Kay Springsteen's Blog, page 14

Sweet Saturday Samples

From Lifeline Echoes  

"You hang on, do you hear me?" she ordered. "I won't go anywhere until they have you, I swear. But you have to stay with me. Promise!"

"Okay . . . promise." His words were slurred; his voice sounded weary.

Sandy struggled to think of something to talk about—to keep him talking and alert. "Do I hear an accent, Mick?"

His laugh was slow and soft. "Yep, I'm afraid so. I can't seem to get the Wyoming out of my voice."

There! Something she could get him to talk about. "Tell me about Wyoming," she said.

He sighed. "There's nothing like a wild gallop across the plains on a fast horse. If you can be up on that horse at daybreak, you feel like you're flying up to meet the day. And to be in the Red Desert at sundown's even better. If you time it right, just a split second before the sun's gone, you feel like you're inside all that red and orange glow. Then in your next breath you're standing in pitch black. When you look up, the stars are already popping out. So many stars they blend together. And there's always shooting stars for making wishes." He laughed softly. "I guess I sound a little pathetic."

"No." She wished she could touch him with more than her voice. "More like a homesick cowboy."

He was quiet for a time, then, "I guess maybe I am, Angel. I am homesick."

His quiet admission brought tears to Sandy's eyes, and she prayed he'd see those sunrises and sunsets and stars again. "So you lived in the desert plains?"

"I had the best of both worlds, Angel," he told her with an easy pride. "Our ranch is in the middle of a finger of desert that's nestled between two legs of mountains and forest."

She could hear the love in his voice as he spoke, knew he was picturing it all in his head. "Why did you leave?"

"That's a story for another time," he said. "I'll tell you when we're on our first date."

"Are you asking me out?"

"Oh, we'll go out." She could hear the grin in his voice. "I was just making the plans."

Her lips twitched at his audacity.

Lifeline Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble             Amazon Reviews

ALSO AVAILABLE, Sean and Mel's story:

Elusive Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble              Amazon Reviews

Return to Sweet Saturday Samples

Measure of a Hero

"It's been ten years, but it feels like it was yesterday." ~Deborah Epps (who lost her brother, Christopher Epps)

Hero: A man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities. (dictionary.com)

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. (Jesus/John 15:13).

When you put these two definitions together, you see the inner character of those who died on September 11, 2001, so that others might live. America took a hit that day.And in the midst of that hit, we showed who we truly are as a collective people. Red and yellow, black and white – on that day we became all one people, all one color, coated in the gray ashes of our fallen. We pulled together then and in subsequent days as America struggled to recover from being knocked down. But to paraphrase the song by Chumbawamba: we get knocked down but we get up again; they're never gonna keep us down!

Ten years have passed since the day American lives changed forever – some much more than others. In that 10 years, not only America but the world has changed. We've survived, gone on. We've lived because others that day gave their lives, because others since that time have put their lives on the line to advance the fight against terrorism.

I am by no stretch an advocate for war. But on this day of remembrance, let us consider not only the innocent people who lost their lives when America was attacked, not only the heroes who risked their lives and those who paid with their lives, but those who have paid over the last 10 years as well – our military personnel in foreign countries, and the families who serve right along with them – sometimes waiting at home, sometimes moving to the other side of the world to be stationed with them. America is a country built on the sacrifices of others.

And let us also consider those who were left behind, those whose family members displayed the ultimate heroism in this war we didn't start but I sincerely hope we finish. Those who are growing up without fathers…or mothers. Those whose are a brother or sister short. Those who will never see or hold a spouse again. My heart, my prayers are with you all this day.

All people who were old enough when it happened to remember 09/11/2001 can probably state  exactly where they were and what they were doing when it happened, when they heard. Everyone lost something that day. But we also gained. We gained the strength to be found in unity.   I pray we never forget the sacrifices of others. But I also pray for peace to settle in the hearts of us all, and that we can hold onto the unity we found when we worked together. May we all rest easy in the arms of God, whatever your perception of Him.

Elusive Echoes/Sweet Saturday Samples

They're two people caught between friendship and something more; they can't move forward, and they can't let go.

Drawn together from early childhood, Sean McGee and Melanie Mitchell seemed destined for each other. But at age thirteen, Melanie was wrenched from the people she loved and forced onto a path she loathed. Sean was no stranger to people leaving, but losing Melanie devastated him. When she suddenly reappeared in Orson's Folly, Sean was overjoyed. The Melanie who came home, though, wasn't the same girl. She's got a harder edge and she's obviously hiding something, but Sean no longer knows how to reach her.

Returning to Orson's Folly as an adult, all Melanie wanted to do was forget the years she spent away. But she soon learned that going home didn't mean she could return to her old life—or her childhood sweetheart, Sean. Even their mutual attraction to one another hasn't rebuilt the bond of trust and closeness they once shared. It's been seven years since she returned and now everything Melanie wants to forget has broadsided her. She must confront her demons and relive her past in an unexpected way or risk losing the only man she's ever loved. But even if she succeeds, Sean might be lost to her anyway.

###Just closed my eyes and chose this week – hope you enjoy!###

Mel made soft clucking noises that Dev responded to with small twitches of his ears. "Why don't they just sedate him for mating?"

Sean chuckled, casting her a sidelong glance. "The kind of tranqs he probably needs, it'd be like asking me to perform after giving me Valium and a bottle of whiskey.

Mel giggled then licked her lips suggestively. "Yeah, well, don't take this wrong, but I don't think I want to see what that's like. I kind of like the Energizer Bunny version of you from last night."

Everything Sean had been thinking was suddenly lost as all the blood left his brain for a trip south of the equator. "Okay. New rule. No talking dirty in the stable."

"That wasn't dirty." Mel's smile turned vaguely catlike. "Dirty would be if I said come to my place and—"

Sean clapped a hand over Mel's mouth. He kept it that way while he walked her backwards out of the stable. "You are a distraction." He pressed her against the outer wall of the stable with his body. Her pale blue eyes widened, then lit with passion. Sean removed his hand from her mouth and replaced it with his lips. ####

Astraea Press continues its blowout sale–all titles, nothing over $2.99.  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Try out some Tuesday Tales – they're not just for Tuesdays.

Return to Sweet Saturday Samples

The Rose Catalog

When I was younger, we didn't have the Internet. We didn't have cell phones. Until I was about 10, we didn't have a stereo – we listened to an old tube-filled table-top radio in the morning and afternoon (but never all day). On weekends, my dad would play 45s and 78s on a tabletop record player. When I was 10, we got a stereo – not the "system" kind that audiophiles love these days. It was a simple record player and radio placed in a cabinet with two speakers and stereo sound. My dad graduated to LPs (long playing albums). We didn't have a color TV until about 1964.

But my mom had flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. Flowers for all seasons from early spring (crocus, daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, azaleas, rhododendrons, peonies) in Michigan, to summer (roses, phlox, portulaca, violas, rose of Sharon, delphinium), to autumn (asters and chrysanthemums). What extra pleasures my mom desired in life didn't come from television or radio. She got it in caring for her colorful garden. And my dad indulged this floral habit, even to the point of helping her watch her flowers grow.

Without Internet, we had snail mail. Every season, Mom would receive gardening catalogs and she had this little routine. First, she'd thumb through them. Then, she'd go through them a little more slowly. Then, she look at the catalogs page by page. She'd take the catalogs to the neighbor's house – her best friend and a fellow gardener – and they'd pore over those catalogs together, dreaming, planning…scheming. "You buy this two-for-one deal, and I'll get this one and we'll swap for the free flowers."

By far, my mom's favorite catalog was Jackson & Perkins. Best known for their roses, Jackson & Perkins has been in business since 1872, and they're still thriving (the company even has a Facebook page). They back their plants with a replacement guarantee but in all her years of gardening, my mother never had to make use of this guarantee.

This past year, I ordered a hedge rose from Jackson & Perkins. I ordered it just before the last day it could be shipped for survival after planting, put it in the ground and it took off. I plan to order more of these pretty babies until I have a living rose fence around my garden. Although I found J&P on line, apparently placing an order put me on their mailing list and today I got my very first, all-glossy 55-page Jackson & Perkins catalog.

I thumbed through it. Then I went through more slowly. Then I set it on the desk in front of me and went through page by page. I don't have a gardening buddy neighbor but I do have kids with houses….heh heh heh. So the poring over and scheming might just come next.

I have officially become my own mother. I'm off to enjoy my catalog now!

Have you heard about the Astraea Press sale? All books $2.99 or less at all sites: Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Care for a taste of Tuesday Tales?

Camp Wedding on Sweet Saturday Samples

This week I've chosen something from the anthology Matrimonial Mayhem, a charity release to help support Alabama disaster relief. I can't do a p. 99 test because it's a short, but I can show you a one-third test – a page from roughly a third into the story. Let me know what you think. And remember, all proceeds from MATRIMONIAL MAYHEM will benefit the Governor of Alabama's Office of Faith-Based and Community Initiatives for the hardest hit areas of the state. So even if you already have your copy, please tell others about it. (More info can be found on the blog of Sarah Ballance.)

****

Dan's hands found their way into her hair when he moved the assault back to her mouth, and Trish's arms stole around his waist. Had there been any wind, none would have made its way between them.

"Excuse me, Sir . . . Ma'am." The young-­sounding male voice came from somewhere on the other side of Dan.

Trish tried to retreat from the kiss but with the van at her back, she had nowhere to go.

The voice grew more authoritative. "Sir, you need to step away from the lady!"

Finally, the urgent voice seemed to break through the haze of Dan's intense concentration. He pulled back, his mouth quirked into a half-­smile, and he turned with a slow, lazy movement. Stepping away from Trish, he slid a hand down her arm and captured her hand.

"Sir, I have to remind you that you may not engage in PDA while here on base."

PDA? Oh, good grief! Heat began at her neck and flooded her face.

The speaker was a young man of about Trish's age, with very short dark hair and black-­rimmed eyeglasses. Wearing traditional desert cammies, an arm band designated him as MP or military police. Trish's eyes widened, drawn downward to notice a holstered pistol at the young MP's side.

She buried her face in her free hand and groaned.

"Thank you for the reminder. We were just leaving," Dan murmured in a subdued tone. Trish yanked on her hand but he held on tight.

"Sir, I need you to step away from the lady and show me some military ID." The young man's stoic attitude and flat countenance reminded Trish of a bulldog with a bone. He was pure, single-­minded determination. His companion—a kid who might have been his clone except for the blond hair—stared at her with steely blue eyes.

With no other choice, Dan turned loose of Trish's hand and she edged along her van. "Um, I need to get in to see to our little girl." Her voice came out sounding like a croaking frog.

The silent MP followed her around to the van and held the door for her. Was it chivalry or was he hoping she had contraband he could secure? Her lips twitched and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep the laughter from bubbling up.

"Who are those men, Mama?"

"They're kind of the police officers on the base," Trish explained.

"What do they want?" Of course, now Bella would persist like one of the bulldogs outside the van.

"They just wanted to tell Daddy something important." Such as he wasn't allowed to engage in a public display of affection! More heat rose from her chest to envelop her face. She tried to recall where Dan's hands had been. Where were my hands?

Return to Sweet Saturday Samples.

Purchase Matrimonial Mayhem

The Well-stocked Writer's Arsenal

If you're a writer, odds are you're a storyteller. You have a story or a hundred stories inside you, all clamoring for your attention, struggling to break free of your mind so the world can know them.

And more stories sign up for the chance to be told on a weekly, daily, hourly basis.

In an article I wrote for Let's Talk Romance, I gave some advice to learn basic document formatting prior to submitting. I suggested some people might want to take a computer class or at least read the tutorials. This is good advice because publishers will love you when you have taken the time to learn how to format and are able to follow their submission formatting guidelines. Today, I want to make a suggestion of another kind. One that involves writer's tools.

It is not enough to put words on paper or computer screen. They must be the right words, the ones that convey the meaning you intend. And they must be correctly spelled words so others will understand what you're saying. I know many people who are spelling challenged, and yet they are storytellers with the need to tell a story. Two of my daughters have dyslexia but they tell fantastic tales.

So, the first took in a writer's arsenal (all writers, even those who have good spelling) should be a dictionary. More, the storyteller must have the knowledge and ability to utilize this tool correctly. Two other books (paper, electronic, or on-line) that will come in handy are a thesaurus and a reputable grammar resource.

A style guide such as CMoS is a great resource, especially since it's the one most publishers will base company style guides on. Learn the rules of fiction writing and practice them until you know them by heart. Learn when to use quotation marks, and when a sentence inside those quotation marks should be ended with a period (.) or a comma (,). Learn the proper placement and use of dialogue tags. Learn when it's appropriate to change paragraphs.

In short, a good start for a life as a storyteller is to learn the basics of grammar and style as applied to fiction. A good second step is to seek out a great critique partner or group. But critique partners should be a resource for helping you develop the content of your story and not someone to check your spelling and punctuation. If you're challenged in those areas, look into finding a proof reader who can read through your work and locate any mechanical errors.

Happy writing!

Sweet Saturday Samples/Heartsight p. 99

Happy Sweet Saturday Sample Day! When you finish my sample, visit Sweet Saturday Samples for more authors and samples!

Hurricane Irene is about to hit the U.S., so I thought I would put my hurricane story to the p. 99 test this week. From Heartsight:

But he wasn'ʹt that careless youth anymore. And Trish, he had come to realize, was worth so much more than the means to scratch an itch. Trish Evers was a forever kind of woman. And one day she'd find the man who could give her forever.

So why did that thought leave a nasty taste in his mouth?

"You're saying nothing pretty loudly over there, Danny Boy."

That light-­hearted lilt was back in her voice as she teased him using his own words, and his heart reacted with a little cardiac jig. Slow down, boy. Don'ʹt fall for the single mom. Your own life is more screwed up than she needs.

"Wow," she whispered. "You're speechless. I'ʹve never made anyone speechless before." She laughed softly. "I promise if you'ʹre trying to figure out how to extricate yourself from my clutches, it's not that hard."

A grin worked at Dan's lips. Extricating himself was the last thing he wanted. "Got room on the couch for me to join you or are you lounging across all the cushions?"

"Dan?" Her voice was uncertain again.

He shrugged. "I want to talk, Trish. Spend some time as two adults just . . . talking. You up for it?"

"Okay, I think." Her laugh seemed a little nervous.

Good. He'd thrown her a bit off balance. Maybe the playing field would even a little. Maybe he could even it some more. He scooted over to the sofa. "What lights do you have on?"

"What?" Definitely off balance. "Oh, um, one at the end of the couch here, one in the window, in the hallway, on the stairs."

"Do you need them on? Maybe for Bella?"

"No, not really." She stood. He heard her walking around the room, caught the subtle clicks of switches as she turned off the lights. Then she was back.

Dan settled with his back against the end of the sofa. He toed his shoes off and stretched his legs out along the cushions.

"Oh, who's lounging on all the cushions now?" She dropped down on the other end and tangled her feet and legs with his.

Dan chuckled softly. "Comfortable?"

She ran one of her toes along the bottom of his bare foot, laughing when he sucked a fast breath in through his teeth. "Yep! Quite comfortable."

"Dang, woman! You've got ice cubes for feet."

She giggled and surrounded one of his feet with both of hers. The cold bit deep and Dan shivered."They're always cold," she said.

"Put some socks on."

"I hate socks."

They drifted to an expectant silence as Dan tried to figure out how to begin without sounding like a raunchy jerk.

ʺI want to clear something up, Trish." He rubbed his jaw. "I do notice you and think of you—often . . . in the way you were suggesting."

*****

Trish's jaw dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. It had been hard to miss how much he wanted her, but had Dan just admitted it to her? The rush of excitement was so thrilling, she could forgive him the unspoken "but" she knew was about to be dropped on her.

To his credit, he didn't use the word. His deep voice was mesmerizing as he spoke. "It would be easy to go there with you. I think you'ʹre one of the most beautiful and sexy women I'ʹve ever met." He paused.

In the darkness, Trish couldn't see his face. She could only hear his voice. He'd done that on purpose, she realized, when he had her turn off the lights. Suddenly, things weren't one-­sided between them.

"Have I left you speechless now?" he asked.

She answered slowly. "A little."

****BLURB****

On a secluded beach in North Carolina, three lonely people find hope in each other.

Trish Evers is an artist and single mother, who has inherited her grandmother's Bed and Breakfast in a North Carolina coastal town. Though she must sell the house, she decides to bring her daughter to the beach for one last summer vacation in her childhood town.

Bella is a six-year-old girl who has Down syndrome. Rejected by her father, Trish, is the only parent she's ever known. Bella likes to explore the beach and has a tendency to wander off. One day, Bella goes exploring on her own, and Trish finds her in the company of an intriguing stranger.

Dan Conway is a U.S. Marine, who had been born into a family of Marines. Now blind as a result of combat injuries and unable to "suit up," he feels he no longer has a purpose in life. He's come home to the beach, where he spends his days in solitude. Dan must learn to believe in himself and to love life again, which he begins to do through his interactions with Bella and Trish. When a hurricane strikes, and Bella wanders off again, her only hope for rescue is Dan.

Working within the confines of his blindness, he must overcome his fear of failure and recall his training in order to search for the little girl and bring her to safety.

Return to Sweet Saturday Samples.

Heartsight:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Matrimonial Mayhem:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Lifeline Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Elusive Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Coming soon from Astraea Press. With her strict no-dating-within-the-department rule, Firefighter Lina Standish has a nickname in the Salem Hills Fire Department: Lina "Standoffish". But Firefighter Kevin Daly has had his eye on Standoffish ever since a locker room incident nearly a year earlier, and now he plans to break all her rules. With the help of his niece and a hot-air balloon, he gets Lina's attention and she agrees to "hang out" with Kevin as friends off duty, to take it slow and see where things go between them. Then Lina's life is turned upside down by a surprise miracle who doesn't even have a name. Kevin's ready to step up, but is Lina?

Return to Sweet Saturday Samples.

An Earthquake a Day Keeps the People Connected

Virginia had an earthquake yesterday. Most of the East Coast of the United States felt it.

Not so long ago, I wrote about an earthquake…in a story called Lifeline Echoes:

Prologue

There is no natural phenomenon which is held by all mankind in greater dread than earthquakes. Our ideas of permanence, solidity and strength are based upon the condition of the earth, as we daily see it; so that when the firm ground shakes under us, there naturally comes over the mind a feeling of abject helplessness. ~New York Times April 9, 1872

Los Angeles, seven years ago. . .

The day the earth tried to swallow L.A., Alexandra Wheaton dropped her double chocolate iced mocha in the parking lot. It landed with a splat, pale brown slush sliding off the toe of one white shoe to form a sticky puddle beneath her foot. Cleaning it up made Sandy two minutes late for her job as a dispatcher for Los Angeles City Emergency Services.

Her day was about to become much worse. Moments past eight in the morning, the tectonic plates along the Newport-Inglewood-Rose Canyon fault line started to move with a little more force than the normal sway and push. The seismograph needle in the monitoring station leapt wildly and the machine registered the largest magnitude quake along that fault in greater than forty years.

Millions of dollars spent on equipment upgrades for emergency services over the past year proved no match against the relentless heave of the agitated earth. Radio towers toppled and satellite dishes were knocked out of alignment, creating a system-wide communication blackout until Los Angeles Central Dispatch switched to their ten-year-­old backup system. When the earth stopped its initial temper tantrum, the telephone switchboard began to light up with calls from citizens, while the status of each individual emergency response unit was being verified by radio check-in.

In less than ninety seconds, chaos erupted in Central Los Angeles. The nightmare deepened moments later when a ruptured gas line beneath the Convention Center was ignited by the cigarette Marcus Fulton had been smoking in the basement janitorial supply closet.

Sandy couldn't stop the tremors running along the inner fault lines of her own neural pathways. But she was a professional, so with a voice that only barely trembled, she dispatched Fire Station Number 9 to the L.A. Convention Center.

The first shift after Sandy's vacation was off to a very rocky start. Before her shift was over, she would learn two important things. First, she was getting the heck out of L.A. Second, it was possible to fall in love with someone, sight unseen, in twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes.

Virginia , Summer 2011

I learned two things yesterday, August 23, 2011. First, it's a lot more pleasant to sit in my office and write about an earthquake than it is to live through one. Second, no amount of research about earthquakes through viewing news reports and conducting interviews can prepare a person for the actual event. It doesn't even come close. Yesterday's earthquake in Mineral, Virginia (about 75 miles from where I live) was not the catastrophic quake I described in Lifeline Echoes, a mere 5.8 compared to a 10.0. It definitely wasn't even close to the recent earthquakes in Haiti, Chili, and Japan. It definitely didn't knock the world off its axis. But it did cause a crack in the Washington Monument and a spire to fall from the National Cathedral. It did rock the Mineral Post Office off its foundation and it buried several cars under bricks. Thankfully, no one died in this place where earthquakes of this magnitude are rare and the people living here are unprepared.

And me? The rumbling ground yesterday scared the words right out of me. A little 5.8 (by some reports 5.9) on the Richter Scale quake made my heart race and pushed the blood through my system with the same grinding thrum the earth beneath me was making. When the house stopped shaking, my own internal quake continued for several hours. I'd like to claim the imagination flew to the countless number of disaster movies about volcanoes and earthquakes and general end-of-the-world fare and made the experience more harrowing. But in truth, I never thought of any of these. It seems one really does experience a deep, visceral, thought-free reaction. No movie images of the ground opening hovered in my conscious. The shuddering earth with the sound of growling grating rock that somehow manages to get inside the head as well as outside spurs the heart to frightening pace, squeezes breath from the lungs, and paralyzes with primal fear. Time slows and is drawn out – what lasted no more than 45 seconds seemed to go on for more like 5 minutes. Things get noticed, like books tumbling from shelves and dogs scrambling into your lap. But the imagination has nothing on the physical reaction that can only come from some primeval switch that gets flicked on when dangers arise.

When the earth moves, humans revert to animal instinct. I reported to friends that I felt "wobbly" for hours after, and I was close enough to the epicenter that I felt the 2.8 and 2.2 aftershocks for sure, which gave me milder versions of the panicky sensation I experienced during the original event. I'd had a nervous sensation about me from early in the morning. My dogs, who are my constant companions, had been even more clingy. And the National Zoo reported that the lemurs had been giving alarm sounds for a full 15 minutes before they felt the earthquake. So when my daughter called to tell me she had an edgy feeling just before she felt anything, I wasn't surprised. I think humans share a connection with our world in ways we may never understand. But this connection that we share with the Earth also binds us to one another. We send warning calls, we burn up the airwaves and overwhelm the cell towers calling our loved ones to see if they're okay.

When we go through one of Mother Earth's hiccups or wheezes, we survive by our connections to one another. On some level, I've always known that. After making it through two minor hurricanes in Maryland in recent years, the first thing we did was call family out of state to let them know we were fine, and then we called friends in the area  to check on their status, see if they needed anything. I attempted to demonstrate this need for human connection in Lifeline Echoes, with the trapped firefighter and the dispatcher who became his voice lifeline. But as I said earlier, I'd much rather write about it than actually live through it ever again.

Happy reading, all!

Available Now

Heartsight:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Matrimonial Mayhem:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Lifeline Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Elusive Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Lifeline Echoes print edition

Heartsight print edition

Coming soon from Astraea Press!

Elusive Echoes on Sweet Saturday Samples

I started to do the p. 99 test for Elusive Echoes, but alas…it turns out that's a very pivotal part of the story and both clears up things prior to that page and creates further questions. Since I didn't want to spoil the story for anyone, I decided to post p. 98 instead…

She closed her phone. Would life ever be uncomplicated for them?

The sharp rap at her screen door interrupted her irritation, and Mel blinked in surprise at the man on the other side.

"DC. Hi." She held the door open so he could enter.

The sheriff looked uncomfortable. "Sorry for the early hour, but I've got something you're going to want to hear, and I'm guessing you'd rather hear this in private."

Mel pointed to the sofa, and followed him over.

"There is no easy way to say this." DC opened a small black notebook. "A speeding ticket was issued by State Police to a Mr. Dennis DeVayne on US-189 out of Jackson last Saturday afternoon."

Mel's heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach, where it continued to beat rapidly. "So he is in the area."

"He was around last Saturday at least." DC closed his notebook and tapped it with his fingers. "He also ran a red light in Jackson, got caught on a camera." He met her stare. "Back in July."

Mel squeezed her eyes for a second, trying to push back the uneasiness. "He wants something. He's been hanging around."

DC rubbed his jaw. "Well, you know him and I don't. I can't really say anything other than he appears to be a lousy driver."

"I've been getting letters from him since May but they've been from different cities, out of state."

DC spread his hands. "So he's on the move a lot and keeps coming back here, or he mails them to an accomplice to mail to you. Nick DeVayne maybe? I haven't found anything in the system on him at all. Maybe he's being careful." DC gave her a pointed look. "Or something might have happened to him. Do you want me to look at the letters? If there's anything remotely threatening, we can at least get it into the system and start looking at Dennis."

Mel drew a long breath. "I . . . think I should bring them to you later. I think—maybe I need a lawyer."

As she finished speaking, he was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't hear what you just said. Were you looking for me to recommend an attorney, Mel?"

Mel flashed a grin. "If you weren't married already, I'd so go after you."

With a quick laugh, DC stood. "I'm guessing your boyfriend would have something to say about that."

"Actually, we've had a development." She held out her left hand.

Elusive Echoes, available now:   Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Also available:

Heartsight:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Matrimonial Mayhem:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Lifeline Echoes:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Return to Sweet Sample Saturday.

Sweet Sample Saturday: Lifeline Echoes Page 99

Lifeline Echoes, p. 99

A plush, dark towel slung around his hips, Ryan was using another to dry his hair while he contemplated the insanity of having stayed up all night. His bed now looked mighty appealing.

He slid open the dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of dark briefs, pausing when he saw the folder. With one trembling finger he traced the upper edge. The bold black lines of the capital A on the tab sliced through his conscience like hot wires. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of feelings he preferred to keep buried. He opened them abruptly. Man! What had he done by getting involved with Sandy? It felt a little like . . . cheating.

He picked up the folder, swallowing past the lump of emotions lodged in his throat. Opening it, he saw pages and pages of his own handwriting. Notations of leads which hadn't panned out, her name, given to him by one of her sympathetic coworkers: Allie Whitman. Beneath all that, more pages of handwritten notes, the details he remembered of all their conversations, written when he'd been unable to walk, just so he'd have something to hold onto. He shuffled through them once again, those well-­worn sheets of yellow paper.

He'd fallen in love with her, asked her to marry him. Yet he had nothing tangible of her. When he'd needed her, she hadn't been there. She'd completely disappeared, almost like she never existed. The guys had teased him about hallucinating for months until he'd gotten more careful about looking for her.

And now . . . Sandy made him want to throw it all away. Seven years of searching for someone who must not want to be found. Who was he cheating on if she'd left him first?

"Sandy," he whispered. He was cheating Sandy if he moved forward with her before letting go of the past he still struggled with.

"You and your brother square things up?" Justin'ʹs gravelly voice came from the doorway.

Ryan jumped "Stop my heart first next time, will ya?"

LIFELINE ECHOES available now:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble

Also available, ELUSIVE ECHOES, Sean and Mel's story.

New reviews for the Echoes series:  Lifeline Echoes http://bit.ly/oN0olX  Elusive Echoes  http://bit.ly/qtwvuf

Return to Sweet Sample Saturday