't believe that any of this was legitimate - her father just didn't work that way. She tried to think, to process the information, but her mind was spinning out of control. Harley. She needed Harley. Even mad at her, he'd know what to do.
"Yes, sir. I understand." The guard put his cell phone back in his pocket, and motioned for Monica to get up. "You come with me. Your father seems to think you being here will upset your husband and jeopardize our little transaction. So we're going in the bedroom, and you'll stay there until Irene and the kid are gone. Your father will be here shortly to talk to you."
Monica shook her head, staying out of reach as she backed around the couch and tried to figure out how to get past him to the door. "No," she said, her blood racing. "I won't let you do this. It's not right. You can't keep me here." She ran for the door only to be grabbed from behind, her arms pinned to her chest. She kicked and screamed as the man carried her to the bedroom and tossed her on the now-vacant bed. A knee in her back didn't stop her from trying to fight as her wrists and ankles were tied together and a scarf was put in her mouth, tied behind her head. He rolled her onto her back and stood by the bed.
"You'll be more comfortable if you lay on your side," he said, reaching for her shoulder. She shrugged him off, her face hot and tears running down her cheeks. "As soon as Burns gets here, I'll untie you." He turned and walked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
December 21, 2010
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 31
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29 | Ch. 30
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 31
Burns lifted one finger, and two of his bodyguards separated from the crowd. They went to Derek and picked him up, carrying him down the hall toward the door. Burns turned to the crowd, a smile on his lips. "Show's over, folks. Enjoy the rest of your night."
The din of murmured conversation rose quickly, and Harley stood in the hallway, anxious to make his escape. He glanced at Monica's father, then back down the hall. "Derek Wilson isn't welcome here, sir, and I'll send him back to jail in a heartbeat if he's not off my property in thirty minutes. Just so we're clear."
"Fine." Burns nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "My men will escort him into town and drop him off at the nearest hospital. Mind telling me what he did to get you all riled up?"
"It's personal. Now if you don't mind, I need to go--"
"Whatever it is will have to wait. I need you to go deliver a package. It's in room three-twelve, just like we agreed, and should be delivered to this address." Burns took a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Harley. "There's a courior with the package - you're just the driver. After the transaction is complete, bring the courior back."
Harley looked down at the note. Beneath the scrawled address it said "11pm, sharp." He checked his watch, it was already ten, and it would take at least thirty minutes to reach Reno. They'd barely make it in time if he left right now for the dorms. If Monica had gone, there was little reason to play along - except that Burns still held the deed to the ranch.
Shoving the paper into his jeans, he nodded and walked away without comment. He'd stop by the saloon on his way to the dorm, and if Burns had a problem with that, he could go to hell.
*****
Monica peered out from behind the fake tree in the dorm hallway again, determined to find out what was going on in room three-twelve. She'd stopped by the saloon and told Mavis where she was going, just in case something happened. Some small portion of her mind admitted that she hoped Harley would track her down too. Though it was unlikely he'd be able to get away from her father for the rest of the evening. He'd been so angry, but she couldn't blame him. He'd wanted to help and now his whole life was turned upside down because of her. No wonder he hadn't wanted her take on his family issues. He'd married her, but they weren't family. He was probably afraid she'd screw Betsy's life up too.
The door to three-twelve opened, and a tall man stepped out. "Room service should be here any minute. You'll have to eat fast - someone will pick you up at ten for the appointment." Monica couldn't hear the reply, but the man pulled the door closed behind him, and walked down the hall away from her. She took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly as she left her hiding place. She couldn't have asked for a better opportunity, though her hands were already shaking at the thought. Walking quickly toward the elevators, she slipped into a small room to one side just as the staff elevator doors opened.
"Is that for three-twelve?" she asked, relieved to see a glimmer of recognition in the young woman's eyes as she pushed the tray out into the hall.
The woman nodded. "You look familiar - are you new?"
"Sort of. I'm Monica...uh...Majors." The name felt right on her lips. Too right.
The woman's eyes got big. "You're the one that married the boss! Wow. All the girls are so jealous of you..."
Monica smiled, doing her best to look like a happy newlywed. "Thank you. I'm really lucky to have him." She paused, her own words reverberating in her head. The guest elevators dinged, reminding her of her mission. "Hey, I was hoping I could deliver this order personally, if you don't mind. Some of my father's friends are visiting, and I wanted to surprise them." She kept smiling, hoping the trembling in her limbs didn't come through in her voice.
"No problem - saves me the work." The woman released her grip on the cart, turning back to the staff elevator. "Just let me know if you need anything else - my name is Christy."
Monica pushed the cart around the corner and down the hall to the correct door. Squaring her shoulders and schooling her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression, she raised her hand and knocked three times.
December 20, 2010
Weekly News & Goals - 12/20/10
This Week on The Variety Pages
Tuesday: Ch. 31 of The Biker's Wench
Friday: Ch. 32 of The Biker's Wench
I almost forgot – the giveaway for eight ARC's of Desert Heat is online at Goodreads now, so enter if you want a chance at one of those! If you would like a digital copy in exchange for a review, email me, and I'll put you on the list. Digital review copies should be ready to go sometime next week. Sample chapters are available in the left sidebar - feel free to download, read, pass along to friends, etc.
And of course Tempest (ebook) is 99 cents for the holidays, so now's a great time to get a copy, or send one as a gift. It will go back to regular price as of January 2, 2011.
Goal Reports
As far as writing goes, I've been doing pretty well keeping up with things, though I did decide to discontinue the "choose your own" style erotica serial I've been working on. I'll start a new regular serial for that this coming weekend. The edits for Desert Heat are coming along nicely and I really want to have them done by Tuesday so I can get the book formatted and proof copies ordered before Christmas. Once that's out of the way, it's smooth sailing right up to release day, so I'll be happy to have that done. And The Minister's Maid just sort of "clicked" with the chapters I wrote for TBW this week, so I can continue working on that now as well. So everything's moving forward nicely.
On personal goals, my Christmas cards aren't done yet (I know!), so I need to get them out this week. Most will be late, but at least they'll get there, right? The shopping is done, the wrapping will probably get done on Friday (since I'm off work), and that should do it for Christmas. I have new dress pants, and I've been reading up a storm, though I still have a ton of books on my TBR-ASAP list.
Goals for the Week
Writing
Two chapters for TBW
One chapter for new erotica serial
One chapter for new suspense serial
Finish Desert Heat edits & format for print
Send 10 pgs of TMM to crit group
Business
Order proof/ARC copies of Desert Heat
Marketing for new suspense serial, Tempest & Desert Heat
Personal
Write/mail Christmas cards
Catch up some things at the day job
Survive Christmas
Un-decorate Sunday & deal with gifts
That's my holiday week – how's yours shaping up? I hope you all have a very peaceful and relaxing holiday, or if you don't celebrate, a relaxing weekend. 
December 17, 2010
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 30
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28 |Ch. 29
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 30
When he reached the main floor, Harley took a right just beyond the stairs and followed a narrow hall to the end where it opened into a large, dark parlor. Candles in antique wall sconces dimly lit the crowded room where the dinner party guests were mingling and enjoying small glasses of sherry and port. He chose a spot along the wall just inside the doorway and scanned the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of Monica's long, curly hair. Twice he thought he saw her, but the face didn't match the hair. Then he spotted Stephen Burns near a window across the room, and made his way through the crowd to stand beside his new father-in-law. It was all he could do not to immediately ask about Monica.
"Mr. Burns. I trust everything is going well this evening?"
The older man nodded thoughfully, taking a small sip of the dark amber liquid in his glass. "Well enough, well enough. I couldn't help but notice you disappeared - is everything okay?" The hint of disapproval made Harley bristle, but he worked to maintain a bored look.
"Just a family tiff," he said, glancing at faces walking past and wondering if Derek was still here. "I handled it. Speaking of family, did Monica come see you?"
He could see his words hit the intended mark as Burns blinked, the lines on his face hardening. Apparently he didn't care for being reminded that they were family now. That fact gave Harley a great deal of pleasure, and he was hard-pressed to stifle a laugh.
"She was here briefly," Burns replied. "Said you asked her to check on me, and that she had some things to do down at the saloon. She didn't look happy, son. I'd suggest you--"
Harley held up a hand, his gaze fixed on a figure walking toward the door. Betsy was right - Derek was here at the ranch. "Hold that thought," he told Burns. "There's something I need to go do." Without giving the man a chance to respond, he shouldered his way through the crowd and intercepted Derek just as he stepped into the hall.
"What the hell are you doing on my ranch, Wilson." The man grinned, his thin lips stretched too tight on the left against a scar that spanned his jawline. Harley felt a moment of satisfaction knowing that his baby sister had put that mark there.
"Just taking care of some unfinished business, Majors. Lucky thing I ran into Mr. Burns in Reno the other day. He told me all about this place, and how the man who runs it just married his daughter. If I hadn't heard your name, probably never would have found you." He nodded as though pleased with himself, thumbs tucked casually into the front pockets of his weathered jeans. Frowning thoughtfully, he cocked his head to the side. "So how is your sister these days, Majors? Still breaking hearts and heads?"
Ignoring his better judgement, Harly swung back and sent his fist into Derek's face, pain exploding through his hand and spidering up his arm. Caught completely off guard, the other man hit the wall hard, his head bouncing off the dark brocade fabric before he sprawled on the floor between two antique chairs.
Harley opened his fist, wincing as he flexed his fingers to make sure nothing was broken. The din from the crowd had grown quieter, and he glanced over at the crowd looking on in horror. Burns stepped out of the mass and came to stand beside Harley, looking thoughtfully down at Derek's bloodied visage.
"Well son, looks like you've met Mr. Wilson. And from what I see, it's probably a good thing he was just leaving."
December 15, 2010
Everyday Romance: The Gift of Love
Hubby and I give each other lots of gifts though, they just aren't the kind you need to wrap up with a bow. Like foot rubs. Movie nights. Special shower soap. Dinners out. Even candy stolen from a co-worker's desk (that would be hubby). Time. A listening ear. A shopping companion. An excuse to leave...where-ever. Or even an excuse not to go.
What's your favorite "everyday" gift to give to your spouse/significant other? Let's make a list, and who knows, maybe we'll get a few new ideas!
December 14, 2010
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 29
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27 | Ch. 28
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 29
For a moment, Monica couldn't move. Could barely breathe as anger hit hard and fast. Had Harley really just dismissed her like a misbehaving child? She searched for words, some statement that would adequately express her feelings, but shock and disbelief had frozen her vocabulary.
"Harlen Majors." Betsy's stern voice broke through Monica's brain fog, and she blinked. Apparently the disappointed tone had gotten through to Harley too, his expression softening. He reached out to her, but she shrugged away from his touch. Not trusting herself to speak around the lump in her throat, she turned and ran out of the suite. He didn't want her around? Fine. She'd check in on her father, and then she was going back to the dorm to find out what was going on in room three-twelve. If she could get the information needed to put her father away, she could end this whole thing once and for all.
Jabbing at the elevator call button, she swiped a tear from her cheek with the other hand. Her muscles tensed at the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of Betsy's apartment. She pressed against the wall in a dark corner, hoping whoever it was would walk right past. When the minister who had performmed the wedding ceremony strode by, she exhaled long and slow. Ian must have gone to Betsy's first, and then called Harley. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside, steeling herself to see her father again.
*****
Harley watched Monica go, wondering if he'd ever see her again. He knew he should go after her, but he couldn't leave Betsy here alone. Not with the possibility of her ex running around.
"You should go after her," Betsy said, echoing his thoughts."That was uncalled for and you know it. She just wanted to help."
He turned to meet her reproachful gaze. "I'll talk to her later. Your safety is more important right now." He fought the urge to look over his shoulder when he heard the front door open and close. "When did Derek get out of prison?"
"A couple weeks ago. Look, I know I should have told you, but--" she stopped, looking over his shoulder. He turned, nodding to Ian who was standing in the doorway. His jaw was set, his expression stern, but that sad, longing look in his eyes he always wore around Betsy was still very much intact.
"Ian," Harley said, holding out his hand. The minister gripped it, then turned to Betsy, whose face had suddenly gone beet red. Harley reached across the counter and slid the photo to his friend. "Someone left this under her door this morning. We need to get her out of here, at least until I can figure out what's going on with Derek."
The minister nodded. "I offered to loan her the money, but she refused. I was hoping you could talk some sense into her." He grabbed the photo and flipped it over with a sneer.
"I don't want to go anywhere," Betsy said quietly, her eyes on the stone countertop. "If I run, he wins."
"If you run, you stay alive," Harley countered. "I've got all sorts of crap going on here right now, and Derek is just one more thing. I'll find him, and I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again, but you have to get out of here so I won't be worried about you every second of the day." He looked at Ian. His friend had said repeatedly that he wasn't interested in anything with Betsy, but the concern in his eyes seemed like more than just friendly concern to Harley. Maybe a week alone together would decide the issue once and for all. An image of Monica's stricken face flashed in his head, and he wished they could have a week together, just the two of them. He needed to go find her. Now.
He curled a hand over Ian's shoulder. "I need you to take her away from here. I don't care where, and I don't need to know, just find somewhere safe to hole up for a week or so. Charge it to the ranch. Just keep her safe."
"But I--" Betsy stood up, her eyes flashing fire.
Harley held his hand up, giving her a stern look. "He's the only one I trust to take care of you, sis. Don't argue. Just go." He walked around the counter and gave her a quick hug, then headed for the door, pausing to glance back over his shoulder. "Don't give him any trouble, Bets. This is too serious." Without waiting for an answer, he strode out of the suite, pulling the door shut behind him. With any luck, Ian would have Betsy on a plane out tonight. He hurried to the elevators, hoping he could catch Monica before she left.
December 13, 2010
Weekly News & Goals - 12/13/10
First off, I just want to quickly thank those of you reading my serial draft, even if you don't have the time or inclination to comment. Just knowing people are out there reading it is a big part of what keeps me motivated and writing, as well as striving to do better, even in draft mode. I appreciate you.
This is always kind of a "meh" time of year for me...and I have no good reason for that, other than the holidays have always felt like one giant obligation to me, rather than something to be enjoyed and savored. Even so, I normally don't have quite the amount of bah-humbug going on that I do this year, and I was feeling kind of guilty about that until my husband reminded me that I'm working two jobs, really. My day job, and whenever I'm not there, my fledgling writing business. And because of that I value my free time at a higher premium...something "decorating the house" might not really be worth.
So I left the majority of my decorations in their storage tubs this year, put up a smaller tree (and left half the ornaments in their tubs too), and I'm not going to feel guilty about that. I don't currently have a working printer, so there will be no family newsletter this year, and I'm not feeling guilty about that either. I'm just going to accept that this year, I need "me" time more than I need to fulfill traditional obligations, and be fine with just the bare minimums. Maybe next year I'll be in a better place to enjoy those other auxiliary things again.
Not that that's really "news" – consider it a holiday manifesto in lieu of the news.
*Side note - the word "manifesto" makes me want to watch Jerry Maquire again....
This Week on the Variety Pages
Tuesday: Ch. 29 of The Biker's Wench
Wednesday: Everyday Romance – Gifting the One You Love
Friday: Ch. 30 of The Biker's Wench
Have you signed up for my newsletter yet? Might want to do that before next month, so you don't miss out on any special discounts/members only sales. And to stay up to date on all my projects, you might want to subscribe to the Brazen Snake Monthly as well.
Goal Reports
Writing-wise, I made decent progress, but didn't quite get to The Minister's Maid. I'm afraid that's going to have to go on the backburner for awhile, as I need to figure out how it fits with and splits from The Biker's Wench for now. I'll pull it back out once I get closer to finishing TBW. No rush.
I'm behind on the Desert Heat edits, but not terribly so. I'm going to work hard to finish them in the next two weeks, because I'll be giving away ARC's on Goodreads as of January 2nd, so I'll need proof copies to mail by then. The Goodreads giveaway starts Wednesday if you'd like to try to win a copy. The release date will definitely be January 21st. I'll have the sample chapters done by next weekend, if not before.
The blog for my thriller-writing alter-ego, Alex Westhaven, is online and open now at http://alexwesthaven.com. The Angel Eyes draft will be serialized just as I do here, but due to the nature of a thriller novel (and open blog format there), I'll also be posting random bits of research, character notes, etc both before and during the draft. If you like thriller novels, and you are interested in the "behind the scenes" work as well as the actual draft, you might be interested in joining me there. More details will be posted over there later this week.
I pretty well covered the personal goal report above, so no need to repeat that...
Goals for the Week
Writing
Two scenes for each serial draft, on time.
Complete at least half of Desert Heat edits
Business
Assign ISBN numbers to Desert Heat, list on Goodreads
Format and post DH sample chapters.
Start GR giveaway for ARC's
Mail out bus. cards for promo trade.
Personal
Write and send Christmas cards.
Finish Christmas shopping
Buy new dress pants for work
Take time to relax and read.
That's my week...what's on your agenda? Are you excited about the holidays, or just waiting for them to be done, like myself?
December 12, 2010
#SampleSunday - Desert Heat
Marie took a sip of wine, wishing she could stay hidden. Introverted to the core, she didn't like other people well enough to suffer through the whole small talk rigmarole. But if her funding was in trouble, it would be a good idea to have a backup source. Recognizing a couple of investors from her last major project standing by the bar, she decided to go re-introduce herself, maybe get their business cards. Perhaps they'd have a job available if she lost this ridiculous game.
Glancing down to make sure she wasn't too rumpled, she stepped out from behind the tree and stopped short as she hit something tall and unyielding. Struggling for balance, she found herself braced against a very broad, hard chest that had to be the result of intense physical training. Large hands settled at her hips just long enough to steady her on the ridiculous spike heels that Cynthia, her lab assistant, had insisted she wear.
His touch set off a wild chain of tingling nerves that traveled throughout her body, finally settling between her legs in a surge of warmth. Shifting, she took one step back, her eyes still on the tight button-down shirt. She'd just about pay money to see what was underneath.
"Are you okay?"
Marie froze at the deep, velvety voice. She'd heard it before, but where? Her brows drew together as she looked up into the emerald eyes of Darren Newbury, Riley's main assistant. Great. She nodded, resisting the urge to pet his chest with her fingers. He was one of the few men she'd ever thought of as "pretty", though she was fairly certain he'd be offended at the description. Ever since they'd taken classes together, she'd had a bit of a crush on him. Her brain never seemed to work right around good-looking men, and she inevitably said something painfully stupid. Deciding early on that she'd rather admire from afar than look like an idiot, she went out of her way to avoid interacting with any man who made her drool, including this one.
"Dr. Simco?" He raised one brow, and she swallowed hard. It was happening again, just like it always did. This was her cue to say something stupid that would send him running the other way. Just like every other hunk she'd ever met.
"I'm...uh...good, fine," she sputtered. "I was just going to talk to some colleagues over by the bar," she said, gesturing toward the other side of the room with one hand. Unfortunately, it was the hand that held her wine glass, and the dark liquid sloshed out, spots appearing as if by magic on Darren's bright white dress shirt. At least his jacket was black. She stared, trying to think of something, anything, to say that would make it okay.
"I'm so sorry," she said, avoiding his eyes. A waiter passed by, and she tapped him on the shoulder. "Do you happen to have a napkin?" He nodded, handing her several from his tray. She patted at Darren's shirt and managed only to make the stain wider.
"It's okay," he said, chuckling as he closed one hand over hers and took the napkins with the other. All coherent thought fled at his touch, and she froze as he leaned closer. He smiled, lowering his head until his face was just inches from hers.
"Do you want to know a secret?" he murmured.
She blinked, stunned, as if he'd asked her to solve a complex math equation. "Umm..."
"This shirt has a hole in the side. I didn't have time to change into a fresh one, so I haven't been able to take my jacket off all night. I was planning to throw it away as soon as I got home anyway. The shirt, not the jacket." He straightened with a wink and buttoned his blazer, covering the worst of the splotch.
"Oh," Marie said, still flustered from being so close to him. "I, uh, guess that's okay then." Not sure what to say next, she turned away. "I'll just go find Dr. Adams now." She dared to glance up at him one more time and saw confusion in his eyes, along with the look that said he'd just realized she was eccentric, and not in a good way.
Face burning, she made her way to the coat check, stopping only to leave her wineglass on the bar. She'd heard - and done - enough for one night. It was time to retreat to the sterile comfort of her lab and try to figure out how to win her funding for the next year.
Thanks for reading! Click here for more #SampleSunday posts to peruse...
December 10, 2010
Serial Novel: The Biker's Wench, Chapter 28
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7| Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 |Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13| Ch. 14 |Ch. 15 |Ch. 16 |Ch. 17 |Ch. 18 |Ch. 19 |Ch. 20 | Ch. 21 | Ch. 22 | Ch. 23 | Ch. 24 | Ch. 25| Ch. 26| Ch. 27
The Biker's Wench
Chapter 27
"Maybe it's just a practical joke," Betsy offered from a stool by the kitchen counter. She couldn't seem to look away from the image. Monica took the paper from her, turning it face down on the counter as she dialed Harley's number. Hopefully he wouldn't ignore the call when her number came up.
"Harley, it's me," she said as soon as she heard his wary greeting. "We have a serious problem - you need to come down here right away."
"I can't - I'm with your father. It will have to wait for later." His voice was low, and she frowned. Her father was just going to have to wait. His sister's life was in danger.
"Want me to talk to him?" Betsy said.
Monica shook her head, then looked back down at the floor. She took a deep breath. "Harlan Majors, get your ass down here right now. There's something you need to see." She disconnected the call and tossed her phone on the counter, letting out a long sigh as she rubbed her forehead, glancing at Betsy. "Was he always this pigheaded?"
Betsy met her gaze with a sympathetic look. "Worse, I'm afraid. He's always wanted to do exactly the opposite of what anyone tells him to do, which made for some interesting high school days." She grinned. "Not many people have the balls to talk to him llike that though. I'll bet for you, he's on his way down."
Barely five minutes later, the front door opened and then slamed shut. Harley came around the corner two seconds later, a scowl on his face as he glanced from one woman to the other. Finally he focused on Monica, his jaw tight. "What the hell is going on? Why didn't you tell me Betsy was here?" The venom in his voice surprised her. She'd thought he would calm down once he saw his sister, but it seemed to be making things worse. He turned to Betsy, his voice softening slightly. "Ian called just before Monica. He left a message saying Derek might be here at the ranch. Is that true? Why didn't you tell me he was out of jail?"
Monica struggled to keep a neutral expression, watching as Betsy shook her head, blinking hard. "I was going to tell you about Derek, but you've been so busy with getting married and all - I didn't want to distract you. Then I thought I saw him tonight and sort of freaked out, so I went to Ian's but we had a fight and I came home and that's when I found this." She flipped the paper over and slid it in front of him. "Monica was with me and wanted to call you so here we are."
Harley stared down at the image, his phone jangling from his pocket. Without taking his eyes off the page, he held the phone up to his ear and answered with a terse, "Yeah."
Monica glanced down at the photo again. It was a picture of Betsy, taken recently in the same French maid outfit she still had on, so whoever had gotten it either was here or had been. Whoever left it had photoshopped her image with a noose around her neck, hanging from the barrister of the grand double staircase on the main floor. Her wrists looked like they'd been slit, and her blood pooled on the floor below. Monica tried to imagine what it would be like if it was her in the photo, and couldn't. Whoever had done this was one sick individual. She shivered at the thought that he might be here at the ranch.
"We're all in my suite, Ian...come on over." Harley disconnected the call, and shoved the phone down in his front pocket. Looking thoughtfully at Betsy, he reached across the counter and took one of her hands. "He sounds pretty bad, sis - what were you fighting about? Did you hit on him again?"
Monica felt bad for the other woman as she squirmed on the seat, avoiding Harley's gaze. "I'm sure it doesn't matter," she said, earning a grateful look from Betsy, and a scowl from Harley. "Whatever the problem, I'm sure they'll get over it--"
Harley shook his head, a chuckle of disbelief escaping. "Darlin', you don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you run upstairs and make sure our guest isn't foaming at the mouth because I'm not there. I'll be up as soon as I'm done here."
December 8, 2010
Everyday Romance: Happy to be Single
Yes, I know this is a romance-themed blog…or romantically suspenseful, anyways (you'll have to excuse me, I've been over-thinking genre labels recently). And yet I think that some of the most suspenseful times in anyone's life is when we're single. Single and looking, single and content – either way, there's always the *anticipation* of a not-entirely-platonic relationship, no matter how casual it might be.
Most romance novels start out with unattached heros and heroines – or if they are attached, it's generally not very tightly. The story is in the meeting, the chase, the push and pull of whether or not things will work out. In a romance novel, they always do. In real life, there's a chance that it won't – and that's okay.
What?
You heard me. I said it's okay when a relationship doesn't work out, and we find ourselves single again. Sure, it sucks dirt when that happens and we have to cry and get mad and grieve and pick ourselves back up, but with every relationship, there are lessons learned, memories made, and experiences that add to the core of who we are. At the end, we regain something special – that anticipation for what…or who…might be waiting around the next corner. That particular anticipation is not something people in a stable, long-term relationship generally experience (there are other types of anticipation in that situation).
If you're single – are you content? Is the suspense of waiting to see if that special someone will show up killing you, or do you embrace the anticipation, and watch eagerly for your next connection, no matter how long it might last?
