Rain Trueax's Blog, page 5
August 9, 2016
a ghost or two or three
Editing has its complications particularly when getting viewpoints from several people and having to assess how I feel about them in terms of my original idea in writing a book.
My editor was suggesting changes to the next book's title this week-end, and I didn't like any of his suggestions. I see the book as having a theme, which the title, To Speak of Things Unseen, reflects. Its MacGuffin is a book, which told too much of the spirit world to satisfy some-- and enough to attract others. When you write an article or speak of the unseen, do you draw to you that which you would rather not? It's the question and not just in my book.
As to my husband's (wearing his editor's cap) objection to the title, he felt maybe it has been the problem with the first book. Maybe so.
To be honest, I have a problem with any of my books-- I consider them novels, romances, and always with a theme. I don't write just romances as always there is more than whether he and she will get together. Authors (who don't copy) write what comes to them through their muse. The muse gives me a message for each book as well as that interesting couple who are about to find love along with a lot of problems.
Anyway, publishing the second in the Barrio Viejo series is delayed by wanting it to be as good as I can make it. There is no hurry on putting the book out-- not with the first book sinking rapidly into Amazon's black hole lol.
A bit from To Speak of Things Unseen (title probably). I do not see ghosts and have been to Jerome multiple times and in many buildings, which are claimed to be haunted. There are interesting vibes in the historic site, which is very alive for tourism and those who love spending time in its atmosphere.
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An hour later, he had driven her up to Jerome. “Ever been here before?” he asked as he found a place to park the truck—not easy given there were already a lot of visitors and limited parking. She felt the energies and realized this place was full of ghosts. She wondered if Mitch knew that. While she knew he had powers, she wasn’t sure which ones. “No, this would be a first time, but I’ve heard of it.” “It’s had a long history of mining. This is Cleopatra Hill, and are you interested in any of this?” He laughed when he saw she’d been distracted—what he couldn’t know was why. She saw a woman walk past wearing a long dress, with dark hair mostly hidden under a bonnet. Was she part of an historic reenactment? Then she vanished. She had seemed oblivious to Mitch and her—even though Elke was relatively certain the ghost knew they were there. Some ghosts had a hard time adjusting to not being human. If this woman had died in the period where her clothing fit, she’d had a very hard time. Being in places they had been when alive provided comfort until they could finally let go of one life—one probably unhappily lived or ended. Looking around, she saw more. She wasn’t sure how aware the ghosts even were of one another. She saw some wearing rough clothing, maybe one-time miners. “Do you see ghosts?” she asked when she looked back at him. “Chidn?” “Navajo call them chindi- the bad ones anyway. Is that what Apaches call them?” He nodded. “You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t see some.” “When I want to and especially places like this, where there are a lot. Maybe the tourists draw them or where so many may have died.” “They don’t stick to cemeteries, huh?” he teased.
My editor was suggesting changes to the next book's title this week-end, and I didn't like any of his suggestions. I see the book as having a theme, which the title, To Speak of Things Unseen, reflects. Its MacGuffin is a book, which told too much of the spirit world to satisfy some-- and enough to attract others. When you write an article or speak of the unseen, do you draw to you that which you would rather not? It's the question and not just in my book.
As to my husband's (wearing his editor's cap) objection to the title, he felt maybe it has been the problem with the first book. Maybe so.
To be honest, I have a problem with any of my books-- I consider them novels, romances, and always with a theme. I don't write just romances as always there is more than whether he and she will get together. Authors (who don't copy) write what comes to them through their muse. The muse gives me a message for each book as well as that interesting couple who are about to find love along with a lot of problems.
Anyway, publishing the second in the Barrio Viejo series is delayed by wanting it to be as good as I can make it. There is no hurry on putting the book out-- not with the first book sinking rapidly into Amazon's black hole lol.
A bit from To Speak of Things Unseen (title probably). I do not see ghosts and have been to Jerome multiple times and in many buildings, which are claimed to be haunted. There are interesting vibes in the historic site, which is very alive for tourism and those who love spending time in its atmosphere.
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An hour later, he had driven her up to Jerome. “Ever been here before?” he asked as he found a place to park the truck—not easy given there were already a lot of visitors and limited parking. She felt the energies and realized this place was full of ghosts. She wondered if Mitch knew that. While she knew he had powers, she wasn’t sure which ones. “No, this would be a first time, but I’ve heard of it.” “It’s had a long history of mining. This is Cleopatra Hill, and are you interested in any of this?” He laughed when he saw she’d been distracted—what he couldn’t know was why. She saw a woman walk past wearing a long dress, with dark hair mostly hidden under a bonnet. Was she part of an historic reenactment? Then she vanished. She had seemed oblivious to Mitch and her—even though Elke was relatively certain the ghost knew they were there. Some ghosts had a hard time adjusting to not being human. If this woman had died in the period where her clothing fit, she’d had a very hard time. Being in places they had been when alive provided comfort until they could finally let go of one life—one probably unhappily lived or ended. Looking around, she saw more. She wasn’t sure how aware the ghosts even were of one another. She saw some wearing rough clothing, maybe one-time miners. “Do you see ghosts?” she asked when she looked back at him. “Chidn?” “Navajo call them chindi- the bad ones anyway. Is that what Apaches call them?” He nodded. “You wouldn’t have asked if you didn’t see some.” “When I want to and especially places like this, where there are a lot. Maybe the tourists draw them or where so many may have died.” “They don’t stick to cemeteries, huh?” he teased.
August 2, 2016
Sky Daughter excerpt for Lammas
Wow, where did the summer go??? August already. Well, as it turns out I've used Lammas (first of August) in a few books. It is a Pagan harvest festival. It can be seen other ways also. In To Speak of Things Unseen, it's mentioned but not important to the plot. It is more so in Sky Daughter.
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Nadine let out a breath. “I wonder...” “Wonder what, Nadine?” Maggie asked. “Lammas Day.” “More witchy stuff, I’ll bet,” Jim snorted. “It’s more than that. Do you know what it is, Reuben?” He shook his head. “What about Succoth?” Reuben looked at her with surprise. “How did you know I was Jewish? Did Maggie tell you? She didn’t answer. “Succoth is offering of the first fruits,” he said after he evidently decided she wouldn’t be answering. “And the offering had to be...” “Without blemish... What does this have to do with anything here?” “It is also a Sabbat. In the Celtic it would be called Lugnasadh, a feast to commemorate the funeral games of the Irish sun-god Lugh.” “You are as confusing as ever, Nadine,” Jim protested. “Celebrating a death. How does that fit with first fruits?” “The god of light, Lugh, doesn’t really die.” “Is any of this supposed to make sense, woman?” Angus asked, exasperation in his voice. “Well, I don’t know,” she said, her own tone impatient. “But sometimes days mean something, and when we’re dealing with Darren, I just realized that this one might.” “Why?” “It could be considered a day of sacrifice. The God-King becomes a willing sacrifice for the planting of the next year’s crop.” Maggie let out a breath. “A sacrifice?” Nadine nodded. “It is hard to explain, but somewhat simplified, before the time of the Equinox, the Sun God is resurrected to become the Leader of the Wild Hunt and the Lord of the Dead in the shadows of the Underworld.” Maggie felt a cold chill. That did sound like something that would play into Darren’s warped thinking. A perfect sacrifice? She looked at Reuben and shuddered. Had Reuben been marked not to identify him but as a sacrifice? She had to get to her grandmother’s book, for help with a day only her grandmother might have seen coming.
July 26, 2016
About 'To Speak of Things Unseen'
Where usually I post a snippet here, I thought I'd post what I created for another of my blogs,
Romances with an Edge
, where I use an alternative cover, with a couple of lines from its book.
For those not into metaphysics or who don't read paranormal, a shapeshifter is not the same as a werewolf. This is about an ability some mystical humans have to change their shapes when they wish.
This book, To Speak of Things Unseen, will be out in early August but with a pre-order option (link alongside can put you on the list to be notified) for probably the end of July with a sale during the pre-release.
For those not into metaphysics or who don't read paranormal, a shapeshifter is not the same as a werewolf. This is about an ability some mystical humans have to change their shapes when they wish.
This book, To Speak of Things Unseen, will be out in early August but with a pre-order option (link alongside can put you on the list to be notified) for probably the end of July with a sale during the pre-release.
July 19, 2016
To Speak of Things Unseen-- excerpt
Another from the book I've been editing, To Speak of Things Unseen. Because romances are so much more than the love story or in this case, the suspense and the paranormal, here's a snippet from how you can mix something else into the romance. Since this is an edit, I may end up with corrections (from those who know more about winemaking than I do-- even after much research. ;)
This book will be out probably the end of the month or maybe first of August. I have it with the beta readers and some will depend on whether they find major flaws or things easily fixed. I am lucky to have some good beta readers ;). I didn't used to enjoy that benefit and sure appreciate it now. I think beta readers in your genre are the biggest benefit.
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A dark-haired, middle-aged man got out of the truck and walked over to shake Mitch’s hand and be introduced to Elke. “You are a genius at wine, I hear,” she said. “Mitch is too kind,” Jacque said. He had no accent but had a Mediterranean look to his skin and features. “It was actually my sister, Torre. She’s the wine connoisseur. I am just an apprentice—although I appreciate a good wine. I might recognize one that was corked.” She gave a little laugh. “And I am not being modest.” Jacques grinned. “Then you can learn if you have a good teacher.” He smiled at Mitch. “I am just learning too,” Mitch said. “I am, however, appreciative of your skills.” “After they are pressed, without bare feet,” Elke said, “what happens next?” Jacques picked a grape and ate it. “You will see that soon if you are here. Perhaps in a week for the first.” “How exciting.” “Mitch always is here for the harvest… or has been. Will you be this time, boss?” Jacques asked. “I have to go to Tucson on business, but I’ll be back if it’s in a week.” “Good.” He turned back to Elke. “As to what comes next, well, they aren’t all ready at the same time—fortunately.” He looked affectionately at the grapes as though they were his children. “After the pressing, we produce what is called must. That is when we remove the skins, seeds and solids for the white wines. Reds and whites then go into big oak barrels for fermenting, which varies for how long-- depending on sweet or dry. After that, any solids are removed, and they can be put into bottles or back into oak barrels to age—depending on the quality of the harvest. A fine wine might set in the barrels for two years. It is all done by the touch.” He grinned. “Like touching a beautiful lady. It must be just right and then… voila, they are bottled and sent to buyers or sometimes to competitions. Nothing like ribbons to up the price.” He chuckled changing his sensual words into practical ones. Walking through the vineyard, alive with bird, butterflies, and bees, Elke’s body and mind were astir with energy and desire. Mitch’s hand rested lightly at her waist, very innocent gesture, but she found herself imagining it other places. She wanted to touch him again, stroke his strong body, make love to him while he made love to her. When she looked up into his eyes, she knew he was feeling the same things. “Thanks for the tour, Jacques,” Mitch said as they walked him back to his truck. After waving good-bye, Mitch turned back to her. “The river is beautiful this time of the year. Want to see it?” “I’d love to.”
This book will be out probably the end of the month or maybe first of August. I have it with the beta readers and some will depend on whether they find major flaws or things easily fixed. I am lucky to have some good beta readers ;). I didn't used to enjoy that benefit and sure appreciate it now. I think beta readers in your genre are the biggest benefit.
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A dark-haired, middle-aged man got out of the truck and walked over to shake Mitch’s hand and be introduced to Elke. “You are a genius at wine, I hear,” she said. “Mitch is too kind,” Jacque said. He had no accent but had a Mediterranean look to his skin and features. “It was actually my sister, Torre. She’s the wine connoisseur. I am just an apprentice—although I appreciate a good wine. I might recognize one that was corked.” She gave a little laugh. “And I am not being modest.” Jacques grinned. “Then you can learn if you have a good teacher.” He smiled at Mitch. “I am just learning too,” Mitch said. “I am, however, appreciative of your skills.” “After they are pressed, without bare feet,” Elke said, “what happens next?” Jacques picked a grape and ate it. “You will see that soon if you are here. Perhaps in a week for the first.” “How exciting.” “Mitch always is here for the harvest… or has been. Will you be this time, boss?” Jacques asked. “I have to go to Tucson on business, but I’ll be back if it’s in a week.” “Good.” He turned back to Elke. “As to what comes next, well, they aren’t all ready at the same time—fortunately.” He looked affectionately at the grapes as though they were his children. “After the pressing, we produce what is called must. That is when we remove the skins, seeds and solids for the white wines. Reds and whites then go into big oak barrels for fermenting, which varies for how long-- depending on sweet or dry. After that, any solids are removed, and they can be put into bottles or back into oak barrels to age—depending on the quality of the harvest. A fine wine might set in the barrels for two years. It is all done by the touch.” He grinned. “Like touching a beautiful lady. It must be just right and then… voila, they are bottled and sent to buyers or sometimes to competitions. Nothing like ribbons to up the price.” He chuckled changing his sensual words into practical ones. Walking through the vineyard, alive with bird, butterflies, and bees, Elke’s body and mind were astir with energy and desire. Mitch’s hand rested lightly at her waist, very innocent gesture, but she found herself imagining it other places. She wanted to touch him again, stroke his strong body, make love to him while he made love to her. When she looked up into his eyes, she knew he was feeling the same things. “Thanks for the tour, Jacques,” Mitch said as they walked him back to his truck. After waving good-bye, Mitch turned back to her. “The river is beautiful this time of the year. Want to see it?” “I’d love to.”
July 12, 2016
editing
Eek, I have been editing the second book in the Hemstreet Witches series. Monday somehow totally got away from me. Since it's where I am editing, to give readers an idea of the kinds of things I am looking to improve, here is an excerpt where I am working showing the changes I am making. There was one paragraph change also where I put a sentence with a paragraph it had been following. More changes may follow as this is the first edit and ahead of the beta readers.
Some writers give beta readers chapters to work with all along. I save them for when I think it's ready-- and they find things to show me it wasn't.
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Walking into the restored building, converted into a small theater and meeting rooms, Elke was glad to see saw David Jefferies, Pamela Crosby, and two women she didn’t recognize on the stage and, sitting at a table. “You’re late,” he said as he rose and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. Torre and I got involved in planning the changes we want to make in Mellow Yellow, and I lost track of time.” “Nothing major I hope,” Pam Crosby said dusting Elke’s cheek with a brushed kiss before sitting back down. “I love your choices as they are.” “Elke, our actresses new to you, Debbie Johnson and Colette Ames, are interested in Stage Left. Chuck was supposed to be here tonight. Not sure what happened to that.” Debbie, pretty, blonde and bubbly, was the age to play ingénues while Colette looked a little older than Elke. “Chuck?” “Charles Carter. He’s been a leading man in some of the other theaters around here. I had hoped to interest him in small our little theater.”
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Elke is interested in getting a play produced there to give magic workers better publicity. Her desire to improve the reputation of natural witches leads her into her adventure in 'To Speak of Things Unseen.' There is one sentence there I am still uneasy about but will leave it for a second go-round to see if it still draws me out of the action. If it does, it might disappear totally or get reworked.
Some writers give beta readers chapters to work with all along. I save them for when I think it's ready-- and they find things to show me it wasn't.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Walking into the restored building, converted into a small theater and meeting rooms, Elke was glad to see saw David Jefferies, Pamela Crosby, and two women she didn’t recognize on the stage and, sitting at a table. “You’re late,” he said as he rose and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. Torre and I got involved in planning the changes we want to make in Mellow Yellow, and I lost track of time.” “Nothing major I hope,” Pam Crosby said dusting Elke’s cheek with a brushed kiss before sitting back down. “I love your choices as they are.” “Elke, our actresses new to you, Debbie Johnson and Colette Ames, are interested in Stage Left. Chuck was supposed to be here tonight. Not sure what happened to that.” Debbie, pretty, blonde and bubbly, was the age to play ingénues while Colette looked a little older than Elke. “Chuck?” “Charles Carter. He’s been a leading man in some of the other theaters around here. I had hoped to interest him in small our little theater.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Elke is interested in getting a play produced there to give magic workers better publicity. Her desire to improve the reputation of natural witches leads her into her adventure in 'To Speak of Things Unseen.' There is one sentence there I am still uneasy about but will leave it for a second go-round to see if it still draws me out of the action. If it does, it might disappear totally or get reworked.
July 5, 2016
excerpt in coming book
Another from the book on which I am working, nearing its end but with a lot of work before it's ready to be out. The two following sentences say a lot about the underlying theme in To Speak of Things Unseen. What we don't know can't hurt us... except sometimes it can.
image from Canstock"Although Tucson had been a tolerant city. Some knew of the spirits and spirit workers, on either side and were understanding, blasé or pretending they didn’t know. There seemed recently though a new spirit flowing—one that operated on fear."
image from Canstock"Although Tucson had been a tolerant city. Some knew of the spirits and spirit workers, on either side and were understanding, blasé or pretending they didn’t know. There seemed recently though a new spirit flowing—one that operated on fear."
June 28, 2016
from 'To Speak of Things Unseen'
Working on the new book, I am definitely proving (at least to myself) that I don't write for the dollars. The first book in this series has not caught on at all. I suspect it's only had previous fans buying it with no attraction from paranormal or for that matter the average romance readers.
Anyway I said I'd write five, and I will. Possibly having more will be a benefit-- someday lol.
So here's a randomly chosen snippet from the next one (where I am only a bit over half finished). Since this is a rough draft, the excerpt might change some from the actual book, due out in late July-- I think. The heroine is trying to convince a small theater director and his potential cast, that she's got the perfect play for them to produce.
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She looked back at David thinking if Chuck got out of line, he might be learning a few lessons he hadn’t counted on. She wouldn’t even need a plasma bolt to do it. She was well trained in the martial arts. “Vislogus is about those who use magic to combat evil. The hero is a loner for the most part and almost a sacrificial figure, who finds most don’t understand him.” “Magic?” David said with some skepticism in his voice. “How would that work into small theater? Sounds more like a movie.” “It’s the dialogue that would work. It would not require the whole book, but several of the chapters are heated with the conflict between the hero and the woman he wishes loved him, but she doesn’t. I suppose there is a little of Superman in it, but the dialogue is witty, fast moving and delves into the meaning of life.” “And it’s a bestseller?” David asked with even more skepticism. “That’s not the usual for Americans.” “Well I suppose the rest of it, the action is why it’s found such favor. The thing though is part of it could be a very thoughtful play with the way it pulls the reader or in the viewer into the questions of life. When Adolph is threatened, it’s mostly for those who don’t understand what he stands for.” “Avengers style?” Chuck asked slurring the words a little. “I could get into this.” Debbie glared at him. Elke wondered if the two had something going or more the case, Debbie wanted there to be. “Do you have a copy of the play?” David asked sounding a little more interested. “Not yet. That is the problem at this point. I could get the play written rapidly because it would practically write itself. I need though to get the writer’s permission.”David let out a breath. “Who is it?” “Mitchell Ford. Do you know him?” “I have heard the name. I am trying to think of why.”
Anyway I said I'd write five, and I will. Possibly having more will be a benefit-- someday lol.
So here's a randomly chosen snippet from the next one (where I am only a bit over half finished). Since this is a rough draft, the excerpt might change some from the actual book, due out in late July-- I think. The heroine is trying to convince a small theater director and his potential cast, that she's got the perfect play for them to produce.
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She looked back at David thinking if Chuck got out of line, he might be learning a few lessons he hadn’t counted on. She wouldn’t even need a plasma bolt to do it. She was well trained in the martial arts. “Vislogus is about those who use magic to combat evil. The hero is a loner for the most part and almost a sacrificial figure, who finds most don’t understand him.” “Magic?” David said with some skepticism in his voice. “How would that work into small theater? Sounds more like a movie.” “It’s the dialogue that would work. It would not require the whole book, but several of the chapters are heated with the conflict between the hero and the woman he wishes loved him, but she doesn’t. I suppose there is a little of Superman in it, but the dialogue is witty, fast moving and delves into the meaning of life.” “And it’s a bestseller?” David asked with even more skepticism. “That’s not the usual for Americans.” “Well I suppose the rest of it, the action is why it’s found such favor. The thing though is part of it could be a very thoughtful play with the way it pulls the reader or in the viewer into the questions of life. When Adolph is threatened, it’s mostly for those who don’t understand what he stands for.” “Avengers style?” Chuck asked slurring the words a little. “I could get into this.” Debbie glared at him. Elke wondered if the two had something going or more the case, Debbie wanted there to be. “Do you have a copy of the play?” David asked sounding a little more interested. “Not yet. That is the problem at this point. I could get the play written rapidly because it would practically write itself. I need though to get the writer’s permission.”David let out a breath. “Who is it?” “Mitchell Ford. Do you know him?” “I have heard the name. I am trying to think of why.”
June 21, 2016
Round the Bend excerpt
The first novel I ever wrote-- although this romance of the trek west on the Oregon Trail was a long way in 1965 from the book it was when we published it in March 2015. The people on this trip come from all walks but with the same hope for a better life in Oregon.
From Round the Bend.
In the early evening, St. Louis stopped by the Kane wagon. Squatting and watching as Matt worked on repairing a broken strap, he sipped a cup of stout coffee. Matt's fingers worked the awl through the leather, preparing the holes for stitching a replacement piece. "Reckon ya heard Abe Bennett's goin' to play his fiddle down in the meadow after dark. Young folks fixin' to have a bonfire and a dance from what they tell me." "I heard." "You goin'?" Matt smiled as he looked up. "Suggestin' it might be better if I don't?" "Just the opposite." "I don't think there's many that'd agree with you." "I'm sayin' ya oughta go." "Why?" "It's the natural thing. You're young, oughta be havin' a good time with other young folks." "There won't be any down there wanting to see me." "Maybe one." He couldn’t mean Bernice. "You are not making much sense tonight." "Folks need to see ya ain't got nothin' to hide. Ya got every right to go down. Might actually ease things." Matt shook his head. “I don’t see how.” "Listen here, if ya keep to yoreself, folks'll get to thinkin' there's somethin' strange about you, somethin' unnatural. If ya come, they see ya for what ya are." "And what's that, St. Louis?" Matt laughed. "Who knows though. You might be right. The last time I stayed home, I had to take a whipping."
From Round the Bend.
In the early evening, St. Louis stopped by the Kane wagon. Squatting and watching as Matt worked on repairing a broken strap, he sipped a cup of stout coffee. Matt's fingers worked the awl through the leather, preparing the holes for stitching a replacement piece. "Reckon ya heard Abe Bennett's goin' to play his fiddle down in the meadow after dark. Young folks fixin' to have a bonfire and a dance from what they tell me." "I heard." "You goin'?" Matt smiled as he looked up. "Suggestin' it might be better if I don't?" "Just the opposite." "I don't think there's many that'd agree with you." "I'm sayin' ya oughta go." "Why?" "It's the natural thing. You're young, oughta be havin' a good time with other young folks." "There won't be any down there wanting to see me." "Maybe one." He couldn’t mean Bernice. "You are not making much sense tonight." "Folks need to see ya ain't got nothin' to hide. Ya got every right to go down. Might actually ease things." Matt shook his head. “I don’t see how.” "Listen here, if ya keep to yoreself, folks'll get to thinkin' there's somethin' strange about you, somethin' unnatural. If ya come, they see ya for what ya are." "And what's that, St. Louis?" Matt laughed. "Who knows though. You might be right. The last time I stayed home, I had to take a whipping."
June 14, 2016
hope
On Tuesday, usually I do an excerpt for a book, but it's hard to feel like doing what I normally do considering what this week-end was like no other in terms of violence and death.
As a people, we have to go on. We have to try to come up with ways to make our country safer and better; but this still seems like a time for grieving the losses so many experienced, as the lives cut short.
from a website called What's your grief
As a people, we have to go on. We have to try to come up with ways to make our country safer and better; but this still seems like a time for grieving the losses so many experienced, as the lives cut short.
from a website called What's your grief
June 7, 2016
from Bound for the Hills
no images yet for Nate; so this will have to do-- roses do represent love, don't they?When I decided to write a contemporary series based in Barrio Viejo, I found the characters' ancestors to be those from my earlier books-- primarily the Cordovas and Hemstreets. The Hemstreets first showed up in Bound for the Hills. I plan to write an historical romance around Nate after I get the five Hemstreet Witches written. How the family ended up in Tucson and from where came those witches will be in that eighth Arizona historical.
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San Francisco September 10, 1905 Nate Hemstreet watched as his mother’s irritation grew when ringing the bell wasn’t enough to get her the service she desired. He could have said something, but he was studying her. She seemed to have forgotten he was sitting at the other end of the library.
Terrence Cooke came through the door looking only at Eleanor Hemstreet. Nate had become the invisible man. Fine, he liked that idea. “You rang, madam?” Terrence asked with his usual polished manners. “Where is Mr. Hamilton?” His mother smoothed down the rich purple brocade of her dress. “I have not seen him since early this morning, madam.” Nate saw her purse her lips together and suppress whatever she wanted to say. “Thank you.” When he had left, she rang the bell again. When he returned, she said, “Pour me a brandy.” Terrence looked at her for a moment, perhaps thinking ten in the morning was too early for liquor, or wondering why she would not have gotten it herself from the sideboard only ten feet from her, but he was too well trained. His face was expressionless as he handed it to her. Again, he didn’t look at Nate. Terrence probably did know he was there. Not much got by him. Nate wondered how much he had observed of the goings on in the Hemstreet mansion. “May I do anything else for you, madam?” “No, nothing.” She sighed. “Just leave me alone.” She waited until he closed the door, took a sip of the brandy, and then walked to the window to look out at the city. Although his mother was not quite sixty, her face looked older. He felt it was her dissatisfaction with anything or anyone. She had one of the finest homes on Nob Hill. Ten bedrooms, modern bathrooms with the finest fixtures, a parlor large enough to hold a ball, a table that seated fifty in the dining room, a staff that… but it never was enough. She wanted more. He saw the fury on her face and debated what would ever take that away. Perhaps only death. Sad.For the first time, she looked over at him. So, she had known he was there all along. “Ah Nathan, and what have you been doing today?” she asked sipping the brandy again. He knew his riding outfit and the boot he had crossed over his knee would have told her where he’d been, but she liked to control. She wanted to force responses. “Golden Gate Park,” he said. “Was it nice there?” she asked, boredom in her voice. “Very.” As she stared at him, he wondered what she saw. Her dissatisfaction with everything extended to him. As her only son, he never was all she wanted him to be. He had quit minding years earlier. “Did you ride with Miranda?” “No, by myself.” Miranda Compton was his mother’s idea of the ideal mate for her son. Her family’s wealth doubtless figured into that as much as her comely figure. The problem was Miranda was an incredibly shallow young woman, whose greatest interest involved finding a new ball gown. Nate would sooner mate with a trained monkey. He had not realized before but his mother clearly was dying her hair to keep it the same gold it had been when she’d been girl. It didn’t somehow work. Doubtlessly, her aging was bothering her, but it was one thing she could not control even if she could attempt to hide it. “She’s a lovely girl,” she said narrowing her eyes as she moved to sit on the chair across from him “You and she would make beautiful blonde babies. They’d probably be tall like you and your father, rest his soul.” “I am not interested in her or in marriage, Mother.” She gave him a disbelieving look. “Not marriage to anyone?” “I didn’t say that—just not now.” “Are you interested then in the businesses? You know I had hoped you would be, that you would be my right hand man, and then someday take it over.” “I know what you hoped.” “You aren’t still moping over that girl are you?” He knew whom she meant and smiled. She didn’t like to use her name. “What girl?” he asked feeling a little mean himself. “You know who I mean? That worthless accountant’s daughter.” “You didn’t see him so worthless when he worked for you.” “I didn’t know… didn’t realize until he killed himself that he had been cheating us.” “There is no proof of that.” She looked away. “I wish…” The tap at the door interrupted what she might have said. When it opened before she could say enter, he knew who it would be. Only Thomas Hamilton, his mother’s majordomo had that kind of arrogant confidence. He wondered what the man held over his mother. While he was in the room with them, he’d never learn. Hamilton went to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey before he turned back to her. “I heard you had asked for me, madam,” he said with a rather snide smile. He was portly but muscular, not nearly as tall as Nate, but with his broad shoulders, he had a demeanor that caused men to back off, his mother also. “Nathan,” she said, turning to him, “would you mind giving Thomas and me a moment of privacy?” “No problem.” He rose and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He walked down the hall letting his boots make enough noise to make them confident he had left, then he quietly returned to the door. Whatever as going on, he wanted to know.
